Chapter Text
Draco Lucius Malfoy.
The name jumped out at her. Black and bold interweaving letters, whoever wrote it had exceptionally beautiful handwriting. It must have been Stacy from logistics, stupid bloody cunt. The sadistic woman was jealous of her position and took every opportunity to remind her that she did not deserve the prestigious place the Minister trusted her with.
Hermione stared at the parchment with mixed feelings, all anger but different shades of it; she simply refused to accept her fate. The mere thought of tolerating Malfoy’s presence was unfathomable.
Clearly, this was some horrible mistake made by The Algorithm. She wanted to crumple the official piece of paper and chuck it in the bin. Actually, she did just that, then quickly fetched it out, smoothened out the heavy creases, tried to erase the tomato sauce stain on the side and fought the urge to burn it to a crisp.
Three months had passed since she first received the dreaded letter of doom, and the rage she felt then had not lessened. The first week, she had gotten horribly drunk every night, crawled between the cotton sheets, and fallen asleep.
Granted, sleep had evaded her, and she had stared at the ceiling in deep thought, chewing on her fingernails and contemplating the unfairness of the situation. Weeks two and three followed the same way, except the drinking binges stopped after Harry and Ginny staged an intervention.
Harry shot out in concern, “You have more vodka in your veins than blood.” He watched his best friend stagger into the office sporting tasteful dark shades to hide her red-rimmed eyes and dark circles around her eyes.
Hermione tried to take the bottle from his hand and hissed, “Malfoy! Harry, I got fucking Malfoy.” She was in complete and utter denial. Had she not sacrificed enough for the good of the magical world?
Harry nodded in understanding and took a long swig from the bottle firmly in his grasp, “I know it’s disturbing." He did not blame Hermione for feeling the way she did. It was understandable. It was a severe understatement to say they had a complicated relationship with Draco Malfoy.
They all needed a bloody drink. Preferably something strong enough to numb the unequivocal shock they had slipped into.
Harry pointed the bottle at Hermione and softened his tone, “But clearly, this is not the way to be reacting.”
Ginny advised sternly, “Put your brain to work and find a solution.” She had never quite seen Hermione behave in such a reckless and foolhardy manner, which worried her. This was the sort of thing that pushed someone well over the edge.
Ron grunted as he placed the many bags of Chinese takeout on the counter and then glared, “Yeah, saves me from having to murder the bastard.” They had taken a liking to the cuisine some years back while out in Muggle London, and somehow, the fondness for stir-fried noodles and scrumptious crunchy spring rolls stuck with them, and they indulged often.
Hermione drunkenly slurred, “Aww, I appreciate the sentiment, Ron.” She really didn’t, but her ex-boyfriend’s bark was far worse than his bite.
Ginny rolled her eyes and asked the group in general, “No one’s seen him in years. Where do you reckon he is?” It has been a topic of much discussion over the years. Still, the only one who knew anything about Draco Malfoy was his mother. She remained suspiciously quiet about his whereabouts, leading many to speculate and come to their own scandalous conclusions. Rita Skeeter, in particular, enjoyed letting her imagination run wild.
Harry shrugged, “Merlin knows. Maybe he won’t show?” One could certainly hope.
Ron bobbed his head in agreement and added knowingly after a moment of thought, “I heard he’s living as a Muggle in Russia.”
With a roll of her eyes and a frown forming on her pretty face, Ginny said, “Oh please, never listen to gossip, Ronald.”
Ron shrugged and defended weakly, “What? It came from a reliable source.” If a random customer to the shop could be considered reliable. He didn’t know the man at all.
Harry let out a short snort of laughter, “Probably the most farfetched theory is that he’s Polyjuiced himself to look like the Muggle Prime Minister.” The notion had been brought to their attention, and Kingsley had discarded it for being beyond ludicrous.
Hermione groaned, “For fuck’s sake, Skeeter hasn’t lost her idiotic touch then.”
She plopped herself down on the sofa and held onto her aching head. The last bloody thing she needed was a throbbing headache.
Harry sat beside Hermione and squeezed her hand reassuringly, “Look, let’s figure this out, don’t think about it too much.”
Ginny muttered from the corner, “Good luck with that.” It was common knowledge that Hermione obsessed over matters that others would brush aside or not bother with a second thought. Still, it was an endearing personality trait and one that paid off once in a while.
Harry chucked the empty glass bottle in the bin and added seriously, “And no more drinking!” His tone mirrored the concern he felt.
Hermione pouted and mused, “Fine, take away my happiness, why don’t you?” She was being a tad bit dramatic, but given the circumstances, could anyone blame her?
A nervous, shaky voice made it to her ear, “You can marry me instead, and all this will just go away.” It was put forth so casually that it boggled one’s mind. Hermione struggled to wrap her head around the abrupt declaration.
Three pairs of eyes turned slowly to stare at the tall man in the kitchen, taking out the chicken chow mein and mixed seafood noodles from the large brown paper bag. Ron looked up from his task and caught their glances of mixed reactions. His features twisted unpleasantly, and he cried in outrage, “What? I’m much better than the pale-faced prick.”
Not this again, Hermione thought tiredly. Was he fucking bonkers?
Her headache reached an unbearable high. Hermione fought the bile that rose but managed to keep it down as she composed herself and struggled to come up with a reasonable retort.
She exhaled, kept her cool, and replied carefully, “Thank you, darling, but this is not just about Malfoy. I won’t be forced into marrying anyone.” It was imperative to tactfully handle the situation without needlessly shattering Ron’s fragile heart to pieces.
Ron wagged a warning finger in her direction and tried to hide his true feelings on the matter, “Fine, but the offers open if this bloody problem persists.” He would rather be impaled than watch his beloved walk down to marry the blonde git.
Harry felt sorry for Ron. It was hard not to feel some compassion for the obsessed man, but Ginny proved him wrong again by calling out her brother most harshly, “Will you please get it through your thick skull that it’s over between Hermione and you.”
Ron pursed his lips and glared at his younger sister. Ginny could be a heartless, dare he say it, bitch at times.
Harry ignored the snubbed, fuming man pacing around the kitchen, smiled at Hermione and reassured her, “We will figure this out.”
Hermione grabbed a stuffed teddy bear she kept on her sofa, nuzzled into the soft fur and hugged it close, “If you say so, Harry.”
In the three following months, she had done everything possible to escape the grim situation but with no such luck.
The morning she received the letter was your typical morning, but the air was crisp and cold. She buttoned up and got ready to weather the storm. However, she had no idea the storm would be raging inside the depths of her mind for months to come.
Since the passing of the Marriage Act, the Ministry had received praise and vicious backlash from witches and wizards who were paired up with, in their words, useless wankers and witless sods.
The Algorithm used to set up the matches was flawless. Never blame or question the math. It was a vastly complex bit of magic that combined blood compatibility with mind-boggling calculations that considered every possible compatibility aspect for a successful marriage and birth of magical children.
That was the main problem, wasn’t it? It was the reason for such a law to be even considered.
The number of magical births had dropped so low that magical folk were forced to shack up to boost the population.
The majority of Pureblood families were first to voice their outrage at having to sully their bloodline with half and Muggle-born matches because heaven forbid, they widen the bloody gene pool. The others accepted the terms without fuss and welcomed the union forced upon them by the Ministry. It was their ideologies that were to be blamed for their current predicament.
It was almost with perverse pleasure that most Muggle-born witches and wizards accepted their pureblood matches. They welcomed an opportunity to show their worthiness that overshadowed the lack of blood purity. The Ministry was well prepared for their counterattack.
They sat down with the elders of each pureblood family of the sacred twenty-eight and determinedly explained and showed them exactly what their inbreeding had achieved. Still, most remained sceptical and faithful to their traditional ways. Only when threatened with the alternative of living as Muggle if they declined to abide by the Ministry’s wishes did they yield and come to a halfhearted compromise.
Besides producing squib after squib, miscarriages and multiple stillborn births, the Pureblood families had no more than three healthy births to share over five years. That was hardly enough to begin repopulating a community that pureblood dominance had ruined with a madman at the helm.
Hermione, as usual, greeted her enthusiastic, pretty assistant, Brenda, a feisty, energetic woman in her early twenties who took her job seriously. She took a sip out of her tall coffee grande and sighed. The cute barista had added an extra pump of chocolate while she flirted with him mercilessly. The envelope had been waiting for her, carefully placed on her immaculately neat table. Hermione stood rooted to the spot and stared at it, and it stared right back. She was undoubtedly sure that the sealed letter mocked her. A sinister cackling bounced off the walls of her mind.
Fuck! No, this was a nightmare, indeed. Please wake up, Hermione, she stubbornly told herself and pinched her arm for good measure. She recognised the seal at once. Of course, she bloody did.
Hermione Granger, Undersecretary to newly appointed Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. It was a position she had held for nearly ten years. Following Voldemort’s defeat, they had all chosen their career paths. Naturally, Ron and Harry had opted to join the Auror division.
They were given a hero’s welcome. Harry had risen to head the department in a few short years while Ron left to help his brother George with Weasleys Wizard Wheezes. After Fred’s passing, George needed his family to keep him from falling into despair over his beloved twin’s death. Ginny played Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies until her pregnancy brought that to a screeching halt. Still, she was a valuable consultant and frequently visited Hogwarts to train the younger students.
Kingsley himself had approached Hermione with the job. He needed a young witch with her head on straight and passion for a worthy cause. Hermione agreed to think about it, but really, what was there to consider? It would provide her with the platform to do some real good. Two days later, she accepted the job, and together, they started the long road of rebuilding the wizarding world by bringing in essential policies. It was then the committee touched on the topic of population decline. It gravely concerned everyone present. The numbers dwindled and steadily decreased. Immediate action was needed, and the Marriage Act was first proposed.
Hermione openly scoffed at the medieval idea of an arranged marriage. It was archaic and barbaric even.
She conveniently forgot arranged marriages in the Muggle world had a far lower divorce rate, but they were allowed a say, weren’t they? Yes, no, I would rather not spend my life with a man who picks his nose openly and shovels food into his mouth. The law would not have been passed if the council had kept their wits about them, but pass it they did, and with Kingsley’s blessing. What did he care anyway? He was happily married. Hermione rolled her eyes at the announcement, and for some stupid reason, she thought she would be spared the humiliation of being paired up with a wizard she had not met or, worse, met and hated.
It would take nearly eight years, and many failed attempts to create The Alogthrim and introduce it to the general populace.
After opening the letter, Hermione quickly read its contents, saw the dreaded name of her would-be spouse, and screamed so loud it caused Brenda to come rushing into the room with her wand drawn.
Hermione grabbed the letter, took off her high heels and sprinted the short distance to the Minister of Magic’s office. She completely ignored the look of bewilderment her assistant bestowed upon her. His assistant tried to block her path to ask what was the matter, but nothing and nobody would stand in her way. She effortlessly sidestepped the older woman and barged into the office unannounced.
Kingsley looked at the fuming woman standing barefoot on the white Persian carpet and braced himself. He had anticipated a visit sooner. Hermione wasted no time in proclaiming her disappointment. She marched up to the table, slammed the letter down, and demanded an explanation.
Kingsley took in the name written below and frowned. He understood the reason for anger radiating off the thoroughly pissed-off woman before him. He sighed and explained to the best of his ability, “I’ll do what I can, but it’s not like we pulled names out of a hat, Granger.”
Hermione bared her teeth and hissed, sending flecks of tiny spit particles flying out of her mouth, “I do not give a fuck. I will never marry Malfoy or even tolerate being in the same room as him.” She hardly swore in the Minister’s presence but, on some occasions, merited an excellent cussing out.
She fetched her wand, dangled it in front of his face and spat bitterly, “You might as well take my wand now.” Her actions were hasty and fuelled solely by the many emotions ravaging her.
Kingsley ignored the wand and brought his hands together in thought, “This is rather unfortunate, I admit.”
Hermione felt angry tears gather, “It’s a bloody disaster.”
She snatched the letter back and stormed out of the room while Kingsley yelled for her to return.
Later that day
The gang met up at the Leaky Cauldron for drinks. Twenty-six years of age, except for Ginny and at the pinnacle of enjoying life. They deserved it, didn’t they? They gave their childhood to fighting a madman who periodically tried to kill them.
Harry drained his drink and voiced his concern loudly, “I still can’t believe they went ahead with this.” He threw the Daily Prophet down and shook his head in disappointment. The front page carried a detailed article about The Algorithm.
Wizards at the next table turned to stare. Ginny smiled sweetly at them and tried to flag down a server. She shot Harry a warning look and glanced at Hermione, who stared deadpan at the wall. Harry acknowledged his wife’s attempt to grab his attention and muttered, “I’m sorry, Hermione.” The young server nearly tripped over his feet in haste to make it to The Chosen One’s table. He wondered whether it would be highly inappropriate to ask for an autograph.
Hermione’s news about her forced union with Draco Malfoy had not been well received by her friends. Ron sulked and sat about with a murderous expression for the most part and promised he would find a way to break her free from the unjust pairing. Harry sat uncharacteristically still in shock and wondered how he would tolerate Malfoy’s presence as Hermione’s husband. Still, Ginny offered words of wisdom and suggested they pop by the Leaky Cauldron to lighten the mood, which worked wonders.
Ginny ordered another round of shots and frowned, “It seems rather extreme. Is there anything we can do to help?”
Hermione hung her head bleakly and stated firmly, “I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just get sloshed.”
She looked up and quipped with a hint of jealousy, “At least, you guys will be spared the humiliation.”
Harry married Ginny two years after the battle of Hogwarts, and they welcomed a baby boy shortly after. Ginny had not planned on starting a family so soon, but happen it did, and the news overjoyed Harry. Without a second thought, she gave up her aspiring career and settled to raise their child. They were very hands-on parents with little James. She confided to those who asked that she did not regret quitting Quidditch to tackle motherhood, but Hermione knew the bitter truth.
Ron munched on a chicken leg and snickered, “Well, I hope I don’t get stuck with some stupid bint.”
Hermione said with a definite roll of her eyes, “Classy, Ron.” He was oblivious to his chauvinistic behaviour at times. He turned to face his ex-girlfriend, softened his features and pleaded, “Why don’t we get married, Hermione? At least we’ve shagged, and I know what you like.” They had been quite steamy between the sheets, and he missed and ached for the feel of her soft skin.
Her inner voice screamed, “You really don’t.”
Ron offered to marry Hermione so casually that it caused the others to stare at him, perplexed. He held onto the hope of rekindling their relationship and having their happily ever after.
Hermione moved her chair away purposely and scoffed, “I’ll pass.” She saw Ron’s face fall in despair, but he masked it well by passing a silly joke and ordering another portion of chicken and crisps.
Harry disregarded the awkwardness and asked in interest, “Is divorce an option?”
Hermione recited the clause on the document; she had gone through each paragraph twice and scrutinised every single detail, hoping to find some bloody loophole, but none existed.
She downed a tequila shot, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and elucidated, “After three years, but sooner if the matched spouse is abusive.”
Ginny raised a curious brow, “No adultery clause?” Surely, there was some meaning to these marriages. Hermione laughed sarcastically, “Apparently not; you are free to mess around and only use the martial bed for breeding the next generation of witches and wizards.” The sanctity of marriage was ruined. She had always wanted what her parents shared, and achieving that reality slowly slipped out of her grasp.
Ron swallowed hard and grimaced, “It sounds utterly disgusting when you put it like that.” The woman had no filter.
Hermione stuffed a few crips into her mouth and shrugged, “But that is the truth, isn’t it?”
Ron made a repulsed face, “Yeah, it is but did you have to get all fucked up about it?”
Hermione playfully punched his arm, “Oh shut up, Ron, I’m not going to sugarcoat anything.”
She bit down hard on a plump sausage and added viciously, “But there is no way in fucking hell I will remain faithful to that slimy git.”
Ron choked on his drink, looked properly scandalised and thundered, “Are you entertaining the thought of marrying the bastard then?”
Hermione sneered, “If and only if the Ministry forces my hand, but I will fight them every fucking step of the way.”
Ron seemed pleased with her answer and didn’t push it, but Ginny and Harry exchanged a grave look of concern.
She and Ron were just friends now. They had given the whole relationship thing a go and even come awfully close to tying the knot when Hermione realised he was not the one for her. Her fifteen-year-old self had definitely held a torch for the tall, youngest Weasley boy, but the more she entered adulthood, the more she pulled away from him. When her needs and desires began to change with age, they had a long chat and amicably decided to part ways. Well, more on her part than his, he had stubbornly refused to accept that their relationship had run its course and vowed to win her back someday. She had no wish to hurt him, so she purposely neglected to correct him whenever he brought it up.
Hermione knew Ron still had deep feelings for her; he made it obvious every time she went out on a date or someone at The Ministry showed her an inkling of interest. It became rather tedious, and other men stirred clear away from her, not wanting to step on the toes of a war hero.
It infuriated her, but despite her many explanations, the men smiled at her sheepishly and avoided her at all costs. While she loved Ron dearly, she was not in love with him. She craved intellectual banter, fiery passion and heat that curled her toes. Ron, being a proverbial caveman in bed, left her horribly wanting.
To everyone’s surprise, Ron got paired off with Tracey Davis, a Slytherin girl in their year who fought on their side at the battle of Hogwarts and who everyone had long thought dead. Apparently, they were all mistaken since Tracey had used family connections to flee and returned because of the marriage law. He was adequately mortified at first, but his opinion changed for the better once he met the pretty brunette.
Ron shrugged casually, “Well, it could be worse; she seems pretty nice and loves Quidditch.” Their first date had gone rather splendidly. Hoping to throw her off, he had invited her to a Chudley Cannons match and was pleasantly surprised to find she was a fan but of the Kenmare Kestrels. They exchanged good banter and got along reasonably well.
Harry smiled and nodded his approval, “She’s a decent witch.”
Ron chuckled, “Although mum thinks Tracey is completely full of herself, especially after she went on and on about the wedding details.”
Ginny stifled a laugh, “Mum is not used to taking orders from anyone.”
Hermione crossed her arms over his chest and hissed her displeasure, “That is beside the point; they are taking away our free will.”
Ron cocked his head to the side and mistook her reaction to the law as jealousy over his pairing with Tracey. He hugged her tight and whispered so only she could hear, “I will always love you.” The declaration caused Hermione to cringe, but found she was trapped to his broad chest and unable to break free.
Oh, Merlin, kill her now.
He continued to mutter into the soft curls of her hair, “You mean everything to me; once this is over, it will be just the two of us.” Yeah, you, me and Malfoy will get along just fine. The random sarcastic thought almost made Hermione giggle, but instead, she rolled her eyes but returned the hug without much enthusiasm and did not reply. There was nothing to say; she could hardly be blamed for his infatuation with them reconciling one day.
Hermione returned to her one-bedroom, immaculately clean flat and headed straight for the kitchen. She dropped her bag, and an eerie silence greeted her.
Nursing a giant chocolate chip ice cream tub, she plopped herself down on the sofa and turned the TV on. Sticking the spoon savagely into the melting ice cream, she attacked it viciously, brought it to her lips and licked the spoon clean, deep in thought. An evil laugh made its presence known, and Hermione shuddered. The tears of frustration came before she could stop them. Hermione thought back on the day’s events, and it was maddening, to say the least.
Let it be noted that the Ministry of Magic was not without mercy. Any witch or wizard refusing to accept their match could do one of two things.
1. Redo the Algorithm and let math and complex calculations work their brand of magic. If the results yielded another match, then partners could be switched. The Ministry graciously allowed three tries before saying, “Sod off; you’re stuck with who you got paired with.”
2. The less appealing option was being stripped of their wand, memories wiped, being marched into Muggle London and being let go, much like a mongrel dog after serving its purpose.
After three months of staring at the same bloody name, she had pulled strings and got them to run the Algorithm no less than six times, hoping and praying for another name to appear. It was a futile yet valiant effort, but bold as brass, the same name popped up each time, and it seemed to mock her in time. The utter humiliation of being paired up with the boy who wished death upon her in school disgusted her to the core.
How the fuck were they even going to sleep together? That was the main prerequisite: they were expected to have sex, and she was to bear little Malfoy babies; the very thought made her skin crawl.
Had he not taken every opportunity to express how degrading and dirty he found her?
Argus chuckled as he pulled another parchment out of the odd-looking contraption, “Well, it looks like you’re stuck with Malfoy.”
Hermione rolled up a piece of parchment and hit the unsuspecting wizard on the head, “Fuck off, Argus, we’ll see about that.”
Kingsley grew weary of her behaviour; he visibly cringed when she went into a detailed explanation of why sex among couples forced to suffer a loveless marriage was the same as rape, deemed acceptable by law.
He put up with the first two months as she made presentations armed with visual aids on why the law was a bad idea, as if the hour-long lecture on rape was not enough. Furthermore, he patiently looked at the petition she got signed by no less than 1500 witches and wizards who shared her point of view, but eventually, he snapped. Kingsley banged his fist down on the large table, unceremoniously sending most of its contents to the floor; he brought his head up and roared, “Enough! This is final. If you are unhappy with your match, you know the alternatives.”
Hermione felt her lip quiver, but she held her head high, nodded curtly, and fled the massive office while Kingsley watched her depart without a single word. She ran down the hall, locked herself inside her room and sobbed. Her only saving grace was that no one had seen Malfoy since he was cleared of all charges when they were seventeen and eighteen, respectively.
The trial had been a hugely publicised event, and the heir to the Malfoy name and estate trembled in the ages-old chair as witches and wizards took to the stand to plead his case or accuse him of heinous crimes. Harry’s and Hermione’s testimony really got through to the ruthless-looking bunch of older wizards and witches in plum-coloured robes. It took them a little over an hour to deliberate and clear Malfoy of all charges; he was let off with a strict warning of the fate that would await him if he made another costly mistake.
Hermione remembered the usually arrogant youth staring at his feet and only nodding when spoken to; he had studiously avoided her curious gaze and refused outright to acknowledge her. Without so much as a thank you, he left the Ministry with his mother and two hefty Aurors assigned to stand guard over the aristocratic Lady. Lucius, of course, had no such luck; his fate was determined a mere thirty minutes into his trial; his crimes were too awful to ignore or pass off as not his own.
Oh, but he tried and did all he could to convince the Wizengamot that he did what he did to protect his family and had no recollection of certain events. There was a collective murmur through the crowd, and Lucius was sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban. He was spared the Dementor’s kiss.
Out of sheer desperation, Hermione reached out to Narcissa Malfoy. The well-dressed Lady was thrilled with the match, bizarrely. If anything could have shocked Hermione other than being paired off with Malfoy, it was Narcissa Malfoy's reaction to having her as a potential daughter-in-law. Still, not surprisingly, she kept mum on her son’s whereabouts but maintained that he would return soon, especially with Lucius Malfoy’s passing the month before.
Narcissa was serving the last few months of her house arrest, but she was allowed a certain number of visitors. Hermione had used her connections to secure a visit, though she dreaded visiting a place where her blood was spilt.
Malfoy Manor had undoubtedly changed. Hermione figured Narcissa had seen to its refurbishment the second Voldemort snuffed it. Too much suffering had occurred within the dark halls; it felt downright barmy to sit in a place where she had been tortured and branded like a cow. She crossed and uncrossed her legs and fought the urge to search the immediate area for any evidence of her suffering at the hands of the maddened witch who lived rent-free in her head.
Sensing her plight, Narcissa graciously offered, “You needn’t feel at unease, my dear. I give you my word that no harm will befall you.”
Hermione blushed deeply. She sat in the lavishly decorated foyer on a purple velvet cushioned chintz chair. She sipped the creamy milk tea with poise, set the cup down, and cleared her throat nervously, “Mrs Malfoy, thank you for agreeing to meet me.”
Narcissa studied the attractive woman sitting in front of her in a long white sleeve blouse, navy blue pencil skirt and stylish bun.
Hermione felt scrutinised and quickly offered her condolences, “I am sorry about the passing of your husband.” She wasn’t sorry. Nobody felt a smidge of remorse for Lucius’s passing. He was a loathsome man with no true friends except his Death Eater buddies.
The older woman took in the slightly shaking hands of Hermione Granger. The young witch fiddled continuously with the corner of the napkin on her lap. She smiled genuinely and dabbed the corner of her mouth delicately, “Are you really? And please call me Narcissa.”
Hermione returned the smile and said tensely, “If I may be so bold and get straight to the point.”
Narcissa raised a brow and gestured, “By all means, Miss Granger.” She was highly curious about what Hermione had to say.
The ex-Gryffindor offered the elegantly dressed witch the same courtesy and muttered, “Hermione.”
Narcissa nodded slightly in acknowledgement, “Alright, Hermione, what can I help you with?”
Hermione cleared her throat and asked anxiously, “Are you aware of the Marriage Law?”
A smile tugged at the corner of Narcissa’s mouth; she replied at once, “I am, and I’m also aware of your pairing with my son.”
Hermione poorly tried to hide her shock; how would she know about that? This was an unprecedented turn of events.
Narcissa grinned rather mischievously and addressed the elephant in the room, “I have my ways, my dear.”
After her initial reaction, Hermione gathered her composure, “Ah, that is what I’m here to speak to you about.”
Narcissa laughed. Her peals of laughter bounced off the walls, “I’m sorry, darling, but I truly fail to see how I can be of any help.” She looked around pointedly and glared sternly at the Aurors standing by the doorway, listening to every single word, “I have no privacy.”
Hermione knew who the Aurors were, and she gestured for them to take a long walk with her head. They acknowledged her request and made themselves scarce. She finished the piece of chocolate-covered cake and said sarcastically, “Obviously, given our history, you must be mortified by the possibility of having me as a daughter in law.”
Narcissa raised a brow and quipped, “And what makes you think that?” She helped herself to a mini fruitcake rich with wine and plums.
Hermione wanted to shout, “Hmm, well, let’s see. Every bloody thing came out of your son’s pale lips, or perhaps your husband’s blatant hatred towards Muggle-borns. Oh, and as if I’d be able to forget, your fucking crazy sister curving the hated word into my arm.” But damn her upbringing and the instilled need to be polite, her good manners kicked in, and she mumbled, “I was led to believe that Muggle-borns were beneath a Malfoy.”
Narcissa laughed, “My dear, it has been years since the war, and it may come as a surprise, but I never shared those ideologies.” It was a startling revelation as many others believed her to be sympathetic to Voldemort’s fruitless cause. In disgust, she further included, “Those were the ludicrous ramblings of a man who wanted nothing more than to cover up his heritage.”
Her striking blue eyes sparkled, “I am thrilled by this match, and you’re a good if not a perfect match for Draco. You will find him to be a very different man from his younger years.” Her eyes bore into Hermione’s, causing the younger witch to look away for fear of her mind being read. She had heard somewhere that Narcissa Black Malfoy was a gifted Legilimens. Her skill of concealing her true thoughts led to Harry’s final escape from the clutches of a power-hungry fool.
Curiosity got the better of Hermione, and she boldly inquired, “No one has seen your son in years; where is he?” She couldn’t bring herself to utter his putrid name. Tread carefully, Hermione. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. She pondered wisely.
A fond smile crossed Narcissa’s face, “I assure you he is alive and well; he has been on a path of self-awareness and atoning for his sins.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow and internally raged, well, I’ll be damned, seeking redemption, are you, you slimy fucking git?
She looked into the hand-painted teacup and asked meekly, “Does he know about the Law?”
Narcissa sighed, “He does not, but I know he will feel as strongly about it as you do.” Hermione rolled her eyes before she could stop herself; of course, he would; he would rather die than touch her, the bloody bastard.
Hermione straightened in her chair and declared cheerfully, “Excellent! Perhaps together, we can make the Ministry see reason.”
Narcissa finished her tea and replied calmly, “Perhaps.”
The following words out of the regal Lady’s lips truly flabbergasted Hermione.
Narcissa leaned forward, covered Hermione’s hand with her own and gushed, “It was good to see you, Hermione. It gets quite lonely in the Manor, and I welcome some friendly conversation.” Hermione felt her heart clench and made a mental note to visit the charming older woman occasionally.
Still, occasionally, it became frequent, and she enjoyed the few hours she spent in Narcissa’s company. She owed the woman nothing, but being around Narcissa, away from her life’s regular hustle and bustle, was appealing. It was a distraction she wholeheartedly welcomed.
They usually met up once a week for high tea; the Manor house elves were excellent chefs and always provided an impressive assortment of cakes and pastries. Hermione always went for the mini fruit cake. It was absolutely divine, with chunks of fresh fruit baked to perfection. The food aside, the Lady of the Manor was both wise and intelligent. They gossiped and caught up on current affairs, but neither mentioned the missing Malfoy heir.
One particular afternoon, though, Narcissa seemed lost to the world.
Hermione put down her teacup and cleared her throat, “Umm, are you okay? You seem rather far away.”
Narcissa attempted to smile, “I wish things ended differently. I haven’t laid eyes on my son in years, I couldn’t leave, and he never visited until he accomplished what he set out to do.”
That last bit piqued Hermione’s interest. Where the heck was Malfoy? And what did he set out to do? Curious, very curious.
Hermione nodded; she couldn’t possibly begin to understand what the older woman was going through. She offered grudgingly, “Well, if I know one thing about Malfoy, it’s that he’s quite resourceful.”
Narcissa wiped a tear that raced down her cheek and smiled warmly, “For what it’s worth, my dear, Draco would be a lucky man to call you his wife.”
Hermione averted her gaze and muttered, “Oh, umm, I don’t plan on marrying him or anyone else I’m not in love with.”
Narcissa waved her hand casually, dismissed what Hermione said and retorted, “Yes, I know but in the unlikely event that you do, know that I will cherish you.”
Hermione blushed and fought the urge to bawl like a baby. She choked back a sob, “Thank you, that means so much.” Despite her growing fondness for Narcissa, Hermione wished Malfoy would stay wherever the hell he was and not step a toe on British soil.
She blinked and looked at the name again. The memories faded, and she was again sitting in her tidy little office, staring at the parchment with his name artistically sprawled across it.
Draco bloody Malfoy.
Even with her unparalleled hatred towards the match, she was forced to admit the superiority of math and the Algorithm’s unparalleled determination in pairing her up with a despicable human being. Hermione knew she had to get out of it. There was no happiness in a forced marriage or any union between her and Malfoy.
Chapter 2
Notes:
Draco makes his entrance. :)
I have taken a few liberties, so, please read with an open mind. :)
Inner turmoil, Kung Fu and peace.
Please read and review. I love reading reviews because it helps motivate my writing, while other reviews help me become a better writer.
Enjoy Chapter Two!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Draco frowned at the sight of his toes sticking out from under the hand-woven sheet. The dark grey of the covering was a stark contrast against his pale skin. Its only job was to cover his rather long body, and when he first arrived, it had done its job marvellously, but as the years went by, his body changed from the pale-faced ice-blonde youth to a paler faced, long, silky, haired man with clear grey swirls that felt as if they penetrated your soul.
It was clear grey now, with no blackness, no streaks of uncertainty, clear grey with knowledge, understanding and inner peace.
His build was impressive, perhaps not so by modern standards, but it was a hardened sculptured body made firm by his daily routine of nearly ten years. The many calluses that adorned his hands were a testament to his dedication.
Draco reached for the glass of water to quench his thirst. Tiny beads of water made their way out of the corner of his mouth, down his chorded neck, spread over his chiselled chest and eviscerated before reaching his firm thighs. Having an appealing appearance was in his blood. He came from a long line of handsome men and women, and even in the harshest, most foreboding conditions, it could not be squashed out of him.
His thoughts went to his father’s dire circumstances before death. He was certain his estranged father, Lucius Malfoy, would disagree.
The once handsome man succumbed to his fate and passed, looking nothing like his former self. His once long silver-blonde hair was nothing but a distant memory; bald patches were all that were left of his famed locks. His skin was pulled tight over his skeletal frame, and dirt took permanent residence under his long fingernails. It was a pitiful sight.
In deep thought, Draco placed his hand under his head and stared at the ceiling. The little plates that formed the roof above spoke to him. The first few nights he spent in the room all those years ago, he had counted and recounted the clay tiles to help pass the time. It had been a difficult period of adjustment. Seventy-five chipped ones let in the soft rays of sunshine, one hundred and five blackened with age and sixty-three new tiles used to keep the whole thing from collapsing on his head.
The boy who had everything catered to him had to now fend for himself. Still, he welcomed the challenge.
For the first time in his life, he was alone without the dominating presence of his father to influence his decisions. Though Draco missed his mother terribly and worried endlessly about her well-being, he knew his current path to finding his rightful place in the world would also benefit her. Through her many letters, Draco knew his mother had changed. She had endured the cruelty of Voldemort and come out unscathed. She wrote long letters detailing the loneliness of her house arrest and the mundane activities of tending to Malfoy Manor.
With only the house elves to keep her company, it was plain from her penned words that she yearned for conversation and companionship. He welcomed the weekly letters, read them eagerly and saved them to read again later.
A rat scurried across the bannister and disappeared through a hole. The hurried movements of the rodent distracted him. He envied the insignificant creature. Even the rat had more freedom than he. In the beginning, it had been hard to adjust to his new surroundings. They were vastly different from the comfort he was used to. There were no house elves to do his bidding. If he wanted to retain his position and remain a part of the tranquil, calm world, he would have to pull his weight and do as told. Oddly, he embraced his surroundings and became one with them over time.
He came to anticipate and long for the rustling of the leaves, the cool breeze and the chirping of birds that gathered in the large courtyard in the morning. Most nights, while the monks tended to tasks or meditated, he would sneak out of the temple and head towards a nearby stream, sit by the edge bathed by the moon’s glow in deep thought and skip pebbles across the still water.
Draco sighed and let the memories of the years passed wash over him. He often let his thoughts wander to how superficial and meaningless his upbringing had been. The harsh reality that he knew nothing beyond his father’s teachings was a bitter pill to swallow. He had spent years in denial.
Lord Voldemort’s defeat at Harry Potter’s hand was the point of Draco Malfoy’s rebirth.
The fear, the repulsion that consumed him, disappeared into nothingness, but the dread of an uncertain future ominously replaced it.
Come what may, Draco was determined to change his ways and become a decent human being.
Obviously, they would all be held accountable for their part in the Dark Lord’s heinous plans. There would be no escaping their costly mistakes, but his mother helped Potter. She had risked everything to have her only child by her side and unknowingly saved them all.
Some called her actions one-sided, that she only did so to find her son among the chaos, but it was an act of pure love in its true essence.
Draco had attempted to save the Golden Trio by purposely neglecting to identify them at the Manor. Despite their poor attempt to conceal their true selves, he knew the second he looked at them who they were, but in a split-second decision, he kept the valuable information to himself.
Seeing Granger screaming and writhing on the ground in unimaginable pain was when Draco realised his loyalties lay elsewhere. They were children. Granger, despite her blood status, was a child. She didn’t deserve the fate she suffered through. There was no love lost between them, and besides the cruel taunts, never in his darkest dreams did he wish her bodily harm.
So yes, they helped in small ways that changed the war’s outcome.
Of course, they did. Why would he bend to the will of a madman? Voldemort was a skilled wizard, without a doubt, but he was a deranged maniac intent on fulfilling his needs above everything else. A man with such thinking could not possibly lead. It would have sent the wizarding world spiralling into anarchy. Draco bitterly recalled the darkness that plagued his childhood home before the maniac’s death and during his horrific reign.
Blood. There was so much innocent blood spilt.
He distinctly remembered the ramble of bastards that strode in and out as if they owned the place, but no more. Only an eerie silence surrounded him. The family gathered in the dark, drab foyer, sat perfectly still and waited anxiously for the Aurors to arrive, and arrive they did in all their splendour within the hour. There were no less than six of them, all clad in black with wands drawn and Kingsley leading them forward.
The young wizard sat very still. His eyes were downcast, lips pressed hard, fighting the inescapable fear from clawing its way to the surface. Narcissa cried aloud in pain. Draco could hardly bear it. In anger, he shot to his feet as a hefty woman Auror, grabbed hold of his mother’s arm roughly and unceremoniously hoisted her to her feet. With trembling hands streaked with his blood, he held out the wand in his possession and surrendered it without pause.
His voice cracked as he pleaded in desperation, “Stop, please don’t hurt her. We will come quietly.” His mother didn’t deserve such lowly treatment.
Shacklebolt whipped around and shot the Auror, holding Narcissa a withering look. His usually calm face darkened with fury. The woman quickly let go and mumbled insincerely, “My apologies, Mrs Malfoy.” Draco kept his eyes on Narcissa and ignored his father’s pathetic attempt at escape and cries for help as he tried to shake off the Aurors wrestling with him for possession of his wand.
A large Auror tackled Lucius to the ground and used his body weight to pin the older man to the floor. Lucius cried in outrage, “Unhand me, do you know who I am?”
The Auror sneered, “It would be in your best interest to keep that big fat mouth shut.” He had little patience for the aristocratic man.
The man muttered under his breath, “Death Eater scum.” He fought the urge to kick the man squealing on the floor. It was a pitiful sight.
Draco slowly turned to stare at his snivelling father lying face down on the imported Persian rug and shot him a look of deep loathing.
Their current predicament was his fault. Initially, Draco had reservations about joining the ranks of the infamous Death Eaters. Still, when it came to light that his mother would be executed, he did what a loving son would do and offered himself willingly to the cause.
Lucius had been delighted. His aunt Bellatrix had cackled in delight, but Narcissa begged and pleaded with her husband to refuse the Dark Lord’s request, but her woes fell on the deaf ears of a man who had little choice in the matter.
The process had been excruciating. He was given no potions to numb the pain but encouraged to embrace the searing of his flesh with the macabre snake that he would carry for the rest of his days. Somehow, Draco survived the ordeal thrust upon him against his will, and despite his boisterous speech to his peers about how he had been chosen, he wished the noseless fuck would’ve forgotten his existence.
He wanted no part in a meaningless war.
After their arrest, they were side-along apparated directly into the bowels of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, bypassing scrutinising eyes and grieving witches or wizards that would seek revenge to avenge a lost loved one. Draco held onto his mother’s small hand tightly as they were marched through a narrow corridor and into a room flooded with white light.
It was a small flat of sorts. The area was clean and well-equipped, a luxury his family did not deserve, considering the crimes they were accused of.
Draco took in the living quarters and other rooms. It later became known that it would be their makeshift prison until the trial. They were stripped of their wands and served platters of food, but who could eat at a grave time like this? The only comforting thought was that they were spared Azkaban, pending their trial. Lucius was at it the second the doors closed, yelling incoherently and tossing small pieces of furniture at the door like that would help their current predicament.
Something within Draco snapped. Seeing his father needlessly destroy another thing caused his temper to spiral out of control. He sprang to his feet, grabbed his father by the collar, pinned him to the wall and snarled, “Enough!”
Lucius froze in fear at the fire burning in his son’s clear grey eyes. Never had he seen Draco’s face contorted with so much hate, anger and distinguishable pain. The young wizard left his stunned father’s cowering figure and locked himself inside one of the two rooms the flat offered. He sat on the bed, grabbed hold of his head and bared his teeth in a futile attempt to control himself.
Draco found a bunch of Muggle textbooks hidden under the mountain of disregarded books, and in his two-week imprisonment, he devoured the writing and let it resonate. He sometimes wondered who the books belonged to and how they ended up in the room, but he was highly grateful to them and silently thanked the mysterious benefactor.
The days blended into each other, and from his place in the corner, Draco read the books, not bothered by his surroundings. Lucius threw his only child a look of disapproval and scowled. Narcissa pursed her lips, shot her husband a warning look and returned to her embroidery. Like her son’s books, her embroidery kept her occupied and sane. The intricate bunch of roses she had started a day after their arrest was nearly complete.
Among the tattered books was a hardcover book on Muggle Martial Arts. It was a complete handbook on Kung fu alongside a detailed explanation of a strangely constructed Muggle building known primarily as the “The Shaolin Temple.” He had never laid eyes on a more serene and tranquil-looking place. He poured hours over the thick book and swallowed the knowledge it held. Artistic drawings of men and women sitting cross-legged with their eyes closed and emitting calmness were sprawled across the pages.
The strange practice enthralled him and caused him to read every bit of information about it at his disposal. The Muggles called it Meditation. It sounded so appealing and refreshing. The more he read, the more convinced he became of the path ahead. To control one’s mind and thinking, to let go of all the pain and suffering he endured, and to find a way to calm and tame inner demons spoke volumes to him. It was what he yearned for.
Peace.
How he craved it, he had much to pay for. Draco decided to leave the Magical world and search for his true self. His past self disgusted him, but he could embark on his journey only if he were found not guilty. He desperately needed to find himself.
Many horrific nightmares continued to plague him daily. He continued to see many dead faces. They plead with him to help them escape persecution, but he does nothing but helplessly watch from the sidelines as Voldemort slaughters them all without a shred of mercy.
During his time in the flat, their temporary prison, he memorised the legendary temple’s text, location, and description. Few, besides his mother, knew he had an eidetic memory. As the days of the trial got closer, tempers ran high, but Draco controlled himself, as did Narcissa. Lucius made no such effort and created scene after scene, which eventually caused the Auror on guard to intervene and threaten him with bodily harm if he failed to remain quiet.
Their costly lawyer sat with them, his expression solemn and grave. He shifted through some papers and pointedly kept his eyes trained on the parchment. Lucius tapped his leg impatiently.
His patience snapped, and he hissed in arrogance, “Well, what are you going to do?” He pushed the papers roughly aside, causing a few to fall to the floor.
Daniel threw his client a deep look of loathing, bent to pick up the essential documents, straightened and sighed, “Narcissa will most certainly be sentenced to a term of house arrest. “
He would not tolerate Lucius’s childish conduct. For years, he had diligently tended to legal matters regarding the company and Manor, but there was a fine line, and he would play no part in helping a cause that murdered innocents.
Draco slowly looked over to where his mother was stitching. She neatly placed it aside and lifted her head. Narcissa kept her air of grace and said without hesitation, “I will accept any fate they bestow upon me.” The young wizard could hardly contain himself.
His mother did not deserve such a fate. He shook his head in disbelief and retorted in pain, “No, Mother, you barely did anything, and you saved Potter.”
Lucius scowled, his arrogant voice cut through the tense moment, “What about me, Daniel?”
The smartly dressed man eyed his once-formidable client with disgust and leered, “Do you care for no one but yourself?”
Lucius’s face contorted in anger, but he averted his gaze and struggled to find the right words, “I....fine, what about Draco?”
Daniel pointed to the bunch of papers and said with a hint of hope, “He’s young. We can only hope for some sympathy.” His tone turned serious, “But his involvement in Dumbledore’s murder will weigh heavily against him.”
Draco closed his eyes and let the truth sink in. He bit down hard on his lip, causing his pink lip to split and forcing him to taste blood.
He cursed his stupidity. The second he took the bloody mark, he should have gone to Dumbledore for help, guidance, anything. Things might have drastically changed if he did.
Daniel smiled half-heartedly, “On a brighter note, Potter and Granger have agreed to testify on his behalf; that will give us a huge advantage.”
Draco’s head snapped up in utter disbelief, “What? Why?” It was impossible. They would never willingly help him, mainly because he had undoubtedly not given them any reason to. Potter’s actions he could understand, barely, but Granger, he had gone out of his way to taunt her, make her miserable and enjoyed every fucking second of it.
Daniel stared at the shocked boy and chuckled, “Hermione thinks you deserve another chance at life. Potter is grateful you didn’t rat him out at the Manor.”
He recalled the meeting he had with the duo. Potter had been reluctant at first, but Hermione was different. She was adamant Draco deserved a second chance at life. So stubborn, in fact, even Harry had stared at her oddly.
Daniel shared her sentiment. If not for Lucius and the circumstances of his upbringing, the young Malfoy brat would have turned out differently.
Lucius voiced his opinion, “How dare the Mudblood speak of matters that she knows nothing of.” Her actions also surprised him, and he couldn’t help but wonder why. He grew suspicious of the unprecedented turn of events.
Draco turned slowly and gritted out, “Don’t use that word and don’t call her that.” Even though he had been the first to call her that unforgivable word, he deeply regretted his actions.
He exclaimed further with determination, “She is willing to risk public humiliation to defend me. If that does not make her a good person, I don’t know what will.”
Narcissa nodded in complete agreement, reached over and covered her son’s hand with her own, “I agree with Draco. It would be prudent dear if you would for once in your life be a proper man and not the spineless arsehole you have become.” Daniel became acutely aware of the shift in mood and tense situation.
Draco flinched; his mother hardly ever swore. It sounded unnatural, rolling out of her refined tongue.
Lucius got to his feet and towered over his wife’s petite frame in a way that was meant to intimidate, “Narcissa, how dare you!”
Narcissa dug her nails into the seat cushion, stared her husband down defiantly and narrowed her eyes in anger.
Draco lunged forward and stood between his parents; his long fingers curled to make a fist.
He roughly pushed Lucius back and threatened, “Touch her and I will kill you with my bare hands.”
Daniel sprang into action, pulled the older Malfoy man away and spoke to him in hushed tones.
Draco knelt at his mother’s feet and held her hand in his as the tears she held back slid down her cheeks.
The day of the trial arrived, and they were led to the dungeons in the lower levels of the Ministry. True to their defendant’s word, everything happened like clockwork. The council members of the Wizengamot sat quite still in their rich plum-coloured robes with an elaborately decorated M on the left side of their chest, bestowing looks of disapproval upon those they judged. About fifty of them, some with very sombre expressions, and others carried looks of curiosity.
When the Chief Warlock called her name, Narcissa took a deep breath of fresh air, held her head high and walked into the centre of the room. She kept her hands pinned to the side as she awaited the verdict. It was short and decisive. They deliberated for a while, arguing among themselves on what would be the most prudent way forward, and then it was decided. Narcissa Black Malfoy would serve nine years under strict house arrest.
Narcissa showed no emotion. She kept her eyes downcast and accepted her sentence without uttering a word. Two Aurors led her away as the Chief Warlock announced in a loud, carrying voice, “Lucius Malfoy! Please present yourself!” It was clear from his tone that he had no sympathy for the man who had been one of Voldemort’s most loyal servants.
Lucius slowly rose and almost crumpled out of pure fear. Daniel placed a consoling hand on his shoulder and nudged him forward. Draco averted his gaze and purposely avoided any eye contact with his father. Once the fallen Death Eater entered the arena, the hushed whispers and statements of the council members filled the area. Lucius looked at the bunch of people who would decide his future. He knew most, if not all, had entertained some at the Manor and donated to their causes.
The decision was unanimous, and the newly appointed Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, delivered the sentence, “Lucius Malfoy, you are sentenced to life in Azkaban on the charge of aiding and abiding Voldemort.” He would never see the light of another day.
Lucius fell to the ground in despair and cried in frustration, “No! He tricked us all.”
In desperation, he begged, “Please, spare me!” His cries were ignored. Two Aurors strode forward, pulled him to his feet and all but dragged him away. Draco and Narcissa heard the sentence, and both felt an ache in their hearts. Despite all that had come to pass, they loved him.
Lucius glanced at his family and couldn’t help the tears that rolled down his cheeks. He had failed them miserably. It was the one moment of remorse he ever showed.
Narcissa choked back a sob and hugged Draco tightly. She whispered so only he could hear, “No matter what happens. I love you, son.”
Draco replied in hushed tones, “I love you too, Mother.”
They stiffened as his name was called. Draco exhaled and gathered his strength.
Narcissa held onto her son’s hand, refusing to let go until he smiled and said gently, “I will be fine,” Still, she held on tight and shook her head in despair.
A heavyset Auror appeared and ordered, “They are waiting for you, Malfoy.” His eyes took in the heartbreaking moment between mother and son.
He softened his tone, “He has to come with me, Madam Malfoy.”
Narcissa let go reluctantly. Draco dropped a quick kiss to her forehead and followed the man into the gloomy, dimly lit room. Fifty pairs of eyes turned to stare at him. He braved a look at the wizards and witches that would decide his fate and tried to determine what they were thinking. They stared down their noses at him, trying to size him up.
The Chief Warlock announced, “Mr Harry James Potter and Miss Hermione Jean Granger to present defence theories on behalf of the accused, Mr Draco Lucius Malfoy.” There was a sudden uproar of comments and a murmur of approval.
Draco could not bring himself to look at them, but he heard their testimony. Potter did not say much; his words were direct and straight to the point, but Granger fought so persistently on his behalf that it caused him to sneak a peek at her. She was dressed in black robes, and for once, her hair had been pulled back into a tight, neat bun.
Blimey, what were all those papers in front of her? It looked like a mountain of homework.
Her last words pierced his fragile heart, “He is just a boy!”
The Wizengamot deliberated for a few moments. Draco sat still, his heart pounding, and he feared he would pass out from anxiety.
Silence followed. He closed his eyes and waited for the verdict that would change his life.
Kingsley’s deep voice bounced off the stone walls, “Cleared of all charges.”
A stern-looking woman who sat among the council members cleared her throat. It was apparent that she was respected.
Once she had everyone’s attention, she spoke, “However, should Mr Malfoy step another toe out of line, he will be charged to the full extent of the law.” She greatly resembled Molly Weasley, and it was evident to those present that her advice came from a good place.
She softened her tone somewhat and addressed Draco, “You have been given a second chance, young man. I trust you will use it wisely.”
Draco nodded but sat motionless until it began to sink in. He felt relief wash over him momentarily.
They might have cleared him, but he had not even begun to forgive himself. He had so much wickedness to pay for. He knew Granger was staring at him. He purposely looked at his polished leather shoes and refused to acknowledge her. He felt unworthy to look upon her, the words she spoke on his behalf, the passion, the forcefulness that effortlessly flew out of her mouth. She was in every sense a Gryffindor.
Once the trial was over, along with two Aurors, Draco accompanied his mother to the Manor. They stood on the Persian carpet and looked around. The Manor held many secrets, and so much misery had occurred within the walls. Narcissa hugged Draco, and both shed tears of joy and sadness. She knew he was leaving; she had known for weeks, yet she said nothing. She knew it was the only way he could survive.
Draco kissed his beloved mother’s hand and choked back a sob, “Mother….”
She cupped his face and pleaded, “No, you owe me no explanation. We ruined your life.”
He stepped away and looked around deliberately, “You had nothing to do with any of this.”
Narcissa wiped the tears that fell steadily down her cheeks, “Go! Do what you must but return to me once you have forgiven yourself.”
Draco brushed away a rogue tear that stubbornly made its way out of his eye, “I don’t think I can ever forgive myself for all that I have done, Mother.”
Narcissa grabbed hold of Draco’s shoulders and instructed firmly, “Hush, yes you can, I want my son back.”
Draco looked deep into his mother’s clear blue eyes and nodded slowly. He carefully packed his trunk, nothing extravagant, just the basic amenities and warm clothing. It was chilly where he was headed, or so he had read.
The Ministry froze the Malfoy accounts and assets at Gringotts until Narcissa’s house arrest ended. She would receive a monthly allowance from the company’s earnings for her basic needs. Having foreseen this, Narcissa had withdrawn a generous amount, converted the Galleons into pounds, and hid it in the safe in case they needed to escape into the Muggle world. She told Draco to wait until she returned. He raised a curious brow but followed his mother’s instructions.
She hurriedly re-entered with their house elf following close behind and thrust a small bag of bills into his hand. Draco peered inside the bag and gasped, “Mother, what’s all this?”
Narcissa sighed, “You need Muggle money where you are going.”
Draco tried to hand it back, “I cannot accept this.”
Narcissa insisted desperately, “Take it!”
Unwillingly, he took it because the harsh reality of what she spoke was the truth.
Draco hugged his mother tight and swallowed hard to keep the tears at bay while Narcissa sobbed inconsolably, “Be safe, darling.”
He dragged his trunk and made good use of magic to apparate to London Heathrow Airport.
The airport was packed with Muggles arriving from exotic destinations, taking business trips and departing on new adventures. Jet-lagged individuals dragged their feet and luggage behind them while loved ones waited anxiously for their arrival. After some navigating, he arrived at the British Airways counter and presented his passport to the polite woman behind the counter. His mother had planned their escape well. She would never cease to amaze him.
It took hours, nearly half a day, in fact, but he arrived in the ancient land via aeroplane. While in his seat, he thought of a great many things. Draco was determined to make a difference. After arriving in China, looking around in utter confusion, and speaking with the locals who knew little English, he pulled out the magazine in his possession and pointed to the temple. It was then a kindly man who came forward and directed him on the right path. Grateful for the help he received from the stranger, Draco gave the astonished man a stack of hundred-pound notes.
He took an old train, settled near a window, and wistfully took in the picturesque images that whizzed past. Acres of paddy fields and farmers knee-deep in mud flew by. There was so much he had to learn about the world. He knew nothing. Never in his life had he felt more like a useless and complete utter idiot.
In the dead of night, Draco arrived at the foot of Wuru Peak of the Songshan mountain range in Engfeng County, Henan Province, China. He walked up the many steps that led to the Shaolin Monastery. His black shirt was soaked with sweat, even though coldness seeped into his pores, making his movements stiff and sluggish.
Shivering uncontrollably as the freezing wind beat around him, he reached his destination and, gathering what little strength he had, banged on the large wooden door with a dragon carved on the front and stood back nervously.
He hadn’t eaten in two days, even refusing the meal on the flight, but he welcomed the suffering.
A kind-looking monk holding a candlelit lantern opened the door to the legendary Shaolin Temple and took in the trembling boy standing on the centuries-old step. He was dressed in orange-coloured robes, and as the light from the candle fell across his face, the concern that twisted his features was apparent.
Draco barely managed a smile, but before he could utter a word, he blacked out and fell to the floor.
An hour passed, his eyes fluttered, and he heard whispering in a foreign tongue. He opened his eyes a crack and saw a few bald, light yellow-robed figures moving around him. He shot up in alarm, but a firm hand on his chest pushed him back down.
The voice was quiet yet authoritative, “Calm down, young foreigner.”
Draco rubbed his eyes, tried to gather his bearings, and struggled to sit up, “My apologies, sir. I did not anticipate the weather to be this harsh.”
The old man chuckled, “Are you not from England?” Surely, the winter was quite rough where he was from.
A bowl of steaming hot soup was placed in front of him. Inches from his face, a steady stream of steam spiralled upwards. His stomach churned in hunger. The same voice commanded, “Please eat. We will speak afterward.”
A quick dismissive nod from who Draco assumed to be the Abbot was enough for the others to leave. They bowed respectfully and hurriedly left the room. The wise Abbot regarded the boy curiously yet with a hint of suspicion. It was apparent the disturbed youth had travelled far to make it to their gates, but what was his purpose and most importantly, could he be trusted?
Draco devoured the soup. His upbringing was forgotten as he held the bowl tight and drained the clear vegetable broth greedily in a few minutes. He wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve and nervously looked at the wise man regarding him curiously.
The Abbot questioned solemnly, “What brings you here?” The young man clearly belonged somewhere. His clothes, the heavy ring on his finger that bore a large black diamond and the family court of arms meant he was well off and possibly part of an influential family.
Draco held onto his head, letting his fingers slip into the unkempt mess of platinum blonde, and bared his teeth, “Pain! I don’t know who I am or what I’m meant to do.”
The older man’s eyes crinkled at the side, and he stated plainly, “You are Draco Lucius Malfoy.”
Was this some otherworldly trick? How would he know who he was?
Draco’s eyes widened in surprise. The Abbot let out a hearty chuckle, “Calm yourself. We looked through your pockets and found your passport.”
He explained further, “We do not permit entrance to every stranger that arrives on our doorstep.”
He tossed the passport, and it landed neatly on Draco’s lap. Without wasting a moment, he gestured casually with his hand and implored, “Again, I ask you, young master, what do you hope to accomplish?”
Draco looked at his trembling in shame, pale hands and muttered, “I have much to pay for. I am here to find inner peace.” His mind was in a continuous state of unrest. To rid himself of the burden of his dark past, he sought refuge with The Buddhist monks of The Shaolin Temple in China.
The Abbot was sceptical at first, but he took in the dark circles under the eyes, his ashen skin colour, thin, tall frame, but mostly the troubled and disturbed eyes. The pain and suffering he saw swirling in the cloudy grey mist convinced him to help the young foreigner.
Until the early hours of a new day, Draco poured out his story, holding nothing back, and by the end of it, he was a shaking, sobbing mess, but it felt glorious to let go finally.
The wise older man sighed at the details of the sad tale. He nodded and got to his feet. The boy had made the right decision by coming to them.
He glanced at Draco and smiled warmly, “Alright, young wizard, we will help you, but you must live by our methods and not resort to magic.”
Draco could feel his heart soar with happiness, but instead, he kept his composure, bowed his head, and responded politely, “Thank you.” He would be reborn.
They let him rest for the first three days. The room was small but clean. He was presented with a set of grey robes.
Draco regained his strength and pulled the simple garment over his head. He ran his fingers over his wand and hesitated before placing it inside his truck and closing the lid.
A senior monk was assigned to teach him their culture and ways. The eager young man is up, ready and waiting for his lessons to begin at the crack of dawn. He had a purpose once again.
Standing in the middle of the centuries-old buildings, tranquil gardens, and stillness was immensely satisfying. Draco leans into the wind and takes a deep breath. His bare feet are not used to the small stones under them; the sharp edges dig into the sole of his foot, but he steps forward with purpose.
The wise older man instructed the troubled youth to sit cross-legged on the mat. He takes a deep breath and starts to speak, “Empty your mind, let nothing remain.”
Draco frowned. Easier said than done, mate. He closed his eyes, and as usual, random thoughts and faceless strangers swirled around his mind, followed by blood-smeared walls and screaming.
A sharp voice bore into his thoughts and instructed, “Concentrate.”
Draco took a deep breath of fresh air and attempted to rid his mind of all the unwarranted things floating around in his head.
He silently encouraged himself, “You can do this. You must not fail.”
The lessons began slowly, but his quick mind picked it up faster than they thought.
Chun Yi, his trainer, was a short, balding man in his forties who had lived at the temple his whole life. He took an instant liking to the boy and dedicated his time to showing the path of freedom to the distressed young man. Draco did what he was told without fuss. He completed chores assigned to him without a single complaint. It is gruelling, and it takes a toll on his body and mostly his mind, but he desperately wants to be rid of the darkness.
The sympathetic monks shared their wisdom and ways of the world with him. The boy, who never lifted a finger to do anything, grabbed the broom handle and swept the centuries-old stone stairs. He washed empty pots and dirty clothes till his skin was reddened and raw, but he used no magic. His wand resting inside his trunk had lost its appeal.
As the years merge into one another, Draco picked up the dialect, changed his selfish ways and grows to an imposing height of six feet and two inches. His hair is long enough to be pulled back into a ponytail or to be twisted into a small bun. His body is hardened by the strict exercise regime he follows, and now his work is oddly gratifying.
They visit the village often, and Draco is fascinated by what he sees. It is a life where magic could not begin to compare. After being raised a certain way, the freedom and harmony he experienced were heavenly. He quickly becomes known for his hypnotic grey eyes, tall frame and flawless smile.
Women blushed as he walked past, with his long platinum blonde locks and fitting jet-black robes. He is a dashing sight. Chun Yi laughed as another group of girls discreetly pointed at Draco and whispered among themselves, and giggled. Their parents would never agree to an open courtship with a foreigner, but that didn’t stop the ramble of girls in the village from lusting over him.
He pointed to the group with flower baskets and advised sternly, “You must be careful not to give in to temptation.”
Draco glanced over his shoulder at the girls hurrying down the cobbled street and bit into a juicy green apple. They were quite attractive, with long, straight black hair and almost ceramic-like skin that lacked any imperfections.
He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his robe and nodded in agreement, “Yes, master.”
The old man waved his hand dismissively and chuckled, “Ah, but you are young. Did you have a girlfriend back home?”
Draco grinned, “No, there was hardly time to woo a girl.” However, there had been plenty of flings and willing girls to take to bed.
Chun Yi stopped dead in his tracks. He spun around and raised a questioning brow, “Woo?”
Draco spent the next hour explaining the mechanisms of courting a woman back in England.
Astoria was his betrothed, but since her blood curse had risen to the surface while they were still at Hogwarts, her mind had slipped. Her infatuation with him was unhealthy and, at times, dangerous. She was not the same girl he grew up with, but he never truly intended to carry forth with their nuptials. Astoria Greengrass did nothing to stimulate his mind or get him hot around the collar.
However, there was one pretty girl who often came by the temple. Her father was an established merchant and well-respected in the community. She regularly brought supplies and other required items for the monks. Suri Jun Lee was an exquisite beauty with silky black hair she wore parted in the middle. She had a slim figure and flawless skin. Draco often saw her wearing long white dresses with painted pink lotus flowers.
She was among the first to befriend him, and they worked well together. They usually put away the items, and he helped her store items in the high-up cupboards for which she gifted him delectable sweets, from the village. They spent a considerable amount of time together.
His sweet teeth had not lessened despite the change in continents.
They also meditated together. However, she was a distraction he did not welcome. In a primarily male-dominated space, she was a rare loveliness, and whilst he felt nothing for her sexually, he was still a young man with particular needs that rushed to the surface around her. It had been years since he felt any sexual stirring.
Still, one night, he bolted the door. He had a satisfying wank to the licentious thought of Suri’s beautiful naked body pressed up against his, but shockingly when he felt his balls rupture, it is a mane of thick bushy hair that floats across his fluttering eyes.
What in the name of Merlin’s saggy left testicle was that?
The mind could conjure the most unimaginable thought. It couldn’t be who he thought it was. His release is swift; his thick seed spurts out and flows down his long fingers.
A loud “Ahhh…yes,” escaped his lips and cock in hand; he fell onto the bed and willed his breathing to return to normal.
After four years of seeking refuge, the temple’s keeper requests his immediate presence.
They drink herbal tea silently, and Draco wondered whether he had overstayed his welcome.
The Abbot starts to speak, “Mr Malfoy...”
Draco winced. It has been years since anyone referred to him by his surname. He cleared his throat and answered nervously, “Yes...”
The older man refilled his cup and brought it up to his lips. He regarded the young man before him curiously, and before taking a sip, he inquired, “Has your time here been beneficial? Have you found the inner peace you seek?”
Draco smiled uneasily and nodded meekly, “Not yet, but it is certainly getting there.”
That was the truth; the nightmares had lessened in intensity, and he was at times able to go days without waking up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, but they still tormented him.
The Abbot observed Draco intently, “Do you still have nightmares?”
Draco’s lip trembled. He looked away in shame, “Yes, there are so many people I could’ve helped.”
The Abbot shook his head and slowly sipped the hot tea. He said thoughtfully, “Ah, there was little you could’ve done to save them.”
Draco hissed through clenched teeth, “I did nothing but watch him kill them. I am a worthless coward.”
The elderly gentleman sighed and patted Draco’s shoulder reassuringly, “You are wrong, young wizard, and I have a proposition for you.”
Draco bowed his head at once respectfully, “I will do anything you ask, Master.”
The Abbot smiles warmly, “It is my wish that you learn the ways of Kung fu.” He had seen the troubled youth stare at the younger monks training and learning with an intense hunger in his eyes.
Draco can barely hide his surprise. He always watched in fascination as the monks practised diligently and even tried a few memorised moves in the darkness of his tiny room.
He could hardly keep the utter shock off his face. It was a rare privilege. He bowed his head again reverently, “You honour me.”
The Abbot smiled once more and nodded, “It will aid you greatly in your journey to peace and fulfilment.”
Draco struggled with his words, “Thank you. I cannot express my gratitude.”
The wise man’s eyes sparkled, “In time, you will be able to perform magic without the aid of a wand.”
Draco’s mouth dropped open, “Wandless magic?”
Wandless magic was a rare talent, scarce and not heard of in recent times.
The Abbot moved his hands in a fluid, circular motion, and a fiery ball of red appeared out of thin air before them. The young wizard widened his eyes in surprise.
Draco’s eyes moved with the flames dancing in the sun’s rays. It was beautiful.
The astute old man grinned, “Yes, I will show you the way.”
Draco trained, meditated, and became one with the temple and the monks for nine years. He gave up all worldly needs and wants, and at long last, he finally reached the state of inner peace he craved all his life.
“Good, Mr Malfoy, you are learning fast.”
“Please call me Draco, Master.”
“Continue.”
He went back into repeating the moves. To everyone’s surprise, the once pampered boy takes to Kung fu like a fish to water. He practised day and night on the wooden dummy to harden and condition his arms and, in next to no time, became a formidable opponent. Most are impressed, and Chun Yi worked tirelessly with his young protege. They train diligently, and Draco’s height is a great advantage.
His kick has more reach and lands a devastating blow. It is no easy task; the training is complex and challenging, but Draco’s dedication and determination are second to none. He excels, and by the end of the seventh year, he can perform wandless magic at will. He practices defensive spells in the privacy of his room.
They give him the name “Black Mamba.” It fits, as his moves are fast, accurate and deadly.
On one particular night of the full moon. Draco grabbed a leftover bean bun and sat on the expansive terrace to enjoy the treat. He stared into the heavens and marvelled at the glistening stars spread across the dark canvas. His mind wandered to how his mother was fairing in his absence.
He knows from the many owls and Muggle telegrams she sends that Bernard is overlooking the operations of Malfoy Industries. The older man was trustworthy and had been a dear family friend before Draco’s birth. He knew his mother held the wise man in high regard, and Draco trusted his mother’s judgement above all.
She always ended the letter with the words, “until you return,” but would he return? He had been giving a lot of thought to becoming a monk and living the remainder of his life behind the temple walls.
His train of thought was interrupted by a pair of soft hands covering his eyes. He knew that subtle fragrance of sweet jasmine and rose.
Draco covered the small hands with his own and whispered, “It’s late; your father will be angry.”
He had been teaching her and most of the village children English. He enjoyed being around the little rascals. Just the day before, the little scamps had swapped salt for sugar in the kitchen that, made everyone spit out their herbal tea and the cook running after the children responsible.
Draco turned to face the pretty girl, “Jun, why are you here?”
She sat next to him, crossed her legs and bit into a long stick of sugar cane, “It is a full moon; you can see it best from here.”
He smiled warmly and brushed a strand of hair off her face; Jun leaned into his touch, boldly leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his lips. Stunned into silence, he moved back at once and dropped the half-eaten bun, “What are you doing?
Jun frowned, looked at him shyly and questioned innocently, “Why? Did I do something wrong?” She had such strong feelings for him, even though she was destined to marry the councilman’s son. Her bottom lip trembled.
She pointed at him in an accusing way and stated brazenly, “You are not a monk; it is not wrong.”
Draco ran his long fingers through his hair and tried his best to let the girl down easily, “Jun, please listen to me.” His former self wouldn’t have given her feelings a second thought, but he was a changed man.
Her bottom lip trembled, “You don’t like me?” She had been so sure her feelings would be reciprocated.
Fuck. It was the first time he swore in years. He shook his head and pleaded with her to understand, “Not that way. You are a very good friend to me, and I care about you, Suri.”
Jun didn’t take kindly to his honest declaration. She wiped the tears off her pretty face and muttered a quick “I’m sorry” before hurrying off down the steps, leaving him in the dark, alone and angry. He stormed into his room and turned it upside down out of frustration. It was nobody’s fault but his own for getting far too close.
Draco dreaded the following day; how would he face her? Troubling thoughts riddled his mind.
He hardly got any sleep that night, and it showed. He dragged his feet and nervously entered the breakfast hall and saw Jun turn towards him with a bright smile. Her reaction was not what he expected, but it was certainly welcome. She truly was beautiful, her smile lit up her face, and her long, straight hair was one with the wind. They maintained a healthy distance after that. He had no wish to cause her any pain.
Draco returned to reality, and the rat returned with its mouth full of dinner. He flung his long legs off the bed and delicately sat down on the wooden floor, crossed his legs, and cleared his mind of any thought.
An hour passed, and the fluttering of large wings distracted Draco from his meditative state. The owl was known to him; he stroked the majestic bird’s feathers and took the sealed letter out of its hooked beak. He opened the letter; his stunning grey eyes took in the beautifully handwritten words and blotches of ink where tears had fallen and stained the parchment.
His fingers numb, the letter fell to the floor and stared at him accusingly.
Dearest Draco,
I hope this letter finds you well.
My son, your father, has succumbed to his prison term in Azkaban. It is a kindness that he passed away with his mind still intact.
His funeral wasn’t the lavish affair he always wanted but an intimate gathering of myself and the house elves.
I am well aware that there was no love lost between you both, but he is your father despite his shortcomings, and he loved you.
Now, onto more bad news: Bernard has fallen ill, and there is much about the family business and Manor that I do not understand and none to trust with it.
It is time for you to come home.
Love always,
Your mother.
Draco closed his eyes, his hands balled into fists at his side, and a dark blue hue surrounded the clenched hand. The magic in his blood rose to the surface and encompassed him whole. He was no longer the aimless, helpless boy who arrived at the Temple gates all those years ago.
He was now a twenty-six-year-old man with much to offer the world. His eyes moved to where the clear green jade pendant rested on the cupboard. He had worked tirelessly to acquire it, but she deserved it and the superstitious power it held.
His many demons were put to rest; Draco opened his eyes, and they sparkled with renewed purpose.
Mother was right; it was time to return.
Chapter 3
Notes:
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More on Hermione's life and introduction of a few key characters.
Fluff and some hilarious banter. :)
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Chapter Text
Ministry Of Magic
Hermione shifted in the seat, crossed her smooth legs, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled sweetly at the man who had summoned her, “Good morning, Minister.”
Kingsley’s loud voice bounced off the walls in his impressive office. He was far from pleased, “Do not give me that shit. Do you honestly enjoy making my life a living hell?” Prior to his meeting with Granger, he had the pleasure of listening to a thoroughly hysterical woman who blamed his Undersecretary for placing a hex on her.
Hermione calmly studied her painted, manicured nails and retorted smugly, “Well, at times, what's got your wand in a knot?” She had a reasonably good idea as to why he summoned her.
Kingsley frowned but brought large hands together until the fingertips touched and leaned forward. He kept his voice low and mocking and inquired with an amused expression, “Did you call Stacy from Logistics a cow who should never reproduce?
What a load of codswallop. The bloody no-good snitch.
Hermione had the good grace to look mildly ashamed, “Oh, umm, it wasn't nearly as bad as it sounds.” At least not for her. Stacy, however, took the brunt of her frustration.
The Minister narrowed his eyes, “Granger, I'm warning you.” The two women were constantly at each other's throats, and he was tired of playing referee.
Hermione exhaled, threw her hands in the air in defeat and scowled, “Fine! It was not my finest moment, but she started it, and err, words were exchanged.” They had a minor altercation in Argus's room after Stacy barged into the room unannounced and passed a crude remark that prompted Hermione to reduce the older woman into a blubbering mess of tears.
Kingsley regarded the woman before him sceptically and countered, “Somehow, I doubt that, but go on, tell me your side of the story.”
Hermione chewed on her bottom lip and reluctantly admitted, “I was pestering Argus to rerun the Algorithm.”
Shacklebolt’s features contorted unpleasantly, and he sighed exasperatedly, “Again?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and severely reprimanded, “What did I tell you about using your status to get around the system?” She hardly ever abused her position for personal gain except in this one instance.
Hermione stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest and pouted, “Well, you didn't get paired up with an insufferable moron.”
“How many times have you run it, Granger?” Kingsley narrowed his eyes and demanded. They had to lead by example. If word got out, the Ministry would be overrun with requests to reevaluate matches made by the Algorithm. Granger’s actions had put them at significant risk.
Hermione pursed her lips, averted her gaze, and avoided the question. Truthfully, she had run it a grand total of one hundred and fifteen times, and it was maddening to have the same name appear each time, but she was not about to tell Kingsley that minor detail.
In bitter disappointment, Kingsley shook his head, leaned back in his large, comfortable seat, and said, “Forget I asked, go on.”
Hermione straightened and spat with a mixture of hostility and resentment, “She came in when I was pestering Argus, and without minding her own bloody business, she had the fucking audacity to imply that Malfoy was the best I could ever do and that I should be proud of the match.”
Kingsley let out a hearty laugh before he could help himself. He could not fault Granger for wanting to teach Stacy a valuable lesson. That comment was strictly uncalled for, but an underlying reason for the unforgivable remark seemed to be.
Hermione’s face twisted in disgust. She was clearly repulsed, “The woman was practically wetting her knickers for him; it was a pitiful sight.” Stacy had spoken highly of Malfoy and hinted at a past relationship between the two, but try as she might, Hermione could not recall seeing the two together.
At first, The Minister flinched at the obscene way one of his staff had been described but regained his composure and replied, “Ah, makes sense. Stacy knew him at Hogwarts if I am not mistaken.” The truth behind Stacy’s behaviour towards Granger was slowly becoming known.
“Perhaps, she's jealous that you nabbed him.” He added teasingly
Hermione cried in outrage, “I did not nab him. She can have him for all I care.” She would gift-wrap him, stick a bow on top of his blonde locks and hand-deliver him if it helped her dilemma.
Kingsley could not hold in his amusement any longer. He pounded the table and laughed aloud.
Hermione grew thoughtful. She remained silent until it dawned on her, “Hang on, I don't remember her being in our year.” Perhaps, Harry or Ginny would recall, and she was exceptionally gifted with faces, but Stacy’s presence in Hogwarts was a mystery.
Well, of course, the Minister would know. He had interviewed Stacy and gone through her detailed curriculum vitae. It was a pity since the two women shared some similar character traits. If the circumstances had been different, they would have been great friends.
Kingsley nodded knowingly and offered some insight, “She was in Ravenclaw and a year above you.”
Hermione smirked devilishly, “Oh, so Malfoy was sticking it to an older woman.” Interesting. She knew he had a bit of a scoundrel reputation at school, but this little tidbit of information was most intriguing.
Kingsley choked on his coffee and coughed. He reached for his handkerchief and wiped the corner of his mouth, “I rather not picture that.”
“Aren't you a few months his senior?” He added with a smug smirk. Hermione blushed but lowered and kept her mouth shut for the moment; she had walked right into that one.
After a moment of awkward silence, Kingsley basked in his triumph of getting under her skin. She bit back a laugh and argued weakly, “That is beside the point. Age is but a number, and....”
Kingsley's hand shot up in a pleading manner, interrupting her well-thought-out sentence. He grimaced, “This conversation has officially started to make me feel uncomfortable.”
Hermione giggled at his reaction, nodded in agreement and further included fiercely, “Stacy is off her potions, Kingsley. How the bloody hell am I lucky to be paired with a snivelling git, and not to mention a man who could very well be dead.” That last bit of her bold statement was wishful thinking on her part.
The Minister shrugged and said thoughtfully, “Narcissa swears he is alive and well, and I have no reason to doubt her word." He respected Narcissa greatly and made it a point to visit her every other week to check on her well-being.
Hermione looked away, rubbed her neck and muttered, “I hope he disappears permanently.”
Kingsley stifled a laugh, “I doubt that will happen,” and added strictly, “You need to apologise to Stacy.”
Hermione protested rather loudly, “Definitely not. I rather marry Malfoy than do that.” She regretted the poor choice of words the second they left her mouth.
Kingsley raised a quizzical brow, “Really?” He did enjoy the odd banter with Granger. She kept him on his toes with her sharp mind and witty remarks.
Hermione rapidly shook her head, causing the pins she had used to hold her bun in place to come loose, but ignoring the falling pieces of minuscule metal, she mused, “Forget I said that.”
Shacklebolt groaned and addressed the grave problem at hand, “Stacy has been crying since morning." He cringed, "Need I remind you how uncomfortable crying women make me?” He wasn't at all in touch with his inner feelings and whatnot. Who had time to be sensitive while trying to keep a community in order?
Hermione openly rolled her eyes to register her irritation and quipped. “I pity your wife, Minister. Perhaps we should find her a better match than you.” Like him, Kingsley's wife had been an Auror, and she was a tough woman who ran her house with an iron fist and unconditional love.
She cocked her head to the side and mocked with dripping sarcasm, “Especially since the Ministry regards themselves as excellent matchmakers.”
Kingsley knew she was goading him but remained calm and retorted, “Hilarious! Now go and apologise to that hysterically sobbing woman who mildly believes you might have cursed her ovaries.”
Hermione could not believe what she was hearing. Was the woman actually crazy? She was now properly cheesed off, “Oh, for Merlin's sake.”
In his most stern voice, Kingsley demanded, “Just fix it, Granger. I don't fancy another visit from Stacy.” His tone would do little to sway the headstrong woman before him.
Hermione got to her feet, smoothed the wrinkles on her tailored black trousers, adjusted her long-sleeved white blouse and scoffed, “As you wish, Kingsley.” She had no intention whatsoever of apologising to the daft bint. The second she stepped out of Kingsley's large office, her mobile phone rang.
Hermione reached into her pocket, connected the call, kept it to her ear and at once wished she didn't. Ginny whispered urgently, “Where the bloody hell are you?”
Hermione mused, “I was reprimanded for being a bully in the Headmaster's office.” She could hear the confusion in her redheaded best friend's voice, “Headmaster? What are you on about?” Ginny was clearly not amused and made her displeasure clear, “Are you drunk, Hermione?”
Hermione chuckled, “I wish. Now, what's the matter?” A glass of red wine would most definitely take the edge off and help her make amends.
Ginny’s tone turned icy and foreboding, “You forgot, didn’t you?” Hermione vaguely recalled a conversation a few days back she struggled to remember, and then it hit her like a metaphorical ton of bricks.
Oh, Merlin! She quickly screamed into the phone, “I'm on my way, have the wine ready.”
Ginny dropped her voice and mused, “You’re such a boozer.” She went silent for half a second and then hurriedly pleaded, “Please hurry, they just got here, and we’re about to start.”
Hermione rushed past a perplexed Brenda and practically dove into her room to grab her bag. She flung it over her shoulder and told a curious assistant who followed her, "I was feeling sick if anyone asks."
Brenda grinned and gave a lazy two-finger army salute, “You got it, boss.”
Hermione glanced over her shoulder and winked, “Oh, do me solid and send a letter of apology to that bitch in Logistics. Make it short and sweet, love.” Brenda would do the needful. That was one problem laid to rest.
However, Brenda reacted more enthusiastically than necessary and absentmindedly played with her eyebrow ring. She loathed the prissy twit on the first floor, who took it upon herself to look down on everyone who crossed her path. A playful smirk curved her lips.
The card arrived at the desired location, and Stacy took it with a haughty expression, making a big show of the process. She had won. Kingsley had sided with her and commanded an apology out of his Undersecretary.
Gingerly, she took out the beautiful card with caution. It was from Granger, after all. Stacy flipped open the card and widened her eyes in surprise. Her inner thoughts screamed, what the fuck? She received an enchanted fat cow mooing in a singsong way, "I'm sorry for being truthful." Many onlookers turned to stare and get a glimpse of the commotion. It was unprofessional, childish and utterly pathetic.
The distraught woman shut the card, pulled out her wand, lit it on fire and watched as the flames devoured the poor attempt at an apology. Stacy broke down again in frantic sobs and blew her nose hard. Wizards and witches poked their heads out of their cubicles to see the ruckus.
She covered her face from wandering eyes and managed between sobs, “Stop looking, get back to work.” Her voice cracked, and it became annoyingly squeaky and high-pitched. She shook in unmistakable anger and muttered, “Just you wait, Granger, you think you’re invincible, but I will knock you right off that bloody pedestal.”
The Burrow
Hermione arrived on the boundary of the Burrow with a loud thud and nearly lost her footing. She landed in a puddle of water, and the heel of her new shoe dug into the mud, making her cuss out aloud in frustration.
Fuck, all the magic in the world, and they can't cover up these bloody sludge holes. She looked at the familiar home, spiralling up into the sky, and sighed. It felt so good to be anywhere near it; the place radiated warmth.
Hermione walked up the winding pathway, occasionally stopping to smell the abundant wildflowers around the property. A wave of nostalgia surrounded her, and she saw her younger self sneaking off with Ron for a quick snog under the giant oak tree and Ginny and Harry reciting vows on their wedding day.
She pushed open the wooden door to the kitchen and expected to be welcomed by loud shouts as usual, but only a strained silence greeted her, and she looked at the gathered group of witches and wizards, puzzled. Ginny got to her feet at once, closed the gap between them, pulled Hermione into a tight hug and whispered, "Thank fuck you’re here. Mum is about to kill someone."
Hermione glanced at Molly and felt the motherly figure's well-hidden anger radiating off her in waves, but she somehow kept her composure. Sitting on the slightly worn-out sofa were two of the three Greengrass sisters who looked her way and spoke in hushed tones among themselves.
Hermione kept her voice low, "Can you explain why I'm at your future sister-in-law's bridesmaid thing?"
Ginny muttered so no one else would hear, “Because I have to be here alone with these women, and I needed back up.” She wasn’t keen on being around these snooty women and couldn’t be trusted not to speak her mind and ruin the proceedings.
Hermione looked about and retorted sarcastically, “And you couldn't think of anyone else? Don't you think the presence of the groom’s ex-girlfriend will put a damper on things?” She looked towards the living room and added confidently, “Besides, you have Molly, and that’s about all the backup you will ever need.”
Ginny opened her mouth to respond, but on cue, Ron bellowed from across the room, "My darling, so good of you to come." Two pairs of keen green eyes continued to stare at Hermione, who was standing with possibly one foot out of the door if she needed to dash out the door quickly. This situation made her exceedingly uncomfortable, and she could not fathom what Ginny thought by asking her over.
Ron practically steamrolled the furniture in his haste to get to her. He put his long arms around her, squashed her to his broad chest, and pleaded desperately, "Save me."
Hermione let herself be held and hissed in his ear, "What the heck is going on?"
Molly cleared her throat, "Hermione dear, how lovely to see you."
Tracey narrowed her eyes at the embracing duo, "Indeed, I was led to believe this was a family affair." Her tone clearly showed that she did not appreciate her fiancé’s eagerness regarding his ex-girlfriend.
Molly exhaled, smiled sweetly, and replied a touch sternly, “Hermione is family, my dear, and you best not forget it in a hurry.” She would not tolerate an ill word against a woman she considered an adopted daughter.
The elegantly dressed woman next to Tracey scoffed openly. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Tracey nudged her in the most ladylike manner, smiled at her future mother-in-law and responded, "I can see that. I meant no harm, Molly." A thin sheath of doubt dropped over her heart, and she knew at that exact moment that Hermione Granger would prove to be a problem.
The same sugary sweet voice impatiently interjected, "Shall we go over the patterns for the bridesmaids’ gowns? The wedding is in a week."
Molly flashed her most motherly smile and nodded in agreement, “Yes, please.”
Hermione swapped a look of shock with Ginny and mouthed, “A week?” Ginny shrugged, rolled her eyes, and went to sit next to her mother.
Gorgeous, hooded eyes outlined heavily with thick black eyeliner and mascaraed lashes followed Hermione’s every movement. Hermione sat uncomfortably in the background, well out of everyone’s way and wondered why she had agreed. Still, Ron plopped himself next to her and proceeded to send lingering glances her way or reached over to squeeze her hand at odd intervals. His blatant display of affection and trying to show something that wasn’t remotely there was starting to get on her nerves. After the third attempt, she slapped his hand away, glared sternly and hissed, "Stop it."
Half the day went by before everyone settled on a bloody dress. Many arguments and disagreements followed, with Ginny firmly refusing to wear anything magenta. When Tracey shrewdly suggested that she did not have to be a bridesmaid, Ron stepped in and ended that discussion, much to Ginny’s and Tracey’s disappointment, “My sister will be a bridesmaid at my bloody wedding. Let us all make our peace with that.”
The wine was served along with cheese and delectable pastries Molly made. After all, she was an excellent cook. Even the snobbish women closed their eyes and savoured the buttery pastry that melted in their mouths. Glad to get away from the penetrative gaze of the Greengrass women, Hermione took her glass of wine out and stood under the last dying rays of the sun. She closed her eyes and thought of her earlier visit to Narcissa the week before.
Hermione popped the last piece of fruit cake into her mouth and said, “The new curtains are lovely.” She had noticed them on her way in.
Narcissa sipped her tea and smiled graciously, “Thank you, darling. It matched the new glass cabinet I purchased the other day.”
Hermione sighed and decided to address the bloody elephant in the room. Narcissa was clearly not going to give her any information related to Malfoy. She cleared her throat and asked casually, "Do you plan on telling him about the law?"
Narcissa kept calm and shook her head, "He will find out soon enough. I rather have my son return before scaring him away."
Bloody hell.
Hermione played with her fingers nervously, "So, he is coming back then?"
Narcissa eyed the woman in front of her over the rim of her painted china teacup and smiled, "I’ve written to him and stressed that I need him to manage matters here, Bernard is growing senile in his old age, and there is a lot of money to manage."
Hermione nodded in understanding, "Ah, with the end of your house arrest, they released the Malfoy accounts at Gringotts?" A sparkle kindled under the sophisticated woman’s eyes, "Indeed, I must spend a ridiculous amount of money purchasing new clothing. Will you be a dear and accompany me?"
Hermione grinned, emptied her cup of tea and nodded enthusiastically, "How does Saturday sound? I'm free as a bird."
Narcissa beamed, “That sounds marvellous.”
A strange silence surrounded them.
The mature lady cleared her throat and asked curiously, "Hermione, when did a man court you last?" Court? Ah, date, not the direction she intended the conversation to go.
Hermione squirmed in her seat. Was it hot in here, or was she burning up? She giggled nervously and replied, "Oh, I guess it's been a while.”
After taking in the look that crossed Narcissa’s face, Hermione added quickly, “Not because I don't want to, there's a very cute Auror I have the hots for, but Ron keeps getting in the way."
It was unthinkably weird to speak of her relationship dilemmas with the woman who was supposed to be her intended mother-in-law. Narcissa raised a brow and inquired curiously, "Mr Weasley still has feelings for you?"
Hermione nodded unsurely and hoped it would not come to bite her in the arse soon, "Well, that’s what he says, but honestly, it’s been over for years. I don't see him that way anymore. He even offered to marry me to get out of tying the knot with Malfoy." She saw the delicate features of the older woman twist in displeasure. She had completely forgotten who she was talking to and rambled on as she would to Ginny.
Hermione massaged the bridge of her nose irately and apologised, “I'm so sorry, Narcissa.”
Narcissa reached for a crumpet and raised curiously, “You hate my son that much?
Hermione saw little point in lying. She took a deep breath and replied strategically, “Hate is a rather brutal way of looking at it, but I have nothing positive to offer him. He was beyond cruel to me at school, and some wounds take a lifetime to heal.”
Narcissa reached over and patted Hermione’s hand, “I understand, but you might be pleasantly surprised by the man he is now.” Eager to stir the conversation away, Hermione said excitedly, "Saturday then?"
Saturday could not come soon enough. They met up in front of The Leaky Cauldron and took in the many shops that had exquisite robes on display.
Narcissa looked around in awe, “There’s a lot of unfamiliar places.”
Hermione nodded, “After the war, some foreigners set up shop. There are some French boutiques that you would die for.”She pointed to an elaborately but tastefully decorated shop. The exquisite store dummies were fashioned after French models and enchanted to come alive. They strutted their stuff inside the display unit and battered their plastic eyelashes at people passing by.
Few witches and wizards stopped to stare at the regal woman and whispered callously among themselves. Narcissa moved closer to Hermione and uttered miserably, “Maybe we should retire for the day.”
Hermione glared at the small, gathered group, took hold of Narcissa’s hand, and dragged her forward, “No, we still have a great deal to do.”
Narcissa held her head up high and refused to show any weakness. She nodded and let herself be dragged away. Once they were out of earshot, Hermione dropped Narcissa’s hand and softly reassured her, “Don’t worry about them.”
Narcissa cupped Hermione’s cheek and smiled like a mother would, “Thank you.”
They had an enjoyable day shopping, and at Hermione's insistence, the sophisticated lady enthusiastically devoured an ice cream cone. Narcissa gushed excitedly, “I haven't had one of these since I was a child.”
Hermione eagerly licked her melting chocolate cone, “It’s delicious, isn't it?”
A smile curved Hermione's lips, but a voice of pure ice drew her back to reality. The deceivingly sweet voice cut into her thoughts, “I didn’t expect to see my future husband’s ex-girlfriend here today.” Hermione spun around to find Tracey watching her with a somewhat pained and uncertain expression.
She sighed, “I was asked to come. I do apologise if my presence makes you uncomfortable.”
Tracey let out a loud ha and replied, “Of course, it does. Have you seen the way Ronald looks at you?”
Hermione struggled to find the right words. The woman had her there, “Umm...”
Tracey took a sip of wine and stared into the distance, “Please don’t lie on his behalf.”
After a moment's pause, she added, “These marriages are not our first choice, but he’s a good man, and I want my marriage to work.” Turning to Hermione, Tracey rubbed her arm and tried to muster a smile, “It bothers me that I'm marrying a man still in love with his ex.”
Hermione tried to defend her ex-lover, “I doubt that's true. Ron is one of my best friends, nothing more.”
Tracey started to laugh, “Granger, you set the bar so high it makes me insecure to just be in the same room as you.”
Hermione smiled sympathetically. What was this myth that surrounded her? She hated it passionately, making it nearly impossible to have an ordinary life, and she was utterly sick of having it hang over her head like some superficial crown. Men and women alike thought she was this indestructible woman sent to save humankind, but she sometimes wanted to shout, “No, I’m flawed just like everyone else. I bleed, love, fuck, make mistakes, the same as every person.”
She chose her following words carefully, “Tracey, please know that I have no feelings for Ron, and nothing will ever happen between us. Trust me. It is not my intention to make you feel uneasy.” The woman seemed decent; Hermione hoped Ron wouldn’t bugger up.
Tracey smiled gratefully, “Thank you for understanding. I appreciate it.” They drank the rest of the wine silently until Tracey broke the awkward stillness, “Ron mentioned you got matched with Draco.”
Bloody bigmouth.
Hermione frowned, “Ah, did he? I was not keen on making it public knowledge.”
Tracey blushed, “Well, he let it slip, and I coaxed it out of him. You must be horrified.”
Hermione groaned, “Believe me, that's just one thing I'm feeling; it's more anger at even considering Malfoy as a husband that gets me running to the loo to throw up.”
Tracey let out a laugh, and a high-pitched squeal of dismay made them jump. Astoria made her presence avidly known, “The Ministry paired you off with Draco?”
Bollocks, I guess the world was finding out.
Hermione uttered almost silently, “Umm, yes...”
Astoria shook her head rapidly. It was pretty disturbing to see her long black hair flying in all directions. Tears filled her eyes and threatened to run down her pretty face, “No, that’s impossible. Draco is my intended. We will marry when he returns.”
If he returned, Hermione could not help but notice the deranged look in the woman's eyes. Something was off and alarming about Astoria’s behaviour. She was tempted to say, “The Algorithm doesn’t give a hoot about what we want.”
Tracey snapped to attention, "Astoria, love, calm yourself. Hermione doesn't want to marry Draco."
Hermione nodded at once and grimaced, “I really don't.”
Astoria let out a sarcastic laugh and mocked, “That’s a relief.” She added haughtily, “No offence, of course, but Draco needs a woman with a more refined upbringing to represent the house of Malfoy.”
The snobbish pedigreed bitch.
Astoria eyed Hermione critically from head to toe, cocked her head to the side and muttered arrogantly, “As if Draco would ever go near you.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes angrily and opened her mouth to retort, but Tracey quickly grabbed Astoria’s arm and steered her inside before things got out of hand. She instructed anxiously, “Why don't you go inside and show Ginny some more fabric samples.”
Astoria nodded unsurely but kept glancing over her shoulder at Hermione with a smugness that made the ex-Gryffindor want to put her fist through the conceited witch’s face.
Tracey shot Hermione an apologetic look, “I'm sorry about my stepsister’s crude conduct. She has not been the same since she learned of her blood curse.” That piqued Hermione's interest, and she raised a questioning brow, “Blood curse?”
A sadness fell upon Tracey’s pretty face, “It is a curse placed upon her ancestor that she is paying dearly for.”
Hermione tried to get a glimpse of Astoria, who was now talking to Ginny, and muttered, “That’s awful.”
Tracey nodded and explained further, “She was also Draco's betrothed, but besides the odd roll in the hay, I doubt he would marry her.”
Hermione frowned and tutted disapprovingly, “That's appalling for him to keep stringing her along if he never intended to make her his wife.” That was another reason to loathe the unscrupulous bastard.
Tracy sighed, “Well, it's not that easy. They were children, and at Hogwarts, he tried to end it while the whole Death Eater mess was closing around him, but umm, she took some rather potent poison and ended at St Mungo's for a week.”
Hermione widened her eyes in shock. She had absolutely no idea that Astoria was unstable. The reasons to get away from Malfoy were mounting. A suicidal ex was never a good thing.
Tracey frowned and continued, “I guess it did not help that he disappeared without a trace or so much as a goodbye, and Narcissa always puts off meeting her.
Hermione thought that extremely odd. Narcissa always had time for her and encouraged her visits.
Tracey smiled, “Anyways, it was terrific talking to you. Let's catch up soon.”
Hermione was lost to another world. She heard the woman but barely, “Yeah, sure.”
Tracey kissed Ron. He held on tight and deepened the embrace. Apparently, he had no qualms about the physical aspects of the relationship. Astoria bid everyone but Hermione a fond farewell. She stepped into the Floo network and disappeared in a puff of bright green smoke. Tracey followed her stepsister with a happy smile. The second she disappeared, the collected Weasleys and Hermione fell onto the patched sofa in distinguishable relief.
Ginny shook her head, “This wedding might be the most stressful one yet.”
Molly nodded in agreement, “Merlin, bless you, son. You will have your hands full with that one.”
Ron looked at Hermione meaningfully, "I’ll put up with it for three years. By then, I’ll have the person I want most."
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Ginny beat her to it. She scoffed, "Will you please get it into your moronic head that you and Hermione are done, kaput." Hermione doubled over in laughter at the sight of Ron's horrified face.
Ginny winked cheekily and skipped over to where Hermione was standing rooted to the spot and took her hand in hers, “Besides, the elusive Miss Granger is soon to become Mrs Malfoy.” Hermione shoved Ginny and scolded, “Shut up, no bloody way.”
The redhead tapped her chin in thought and asked devilishly, “Also, that reminds me, how is fit, Mr Terry Boot? I saw him the other day, and I must say, he is quite fetching.”
Ron’s annoyance with his sister peaked, and he fired without remorse, “Why are we talking about that wanker?”
Ginny blew him a kiss and simply explained, “Hermione has the hots for him.”
Ron’s ears turned crimson, and he shot the women a look of disgust, “Bollocks, he’s an imbecile.”
Hermione bit her lip and gushed, “An incredibly fit imbecile that I would like to get to know better.”
Ron glared and hissed, “Over my dead body.”
Hermione shot back in frustration, “That can be easily arranged. He is an Auror.”
She added harshly, “Focus on your upcoming wedding and keep your nose out of my business.”
Ron opened his mouth to hurl an insult when Molly pointedly cleared her throat and interrupted, “I met Narcissa at Madam Malkins the other day when I dropped in to check on our dress robes. She was extremely polite.”
She chuckled, “I wasn't expecting such a warm welcome since I killed her bitch of a sister.” Quite frankly, she had expected to be ignored or even snubbed, but Narcissa had been gracious and nice.
Ginny cried indignantly, “Mum, James can hear you. Please behave yourself.”
Molly blushed, “Oh, sorry, love, well, she was eager to chat, we exchanged a few pleasantries, and she went on her way.”
She added fondly, “Her temperament is so much like Andromeda’s. I wish the sisters worked out their differences and reconciled.”
Hermione smiled tenderly, “Narcissa is a precious soul.”
Molly beamed, “She speaks very highly of you, Hermione. I daresay she will be a wonderful mother-in-law, almost as good as me.”
Hermione gushed lovingly and truthfully, “You are the best; no one can compare.”
She added pointedly, “And can we all stop assuming that I'm going to marry the snake.”
Ron got to his feet, “Fuck yeah.”
Ginny yelled, “RON!” James wheezed past on a toy broomstick and giggled uncontrollably.
The youngest Weasley boy kissed his mother on the cheek, "I've had enough girly time to last me a bloody week. I need to get back to the shop."
Hermione waved lazily, poured herself another glass of wine and said sadly, “I haven't seen Meda in months. I miss Teddy terribly.”
Ginny fussed with James, looked over the active toddler’s head and scolded, “If you could tear yourself from your stupid job and have some sort of life, you would know that he comes over for dinner every Saturday, and you are welcome over at any time.”
Hermione sipped the rich red wine and pointed the almost empty glass at Ginny, “Fine, woman, set an extra place because I'll definitely be there to see my little bunny.”
She drained the wine and picked up her Gucci bag, "See you on Saturday." She blew the Weasley matriarch a kiss at the door, "I love you, Molly."
Molly smiled warmly, “Be safe, Hermione. I worry about you being alone.”
Hermione smirked, “I'm not alone; I have...”
Ginny rolled her eyes and completed the sentence, “You have work, yes, we know.”
Hermione's Flat
Hermione smiled sheepishly and walked to the edge of the boundary to disapparate. She dropped her heavy handbag on the wooden floor of her flat the second she landed, pinned her hair up and stripped on the way to the bathroom.
The bulky clothes came off first, then the red lace bra. She stood in her thong, and a coolness washed over her body. The tantalising sensation made goosebumps appear across her svelte figure.
Was she alone? Perhaps, it was time to get another Crookshanks. Her bathroom was her haven, where she could shed her tough exterior and be vulnerable. It was a refuge away from the nightmares that plagued her occasionally. After the effects of the war began to take their toll on her mind, she reluctantly consulted a Muggle therapist on the sly, but it proved futile since she could not share pertinent details with the psychologist.
“Hermione, do you still have nightmares?”
“Yes, it’s always the same person and occasionally others.”
Loud scribbling on a notepad, Hermione had the urge to grab it and toss it out the window.
“I see. Did you try the breathing exercises before bed?”
She hated the tone. It made her feel inadequate, like she had skipped a homework assignment.
“Yes, I tried them, but they don’t work.”
“Why don’t we give it more time?”
No, I don’t want to give it more time. I want to be rid of the cackling cunt in my head.
“Okay, if you insist.”
The only helpful thing she learned was that she had mild post-traumatic stress disorder.
Instead of continuing the sessions, she stopped going and suffered through the cold sweats and Bellatrix’s taunting laugh and evil voice inside her head in the dead of night. Each nightmare followed the same way.
She screamed in her sleep till her voice was hoarse, curled herself into a fetal position, stared at the now barely visible scar and wept for being considered unworthy over something she had zero control over.
How could she be expected to forget all that and jump into bed with her torturer's nephew?
Still, Malfoy’s whereabouts intrigued her; the secrecy of where he had been all these years ate away at her curious mind, but this was not the time to mull over the so-called Slytherin Prince.
Hermione closed her eyes and willed herself to remain calm. She looked around her surgically clean bathroom, neatly arranging every towel and soap. It was her place of sanctuary.
She let the water run and pulled out a sweet-smelling bath salt and bubble bath. Once the tub was half full, Hermione poured in the liquid and stirred it with her hand, feeling the water slip through her fingers, leaving a trail of foamy residue. She took a deep breath of the comforting scent, yawned, and stretched, causing her pert breasts to pull tight and rosy nipples to harden to the change in temperature.
Hermione pulled her thong down, and it lay discarded near the claw foot of the tub. Dipping a long, smooth leg into the bubbly bath, she descended into the warm water and settled into the solace. She lathered and covered herself with the bubbles, threw her head back and groaned.
She lay that way for a while with her eyes closed when sudden hotness pulled at the inner trappings of her womanly core. Horniness was the unfair mistress of a single woman, but in the privacy of her well-equipped bathroom, she could close her eyes and picture whoever she fancied and bring herself to a satisfying orgasm. Today's lucky gent would be the rugged and built Terry Boot.
Boot had joined the Auror Team a year after her employment, and he was as fit and firm as they come. She knew he was interested; he gave her enough signs and subtly brushed his fingers along her arm during meetings, and he certainly had no issue with Ron hovering around.
Hermione wondered whether he was already matched and decided she did not care since his actions towards her proved one of two things: either he wasn’t matched as yet, or he was and, like her, did not approve of who the Ministry deemed fit.
Her hand disappeared under the many bubbles covering the surface. She parted her soapy-coated thighs and parted her awaiting pussy lips to seek the wetness. A sultry moan escaped her already parted lips as the tip of her finger brushed up against the sensitive nub that rested within.
She rubbed small circles around her eager clitoris, applying the right amount of pressure to push her over the edge. A mewl of want involuntarily flew out of her as she closed her eyes and pictured the tall, dark-haired, broad-shouldered wizard. Fantasy Boot pushed her back roughly, climbed on top, pinned her hands over her head, and bit down on her collarbone.
She stroked her inner folds steadily and gasped, "Fuck, yeah, Terry...more."
Hermione adored a bit of roughness. She was expected to be the model citizen without kinks or vices, the perfect war heroine and that's precisely how past lovers treated her. They were afraid to venture into anything remotely complicated and handled her with kid's gloves as if she were a delicate flower that would wither and die at the slightest hard movement.
No, she craved a man who could handle her, take control, and punish her dearly.
Her digits entered the tightness, and slow pumping turned urgent as her toes curled, and the steady build of heat crawled up her body and came to rest over her gloriously swollen clitoris.
Boot's imaginary thick cock was now buried in her, moving mercilessly. Hermione demanded of an empty room, "Fuck me harder." Her eyes flew open on the cusp of orgasm, and a clear image of an ice-blonde man crossed her blurred vision. The image moved past so fast that there was hardly a face to it, but the uniqueness of the hair jumped out at her and slapped her right across the face.
Boot had thick black hair. What the fuck just happened? Her thighs clamped down on her fingers, Hermione closed her eyes, her eyelids fluttered in erotic bliss, and her body rode its much-needed high.
Once it settled, she sank below the water and desperately wished for that last image to disappear.
She could picture the headline.
Hermione Granger was found naked and dead in her bathtub.
She seems to have died following orgasmic relief and shame.
No foul play was suspected unless you count the last memory on record.
An elusive blonde-haired man seemed to be roaming free in Miss Granger’s mind.
She surfaced, took large gulps of air, pounded the water in frustration, sent droplets flying, and cursed.
That bloody pale-faced ferret; how dare he invade her mind without her permission.
Chapter 4
Notes:
I wish you all could see inside my head and just how neat and handsome Draco looks in his black and white robes. :)
He's heading home, and now the real drama begins. :)
Please read and review. I absolutely love reading reviews because it helps motivate my writing, while other reviews help me become a better writer.
Enjoy Chapter Four!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
Carrie, I love you for all the wonderful suggestions and edits :)
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Ministry of Magic
Concentrate, it's Friday, one more hour, and you can go home, Hermione told herself repeatedly. Yeah, to an empty space, old comedies, and takeout food, how delightful. Maybe it really was time to get a pet. Perhaps, a fish? They required minimum upkeep, right?
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose irritably, “Why won’t this bloody paperwork end?” She called her assistant, “Brenda, did you find the Smith file? I need that to plead Miss Foreman's case. She deserves half of the settlement.”
Brenda held up a thick brown file packed with papers over her head with a triumphant grin, “Got it right here, Hermione.”
They worked till 3.45 p.m. when a hard knock on the door interrupted them. The uninvited intrusion was unwelcome; she only had two more paragraphs to go over, and nothing would get in the way of completion. Hermione adjusted her spectacles and looked up from the parchment to greet whoever it was.
The person would most likely get a tongue-lashing for interrupting. A tall man with broad shoulders, wild, unkempt black hair and a mischievous grin leaned casually against the door frame and watched her intently.
Hermione blushed crimson, "Terry, what can I do for you?" Her voice lacked the usual authority. Her vivid fantasy that Malfoy hijacked a few days ago roared to the surface and floated shamefully in front of her eyes. She wondered whether his cock was the long thick attachment she lucidly imagined while lying naked in the bathtub.
Terry walked confidently, strode to her desk and drawled, "I thought you might like to grab a drink after work." It would be an unofficial date of sorts.
Hermione snapped back to reality and replied quickly, “Oh, that sounds lovely, just us then?” She hoped it was, and it was time to bring their friendship out of the shadows and explore other more interesting titles.
Terry grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck, “I wish, but not really. Potter will be there and a few other Aurors. We closed a case. It's customary to celebrate.”
Hermione’s face fell, but she hid her disappointment well. Harry’s presence was sure to put a severe damper on things, but a drink after work did sound utterly tempting. Truth be told, she would rather skip drinks and get right to the, your place or mine part. She raised an eyebrow at her assistant hovering in the background and invited, “Smashing, Brenda, do you want to join?”
Brenda stopped flipping through the many papers and looked up. She glanced at Terry, shook her head, and retorted glumly, “Oh, I wish, but I can’t. My boyfriend’s cooking dinner, and if I cancel, he will moan like a little bitch.”
Hermione reeled back at the words that flew out of the ordinarily sweet and innocent girl’s mouth, and Terry stared with his mouth open. Brenda was feisty in her own right but hardly ever swore except when absolutely necessary.
Well, if that was not a shocker.
Hermione stifled a laugh, “Ah, right, well, we wouldn’t want that.” She wanted to double over with laughter but instead wondered who Brenda was dating and what kind of a man merited such abusive language.
She turned to Terry and flashed him her most winning smile, “I'll come by your desk at 5.30 then?” She hoped she didn’t sound too eager.
Terry smiled warmly and replied with a wink, “Sounds good, Granger.” He turned on his heel and walked out. The women cocked their heads to the side and checked out Boots bootylicious booty. He was a slim youth with longish hair back at Hogwarts, but strenuous training had transformed him into the man before them, and he was but a shell of his former self.
Brenda bit her bottom lip and quipped, “He's good looking in a fuck me hard sort of way.” Terry wasn’t her type, except he knew her type exceedingly well.
Hermione raised her brows and shook her head in mock disapproval, “We must talk about your language, child.” The women burst out laughing.
They went back to work adamant about finishing before nightfall, and they managed to accomplish the impossible with time to spare. Hermione threw down her quill, leaned back into the comfort of her chair and exclaimed, “Finally!” She grabbed her bag from the corner sofa, bid Brenda a fond farewell and made the short walk to the women’s lavatory.
The likeness in the wide mirror made her frown. She peered at her reflection and muttered, “What a hag.” She was grateful that she wore the red silk knickers instead of opting for a more comfortable cotton pair. If things took a more interesting turn, she would be prepared.
Quickly rummaging in her bag, Hermione pulled out a red lip gloss, black eyeliner, and mascara. A quick flick of her wand tidied up the messy strands of hair sticking to her sweaty forehead.
After applying a generous layer of red gloss, she smacked her lips and winked at her reflection, “Much better.” She checked the time and quickly walked over to the elevator. After pressing the button, she stood back and tapped her heel impatiently until it arrived.
From behind, a deep voice interrupted her thoughts, “Granger, fancy meeting you here.” Perplexed, Hermione turned around and almost bumped into the olive-skinned handsome man.
She greeted with enthusiasm, “Blaise, it's been ages.” They often crossed paths in the Ministry when he popped by for business-related queries. He was doing remarkably well for himself.
She addressed his earlier declaration happily, “Well, I do work here, Zabini.” Blaise chuckled. They swapped air kisses and exchanged a few short pleasantries.
Hermione looked him over and asked curiously, “What brings you by?”
Blaise glanced over his shoulder and said crossly, “I just dropped in to see how the permission to expand my Quidditch store in Diagon Alley was fairing.” He was glad he ran into Granger. She would, if willing, speed up the process. He had a shipment due and no space in his current warehouse to store boxes of supplies.
The man singlehandedly supplied uniforms and equipment to all the League and English National teams. He married Daphne Greengrass just before the marriage law was passed and was featured quite often on the cover of Witch Weekly magazine. They were considered the ultimate power couple, probably after Ginny and Harry. Still, since Ginny’s retirement, she was featured less and less and only when she accompanied Harry to a ministry-related event.
Hermione grew thoughtful. It was strange that Blaise had not received it yet. She had approved the expansion herself. She kept that bit of information to herself and informed, “Ah, you should get it soon. It has been approved.”
Blaise punched the air like an adolescent child and grinned from ear to ear, displaying a perfect set of sparkling white teeth, “Brilliant.” The lift arrived and dinged to make its presence known. Blaise stepped in and held the door open for Hermione. She thanked him and stepped inside. He glanced at the witch standing by his side. It had been months since he last saw her, and she looked stunning.
They stood side by side, and Blaise cleared his throat, “How is, umm, Ginny?” He knew he shouldn’t ask, but he could not help himself.
Hermione looked sideways and sized up the man with a thin layer of sweat coating his upper lip. The mention of Ginny’s name caused the man’s nerves to crumble. She smirked for good measure and answered, “Doing quite well.”
They arrived at the Department of Magical Enforcement. Hermione stepped out, and Blaise called after her, “It was good seeing you. Listen, tell Ginny I said hi.” Hermione smiled, the doors closed, and Blaise disappeared. He was a good sport and tolerable, more so after Ginny, and he had a brief, torrid affair that ended amicably in their fifth year. Few knew of their secret rendezvouses or that they had been somewhat of a couple.
She rounded the corner and ran straight into Harry. His astute eyes narrowed, and he took in the matte lip gloss and done-up eyes suspiciously, "What are you doing here?"
Hermione smoothed her navy blue pencil skirt and replied casually, “Terry asked me out for a drink.”
Harry smacked his forehead and whispered, “This could become extremely complicated. Does Boot know about Malfoy?”
Hermione was adequately scandalised. She hissed in displeasure, “What is there to know about Malfoy? I am not married and free to date whoever I choose.”
Harry frowned and made his displeasure at her poor choices quite vocal, “This is not you being smart. This is you being utterly reckless. Think this through because I guarantee it will not end well.”
“It is just a drink. He’s not going to fuck me in the public bathroom.” Hermione said with a definite roll of her eyes.
Harry winced, his face contorted in disgust, “That is not something I want to picture.”
Hermione smirked and opened her mouth to retort when Terry shouted cheerfully from the other end, “Granger!” He approached them, threw Harry a look of uncertainty, but took her hand in his and led her out, “Come on, let's get going.”
The imposing group of black-clad Aurors and Hermione in her pencil skirt and black blouse arrived at The Leaky Cauldron. It was crowded, typical for a Friday night where everyone was looking to unwind and grab a pint before heading home. Tom, the innkeeper, caught sight of Harry and rushed to his side. Harry shook the flustered man’s hand, and Tom graciously led them to the best table in the house.
It paid to have drinks with the Chosen One.
Other patrons quickly stepped out of the way and let the group through without fuss. It would be unwise to pick a fight with many highly skilled men and women. Terry took a seat and pulled Hermione in next to him. Harry shot his best friend disapproving glances, much like an older brother. She stuck her tongue out at him childishly and gave Boot her undivided attention.
They placed their order, and Hermione felt the rough pad of Terry's thumb caress the sensitive skin of her leg. She shot him a bold look, moved closer and snaked her foot up his trouser leg. It felt sinful to be fondled in public. She wanted more.
Her vodka cranberry arrived, and she delicately sipped the concoction. Hot breath ghosted the shell of her ear, sending renewed sensations through her body.
Terry leaned in closer so his lips touched her ear lobe and drawled, “Let’s get out of here.” Bold, wasn’t he? They had barely finished the first round of drinks, but his confidence excited her.
Hermione tossed hers back, swallowed the burning sensation in her throat and nodded in agreement. They got to their feet, and Harry asked loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Leaving so soon?”
She wanted to scream but kept her composure and shot him a look of annoyance instead, but Terry answered hotly, “Yeah, mate. Granger and I have some unfinished business to attend to.” Harry might be his boss, but that wouldn’t stop him from pursuing the woman of his dreams. Terry put his arm around Hermione’s waist and pulled her closer to his side.
The other Aurors at the table wolf-whistled while Harry downed his drink, stared into the empty glass, and shook his head in frustration. He refrained from making a scene. Hermione was a big girl. It was not his place to tell her how to live her life.
Terry took Hermione’s hand, and they stepped out onto the street. The crisp evening air hit them. First, he let go, cupped her face gently, and leaned in to kiss her. Hermione closed her eyes, grabbed onto his thick coat, and closed her eyes in anticipation.
Merlin yes. Take me, Terry. Ravage me with your mouth. Her sinful thoughts raged.
A familiar motherly voice made it to her ear, her eyes snapped open, and she shoved Terry back hard as the realisation of who it was was beginning to sink in.
He stepped back, stumbled and stared at her, puzzled and opened his mouth to question her bizarre behaviour, “What was…?”
Narcissa pulled down her white gloves and came closer, “Hermione, is that you?” Fate was having a good laugh at her expense.
Hermione moved clear away from Terry, and he shot her another look of surprise but did not pursue. Something had clearly startled her, and he was curious about what would ruffle her feathers this way.
Hermione pulled her jacket tight, stuffed her hands into the pockets to keep her fingers trembling, and strolled towards the regal lady standing under the streetlamp. She spoke softly, “Yes, it’s me. I wasn’t expecting to run into you today.”
Narcissa looked past her and eyed Terry, shifting uncomfortably in the background, and grinned, “Clearly.” It dawned on her, and she quizzed, “Oh, is this the gentleman you told me about?”
Blimey, Narcissa did not bother with subtlety. She motioned hurriedly for her to lower her voice. Hermione glanced over her shoulder at Terry, who was now eyeing Narcissa suspiciously with narrowed eyes and trying to put two and two together.
Somehow, the way he regarded her newfound friend with such hostility did not sit well, and she walked further away and waited for Narcissa to catch up. When she did, Hermione weakly defended, “This is not what it looks like.”
It dawned on her that she felt guilty about being caught with another man. No, this simply would not do. She owed no explanations for her conduct, and she was perfectly at liberty to pursue and be pursued by anyone who grabbed her fancy.
Narcissa smiled, causing her blue eyes to sparkle, “Indeed.” So caught up in portraying nothing was happening, Hermione completely missed the well-dressed man standing to the side with a warm smile, waiting for Narcissa.
Hermione looked the man over and grilled with a rather devilish grin, “And why are you out this fine evening?” It was nice to see Narcissa out and about. She had been cooped up in the Manor for far too long, which could not be healthy. Besides, the gentleman seemed refined and charming—a perfect match.
Narcissa blushed and let out a composed laugh, “Hush now. Bernard is a dear old friend, and we are just returning from a work-related dinner.”
Hermione raised a brow and teased, “He doesn’t look senile to me.”
Narcissa grinned. A mischievous glint flashed across her eyes, “I need my son back. So, I resorted to a little white lie to get what I want.”
Hermione shook her head and wagged a warning finger, “How very Slytherin of you. You should get home; you know it’s not safe.” Did that mean Malfoy was expected any day now? She couldn’t quite fathom how to go about breaching the topic of marriage with him or, more importantly, how they could collectively work towards getting out of it unscathed.
Narcissa glanced back at Boot, who took a deep drag from his cigarette and frowned, “I could say the same to you.” The smoke washed over his face, but he didn’t seem too put off.
She took Hermione’s hand and added sensibly, “It would be fine to let him court you, but perhaps, it would be wise to free yourself from any pending arrangements before you do.” Her prudent words stung and went straight to the heart. Hermione detested that Harry had been right all along. She hung her head and kicked a stone with her heel, “Yes, I know.”
Narcissa touched Hermione’s face tenderly, “Goodnight, dear.” Hermione watched the graceful lady walk up to Bernard and link her arm through his. The nobleman tipped his hat in her direction and flashed a bright smile before leading Narcissa to an apparation point.
Hermione sighed and returned to her would-be shag buddy. Terry put out his cigarette and wasted no time in demanding, “Wasn’t that Malfoy’s mother?”
She resented Boot’s condescending tone but nodded at once and replied firmly, “Yes, that’s Narcissa Malfoy. Her house arrest ended a few months ago.”
Terry raised his brows so high it nearly disappeared into his hairline. His tone was laced with malicious suspicion, “What business do you have with them?”
Hermione felt a certain degree of anger creep up steadily, which was doused by the sheer will to put him firmly in his place.
She gritted out, “That is none of your business.” She turned away and almost entered the Leaky Cauldron again, but Boot caught up, grabbed her elbow, stopped her, and an apology tumbled out, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and glared sternly, “We would all be dead if Narcissa had decided to rat Harry out to Voldemort.”
Terry reached over and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. His fingers brushed against her cheek, “I want to get to know you better.”
Hermione mustered a smile, and though she was tempted, it would not do to act under false pretences. Gathering her courage, she retorted, “That does sound extremely tempting, but I have some serious shite going on in my life that needs immediate attention before I jump into bed with you.”
Disappointment floored him, but Boot put his hands into the deep pockets of his coat, rocked on the balls of his feet and smiled, “Well, we can always give it a go once you figure things out.”
Hermione returned the smile, reached to kiss him on the cheek and said, “Hmmm, sounds like a definite plan.”
Boot cocked his head to the side, and the wind blew his hair over his face. It was boyishly enduring. He asked curiously, “Is it because of Weasley?” Hermione touched his sleeve and laughed, “Merlin, no, Ron and I have been over for years.”
It's Draco Malfoy, but she kept that bitter thought to herself.
Terry grinned, “Well, that’s a relief.” He gently kissed her lips, “Goodnight, Granger.” Merlin. She wanted to stick her tongue down his throat, but she broke the kiss and touched his cheek with great restraint, “See you on Monday.” She turned on her heel and walked away from the wizard, watching her intently.
Boot watched Hermione leave and sighed. He wanted Granger writhing under him, but his affection for her went beyond sex. With Weasley out of the way, he could finally do something about it.
Hermione apparated into her bedroom, tossed her handbag aside, fell on the bed fully clothed, and stared at the ceiling. She was royally screwed.
Dengfeng, County, Henan Province, China
The cobbled streets were busy with patrons moving about with platters of food and boxes bursting with decorations, and some were climbing ladders to hang the many lanterns that would be lit up in celebration later. Chun and Draco walked along the street, taking in the different sights with awestruck amazement since each year yielded something vastly different.
Many greeted them with silent nods and broad smiles as they walked past. Master Chun was respected by the village people even though they had reservations over teaching their sacred ways to a foreigner, even though he wasn't the first. Still, over time, they grew fond of the boy who went above and beyond to help them when needed.
They would participate in the festivities and help the villagers hang and decorate the narrow streets with cutouts of red and gold dragons and plenty of streamers. The older man picked up a brightly coloured lantern and handed it to Draco, who was halfway up the ladder but was so caught up in his thoughts that he completely missed the gesture.
Chun took in his apprentice's troubled state and inquired in concern, “Are you okay? You are very quiet.”
Draco snapped to attention, carefully took the lantern, hung it, and climbed back down, “I'm sorry, Master. Please forgive me. I am not myself.” He had hardly slept a wink since receiving the letter. Every waking minute, he thought obsessively about his mother and her well-being.
Chun questioned with a raised brow, “What's on your mind?” The boy was most attentive, and he had observed a change in disposition over the past days but waited for him to open up about the true nature of his attitude.
Draco sighed and stared into the distance, “My mother sent a letter two days ago. My father has passed.” The mountains in the distance were barely visible but still beautiful.
Chun bowed his head in respect, “Oh, I am sorry, my son.” He had heard some horrific stories involving the boy’s father, but they were taught to look past the hatred and focus on inner healing. He hoped Draco would be able to forgive his father someday.
Draco straightened and answered at once, “No, please don’t be. He was an evil man, he caused so much pain to everyone around him, but still, I feel my heart ache with sadness.” The kind elder man patted the young man on the shoulder, “It is perfectly natural to grieve. You loved him.”
Yes, he loved him once, an exceedingly long time ago when he was a boy eager for his father’s enthusiastic approval. Something that never came his way, no matter what he did. Even when he adorned the Dark Mark, his father seemed more dismal than proud.
His face fell in sadness, and he confided the dreaded conclusion eating away at his consciousness, “My mother wants me to return home.”
Unfazed by the declaration, Chun carefully picked up another lantern, arranged the tussles so they fell in place and nodded in understanding, “She needs you, Draco.”
Draco concurred, but his mind was conflicted, and he still fought the inner darkness that he feared would arise, “I'm in two minds about leaving.”
Chun smiled knowingly, “You fear going back will tempt you into your old ways.” It made perfect sense for the boy to feel this way. When he first arrived, he had been a wreck of a human being holding onto the threads of his sanity.
Uncertainty and sadness engulfed Draco. He shielded his trembling hands and muttered indecisively, “I left that life behind. Going back will mean embracing it and taking the title passed down to me.”
Chun placed his hand on his disciple’s shoulder and encouraged, “Go, face this final fear. Your mother will need you more than ever.”
Draco nodded in agreement. He would do anything, even the unthinkable, for his mother, “Thank you, master, for all you have done for me.”
Chun beamed, “We showed you the way, but it was you who walked down the path of righteousness.” He was enormously proud of the young wizard before him, who exceeded their expectations. It was a rare occurrence to have a prodigy with such remarkable gifts. It pained him to watch the boy who was like a son to him leave, but he was destined for greater things and a higher calling.
They continued to hang the lanterns and red and gold streamers in companionable silence. Once the sun's rays took their leave and beams of moonlight fell upon them, the sky was set ablaze with an extravagant firework display.
Draco stared, so mesmerised by the blending of colours in the sky that he did not notice Suri Jun standing by his side. A flowery scent invaded his space, and he involuntarily inhaled deeply. She gently touched his hand, and when he turned to look at her, she smiled shyly and pointed to the dragon flying across the sky before it exploded in a brilliant myriad of colours.
He stared into her face and swallowed hard. She looked pretty and soft in a light blue robe with a jewelled ivory comb holding her hair to the side. She thrust a bag of sweets into his hand and hurried off to join the giggling girls waiting for her. A small child waved at him cheerfully, and the others threw Draco appreciative glances before skipping down the street.
Chun frowned at the retreating girls but eagerly took a sugar-coated treat Draco offered. They savoured the sweet, but a loud, angry cry and toppling wooden boxes shifted their attention. A bunch of rowdy men knocked the crates over and leered as the poor vendor cursed and hurried to arrange them again.
Draco narrowed his eyes, pulled up his long sleeves and took a step forward, but Chun held him back and issued a warning, "Patience."
The blonde’s eyes darkened as he took in the misfits in mismatched outfits, creating a commotion. He hissed, “Who are they? I have not seen them before.”
Chun calmly pointed to the group of three rowdy men. They looked intoxicated and intent on causing damage, “I recognise them; they’re known troublemakers from the neighbouring village.” He gestured to the one making the worst scene, “The large one is a politician’s son.”
In slight alarm, they watched from the sidelines as Jun and her friends hurried to help the older man desperately trying to collect his wares that rolled down the street while his wife tended to the broken baskets with tears in her eyes.
Suri Jun dug her foot into the soft soil, stood her ground and yelled in Mandarin, "How dare you hurt this man? Have you no shame!" The men looked at each other and laughed mockingly. The largest of the trio closed the gap between them, grabbed Jun by the shoulders, peered into her face and leered, “A pretty girl like you should mind her manners."
He leaned closer and rasped, “You don’t want to get hurt, do you?” His breath smelt of cheap whiskey and stale tobacco.
Suri Jun’s younger sister grabbed the man’s arm and screamed, “Let my sister go.” The man shook the child off, and the small girl fell to the ground and started to cry inconsolably.
Draco felt his temper spiral out of control. Still, he remembered his training and kept his wits about him until Master Chun directed otherwise. Seeing a person he cared about dearly in danger made his resolve crumble with every passing second.
Jun struggled in the man’s grasp, but when it became clear that he had no intention of releasing her, she efficiently used her leg to give her assailant a well-aimed kick to the groin, and he fell to the ground, howling in pain. The other trespassers cried in outrage and closed in on Jun. She raised her hands, took her stance, and prepared herself for a fight. She momentarily glanced over her shoulder, and her eyes found Draco’s.
When one unruly man tried to grab her, she went to deflect the attack, but long, pale fingers grabbed the man roughly by the collar, pulled him back and tossed him aside. The thug fell to the ground and glared.
Draco hissed in clear Mandarin, "I wouldn't do that if I were you." Throughout the years, he picked up the dialect and spoke it lithely. It was no surprise since he was gifted with languages. Besides Mandarin, he spoke French and German fluently.
He pointed to the mountains covered in a bluish hue and warned darkly, "Leave while you still can."
One threatened in broken English, "Who are you to command us, foreigner?" He spat near Draco’s feet. The other sneered, “You have no right’s here.”
Draco kept calm, rolled up the sleeves of his black robes, looked the men dead in the eyes and smirked, "Do your worst then." He straightened, shifted his feet, and skillfully placed one hand behind his back, and with the other, he beckoned them forward.
Chun tended to the crying child, stood by Draco’s side, and instructed sternly, "Jun, take your sisters and go home." Jun hurriedly picked up her little sister, shot Draco a look of worry, and disappeared into the nearest shop.
The large man had recovered from Jun’s kick. He rubbed his groin and jeered. He pointed at Chun and laughed, “You and this old man are no match for us.”
Chun raised his hands, took his signature Kung fu pose, and fired back, “Old man? I'll show you.”
The men attacked first, but it was futile. They were somewhat skilled, but the fight was quick and effortless. Draco quickly sidestepped the clumsy punches and cowardly attacks, and a few well-aimed but subtle blows and kicks to the right places and face had the men retreating fast.
His fist was inches away from one of their faces. If he connected, the bones in the cheek would shatter to pieces. The men rubbed their sides and limped away. The surrounding villagers cheered, and one grateful merchant tossed Draco a juicy, shiny green apple.
Chun rubbed his knuckles and frowned, “Ah, you never let me have any fun.”
Draco bit into the apple and laughed, "We wouldn't want an old man like yourself to get injured."
Chun shook his head, muttered to himself about hot-headed youngsters and turned to find Jun and her friends hiding and watching the whole thing from the shop window. The wise old man stood his ground, “Jun, come here. Did I not instruct you to go home?”
The pretty girl held onto her sister’s hand tightly and walked over with a sheepish expression and a small imploring smile, "But uncle, the festival is just starting. Draco got rid of those boys, please. Can’t we stay?"
Chun sighed and conceded defeat, "Yes, yes, let's go."
Jun shot Draco an adoring glance, "Thank you for saving me." She was red in the face and could not bring herself to look directly at her rescuer.
Draco smiled warmly, “You hardly needed saving; that was a well-placed kick.”
Jun giggled, "Thank you."
They walked among the lights and stalls, and Draco enjoyed his last festival with his adopted family.
No 12, Grimmauld Place
Hermione held up a bottle of red wine and grinned the second Ginny threw the door open, “I come bearing gifts.”
Ginny looked at the bottle and frowned, “Wine? You really are a borderline alcoholic.”
Hermione kissed Ginny on the cheek and muttered, “Oh, shut it.” She wiped her feet on the rug and stepped into the warmth of No. 12 Grimmauld Place. Ginny had done a fantastic job of doing up the place. Gone were the darkness and horrid fixtures. In its place were colour and elegant pieces of wooden and cushioned furniture.
Hermione did a quick look around and asked curiously, “Where’s Harry?”
Ginny rolled her eyes, “At the Burrow with Ron, my brother is freaking out about his upcoming nuptials.”
Hermione let out a laugh, “Yeah, I got a frantic phone call from him last night sobbing about how we are meant to be.” She had tossed the phone aside while Ron bore his soul out and gone back to sleep.
Ginny shook her head exasperatedly, “He’s still holding on, isn’t he?”
Hermione sighed, “Yeah, I guess. It's exhausting, to be honest, at times.” She tugged at her jumper and entered the living room. A loud “Aunty Mione!” erupted from the corner, and a bubbly seven-year-old Teddy Lupin jumped into Hermione's waiting arms. She kissed his head and hugged him tight, “Oh, my little bunny, I've missed you so much.”
A tear rolled down her cheek. The boy's bright purple hair reminded her so much of Tonks. She broke free and cupped the small boy's sweet face, “How are you, Teddy? Tell me everything.”
Teddy beamed, “Good, Muggle school is boring, and my broom broke. Gran promised to buy me a new one for my birthday.” Hermione grinned and tapped her chin in thought, “Did she now? Maybe, I can buy you one sooner, if that’s okay with her.”
Andromeda’s voice interrupted them, “You spoil him, darling.” She walked over, hugged Hermione and smiled warmly, "It's good to see you." Hermione could see precisely what Molly was on about. Despite the differences in height and hair colour, Narcissa shared many traits with her older sister. Andromeda had no clue that she maintained a close friendship with Narcissa, and perhaps, it was time for the sisters to bury the hatchet.
Hermione watched Teddy play with James dotingly, “It's great to see you too. I'm sorry I haven't been around."
Andromeda waved her hand casually and dismissed her apology, "You have plenty to deal with.” She asked in concern, “Did you manage to get out of your current predicament?"
Hermione frowned and shook her head, "No, looks like I'm stuck for the time being."
Andromeda smiled sympathetically, "I'm sure you will find a way out; you always do."
Ginny called out from the other room, "Hermione, come see who it is."
Hermione beamed, “Oh my goodness, Luna, it's been yonks. How are you?”
Luna smiled in her usual whimsical way, “Busy with Theo and redecorating. His home lacks colour and any kind of warmth.”
Ginny and Hermione swapped a fond look and thought about how Nott Manor would now be sporting beautiful blue and bright yellow shades. They spent the rest of the day drinking wine, eating, gossiping, and having a wonderful time.
After Teddy and Andromeda left, the women retired to the kitchen and opened a fresh bottle of wine.
Ginny sipped the rich liquid and cleared her throat, “How is married life?”
Luna radiated happiness. Her clear eyes sparkled, “It’s amazing. Theo is a wonderful husband.”
Hermione asked softly, "Do you think Theo knows where Malfoy is?"
Luna shook her head and gave Hermione a look of remorse, “He definitely does not. When I asked, he looked like he was about to cry. His bottom lip quivered, and he sort of blurted out that Draco left without a word to Blaise or himself.”
The fuckers covered his tracks well.
Luna sensed Hermione’s restfulness and offered her thoughts, “You can't fault Draco for wanting to get away. After everything he has been through all his life, I wouldn't be surprised if he never returns to England.”
Good.
She poured herself another glass of wine, leaned against the kitchen counter and continued sadly, “Theo told me a few things about how his dad and Lucius treated their sons. Theo more than Draco because they endured a lot of physical and verbal abuse because at least he had Narcissa to help him.”
Luna took a sip and added wisely, “Theo hates his father, and I am fairly certain Malfoy feels resentment towards his father. We are quick to judge them for being bigoted bastards that shunned us and treated us horribly in school, but I learnt to look past that and ask Theo why they did what they did.”
A fondness touched her face, “Once he explained, it became so clear, and he’s such a loving man now, I couldn't be happier.”
Hermione got up from the small table in the kitchen and hugged Luna, “I'm so happy for you.” But Nott was not Malfoy. He was nowhere near as cruel and demeaning towards her as the blonde-haired fuck had been.
Ginny tossed a large piece of cheese into her mouth, “I guess you have a point, Luna.”
Luna stared deep into Hermione’s tawny brown orbs and advised, “Anyways, everything happens for a reason. We all have a purpose. It becomes clear soon enough.” Hermione averted her gaze. Her purpose was to get out of her marriage with Malfoy at all costs without surrendering her wand.
The Shaolin Temple, China
The nervous wizard took a deep breath and knocked on the carved, age-old wooden door. A voice came from within, “Come in.” Draco took off his shoes and went in. The Abbot smiled warmly, “Ah, Draco, Chun said you wished to see me.”
Draco nodded, pushed his robes back and took the seat the High Priest offered, “Yes, Master.” The wise ageing man offered tea and inquired, “What is troubling you, young wizard?”
Draco stared at his hands in anguish, “My mother, she needs me.”
The Abbot nodded in reply, “Of course, and you wish to return.” It was a statement, not a question.”
Draco looked into the face of the calm, holy one and replied hesitantly, “Yes, but I don't know if I'm ready.”
The Abbot intently regarded the struggling man before him, “You have acquired far more than you wished. Why do you still doubt yourself?”
Draco stuttered, “I...,” but he was interrupted, “You have turned into a remarkable man. I use the term man, not wizard, because that is what you are. We have done all we can for you, and you have taken that knowledge and used it to become better.”
Draco bowed respectfully, “I know, Master, I am forever in your debt.”
The kind, wise old man tapped the once-troubled youth on the arm and advised, “Unless you intend on following the path of enlightenment, your time here is over.”
The Abbot got to his feet, and Draco followed. He clamped him on the shoulder and smiled warmly, "I am proud of you. It has been a privilege to teach you."
Draco returned the smile and bowed reverently, "You have honoured me by helping me find my way." There is no longer a doubt. He stepped out of the room and stood in the middle of the training ground. Absentmindedly, he played with the wooden dummy in the ancient arena for possibly the last time.
Master Chun came from behind and requested, “One last lesson?”
Draco turned to face his mentor, teacher, and friend and bowed in reply, “Yes, Master.” They stood a few feet from each other and raised their hands to take their stance. Chun attacked first, and Draco countered effortlessly. The fight was a graceful, skilful dance, and they blocked and countered the strikes effortlessly until Chun slipped, giving Draco the advantage he needed to win.
A happy smile curves the lips of the teacher, "The student has become the master."
Draco quickly removed his fingers from Chun’s throat, took a step back and replied, "Never." The old man grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug, "I will miss you, son."
Draco returned the embrace and fought the overwhelming emotions clawing their way to the surface, "Thank you for everything."
Chun could barely control his own emotions, “You have a good life waiting for you; make it a good one.” He inconspicuously wiped a tear that rolled down his cheek.
He advised sternly, “Don't forget our ways.” The young man needed not to move away from his current direction.
Draco straightened and responded confidently, “It is my way of life. I will never deviate from this path.”
The following day, the temple's inhabitants gathered in the Great Hall, and goodbyes were exchanged. Draco caught Suri Jun discreetly trying to wipe tears off her porcelain white cheeks. He felt an unfamiliar ache, and his heart slammed against his ribcage.
She, indeed, was a sweet, innocent thing.
Draco retired to his room and began packing his truck. He stared at the washed-out Slytherin stickers on top, solid sliver Hogwarts Crest and his name bold as brass in plated gold. He ran his fingers across the lid and flipped it open. The clothes he brought with him remained at the bottom of the trunk. He had outgrown them mentally and physically. Draco reached for his washed robes and gently placed them on top.
His hair was long, and a few strands fell carelessly across his forehead. He tied it back and returned to his task. The door closed, and he turned around fast as lightning.
Jun stood with her back to the door and whispered heartbreakingly, “Do you have to go?”
Draco nodded and hoped his explanation was enough, “Yes, it is time for me to return home.” She closed the gap and hugged him around the waist, "But this is your home. I will miss you so much."
He let himself be held. She stepped back briefly and pushed a package into his hand. Perplexed, Draco opened the small box and took out a polished, gleaming bracelet of black beads with silver lettering. He placed it around his wrist and stared at it in fascination. The bountiful rays of sun bounced off the shiny surface, and numerous colours dappled a pretty pattern across the wall.
Jun reached over and touched the beads tenderly, “Something to remember me. It will bring you luck.” Draco pulled her to him, kissed the emotional girl’s forehead and mumbled, “I will never forget you. Thank you for this generous gift.” He fought the almost irresistible urge to brush her soft lips with his. She let go when it became clear that he would not kiss her and slowly walked towards the door with a heavy heart. He would always remain her first love.
She threw it open, glanced over her shoulder and choked back a sob, “I hope you will always be happy.”
Draco could not help but smile and nod. Once alone, he took the wrapped jade pendant and silver chain and placed them on top of the contents of his truck.
He threw it one last lingering glance and shut the heavy lid of the trunk. It fell into place with a loud thud. His fingers tightened around his wand, and the magic between the two flowed naturally and synchronised. The ancient magic in his veins called to him with renewed purpose. It surged forth and placed its claim to the last remaining heir of the Malfoy bloodline.
The journey home would be long. Draco stared at the ancient buildings from outside, and a feeling of deep sadness washed over him. The temple had been his home and the one place where he had felt true peace and the confidence to be himself. Leaving it behind left a gaping hole in his heart, but he decided to return one day.
There was nobody to escort him out. The enormous wooden doors closed behind him with an audible thud, and he dragged his truck down the exact steps that brought him there.
Chapter 5
Summary:
There's a storm brewing. :)
Draco makes his appearance. :)
To all the comments: - I really am blown away. I'm so glad everyone is connecting to the story. Much love!
Carrie, I have no words to express how much your support and additions to each chapter mean to me. You are an absolute gem. :)
Enjoy Chapter Five!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Hermione's London Flat
A loud ringing filled the small bedroom. Hermione burrowed under her large pillow and willed the annoying noise to fade away. She groaned, “Argh, go away, five more minutes.” It dawned on her that only she had the power to end the deafening noise pounding into her head. She reached over and felt around the night table in the dark.
Hang on, dark? Why the hell was her alarm ringing if it was still dark? Still, she didn’t rise but lazily felt around until her fingers touched the large blue clock her father gifted her when she moved out. His words were clear as day, "Hermione Jean Granger, your mum won't be around to wake you up. Instead, this clock shall take her place."
She could practically hear his hearty chuckle as he presented her with the elaborately packaged antique clock. Hermione loved it. It was loud, and made sure she was up on time. She was so attached to it that she took it everywhere, including overseas visits on Ministry business. She grasped it and brought it closer to her face. Any minute now, she would open her eyes.
Hermione groaned and opened one eye to look at the time. The glow-in-the-dark needles of the clock were stubbornly fixed at 07:00 a.m. Odd, she thought it was darker than a whale’s belly. What the heck was going on? And then she heard it: a loud rumbling shook the windows, and she practically wet her knickers and dived under the sheets. The rain beat down hard, allowing no sunshine to break through the clouds. It was gloomy, dreary, and cold. Hermione covered her head with her duvet and stared into the flooded balcony. Her potted plants resembled bowls of overflowing mud.
She gloomily pushed herself off the bed and padded barefoot into the living room, switching on the lights as she went. Days like this were not meant for going to work; she wanted nothing more than to crawl under the covers and sleep, but an angry image of Mrs Gladys Perkins came to mind.
Hermione frowned. She had a meeting with the maddening old witch, and it was bound to end up in a bitter argument. It was only natural that it would fall on a miserable day such as this.
She scratched her arse, pulled the wedged underwear out of the crack and dragged her feet lazily to the ensuite. Eyes still half-closed, she looked at her reflection and rolled her eyes. Her hair was a complete and utter mess, and she violently tamed it with her fingers, tied it up in a bun and reached for her toothbrush. Her eyelids started to close, but she pinched her arm and struggled to stay awake.
After a quick shower, Hermione fetched a short black dress out of her cupboard and walked barefoot into the kitchen. She fixed herself a bowl of cereal and attacked it with a spoon: soggy flakes and cold milk, breakfast of champions. The weather had gotten worse. She stared at the drops of water chasing after each other and tried to produce a believable excuse to stay home. Cramps? Food poisoning? A Muggle parent emergency?
Again, Mrs Perkins came to mind. Ah, the annoying woman would make this miserable day ten times worse. Hermione reluctantly reached for her bag, stepped into her red heels, and held her wand tight. She closed her eyes and disappeared with one stupid, unbearable destination in mind.
Malfoy Manor
Narcissa watched the steady downpour and frowned. She called out, "Dotty, please come here."
The tiny house elf rushed to her mistress's side and bowed, "Yes, what can Dotty do for you?"
Narcissa rose from her place by the fire, looked out the window and pointed outside, "Are the peacocks in the shed?" Her voice was laced with concern. The majestic birds detested getting their feathers wet.
She shuddered as the sky was set ablaze with lightning, and a roar of thunder followed.
Dotty dove behind her mistress's gown and muttered weakly, "The peacocks have been moved to the side shed by the groundsman." She was terrified of heavy rain and never ventured outside unless absolutely necessary.
Narcissa nodded in satisfaction, "Ah, good. Dotty be a dear and..." She watched the elf stare at the entrance with her eyes wide open, so wide, in fact, you could see half the room mirrored in the giant clear orbs. Dotty was rooted to the spot and staring straight ahead. Her gaze did not falter.
Narcissa asked, perplexed, looking to her side, "What is the matter, Dotty? You look like you've seen a ghoul." She heard steady, sturdy footsteps and purposeful footsteps coming toward her. Each step echoed in her mind. Curiously, Narcissa turned to see who it was, but strong arms went around her and cradled her to a broad, firm chest. It knocked the proverbial wind out of her.
A voice she knew well whispered lovingly; it was deeper, huskier, and richer, but she knew. A mother always knows. My beloved son.
She rested her cheek on the broad chest and closed her eyes in relief. It was hard to express the rush of emotions that washed over her.
"Mother, I've missed you very much, " The voice breathed almost reverently." It took Narcissa a few minutes to gather her thoughts. She let herself be held. Her arms were pinned to her side, but she managed to open her eyes to stare past the long, wet, ice-blonde hair falling across her cheek into the grounds barely visible through the veil of steady raindrops.
Dotty continued to gawk, and eventually, her little knees gave out. She fell to the floor in utter disbelief. Draco kept his arms around his mother but lifted his head to peer into her face. He towered over her. His mother seemed frozen, unmoving and lost to the world.
He inquired softly, "Mother, are you alright?" That voice. She drank it in and opened her mouth in a silent sob.
Tears pooled around Narcissa's eyes and spilt over. She snapped out of the daze and reached to caress her beloved son's face. Her fingers trembled as they made contact with a face she had not touched or seen in over eight years. She slowly raised her face to stare into her son's handsome face. Her voice cracked with overwhelming emotions flowing through her body. Nothing could have prepared her for this.
She kept her hand on his cheek to ensure he was real and not a figment of her imagination. How she longed for this blissful day. Her son, her blood, her one and only baby boy, except this, was no boy but a man with a purpose. She could feel the peace he found radiate off him.
Draco closed his eyes, covered her hand with his and leaned into his mother’s warm touch.
Narcissa finally found her voice, "Draco, oh Merlin, is it really you?" Something within her broke, and she wept. Hot tears flowed down her cheeks as she held onto her son. Draco held on tight and soothingly whispered, "Yes, it's me, please don’t cry, mother, I'm here now." He let her unleash the pent-up sadness and shock of seeing her only child appear out of thin air. Minutes passed, and Narcissa tried to catch her breath.
The magic in him was intense; it hummed, and she felt it flow through him. He gently broke out of the embrace, took his mother’s hand, and led her into the foyer and lavish sofa. Still, in a stunned daze, she let herself be led. They sat on the sofa, and Narcissa held onto Draco's hand tightly in fear that he would disappear or leave her once again if she let go.
They sat in silence for what seemed like a lifetime. Mother and son stared at each other, trying to find the right words, but Dotty broke the silence.
She hurried to Draco's side and squeaked, "Master Draco, is that really you, sir?" She repeated Narcissa's words.
A smile curved his lips, and joy shone in his eyes, "Yes, it's me, Dotty.”
He looked at the small elf and mused, “I think you've grown taller." The elf beamed proudly, pulled her red polka-dotted dress, and straightened to her height of two feet and three inches.
“Draco,” Narcissa uttered his name again in pained happiness.
He moved closer and cupped his mother’s tear-stained cheeks, "Mother, it’s me; I'm here now. Everything is going to be fine. You have my word."
With shaking hands, she gently touched his head and then face, "Let me look at you. You have changed so much." Her eyes took in the long platinum blonde hair, intense voice, pitch-black robes buttoned to his chin and serene features of her son’s handsome face.
He smiled fondly, "And you have not aged a day. You look beautiful as always." She continued to watch him and took in the small details. Gone were arrogance and self-importance. In its place was a reformed man who seemed wise beyond his years. Draco looked around his childhood home and barely recognized it. He was grateful for the many changes. He felt no darkness or sorrow within the walls. It felt oddly like home again.
Narcissa spoke softly, “Why did you not owl ahead?”
Draco gave his mother his full attention and grinned, “I wanted to surprise you.”
Narcissa placed a jewelled hand over her chest and laughed, “You almost gave me a heart attack. I was convinced it was a cruel joke.”
His eyes moved around the ample, renovated living space, “The Manor looks, umm, different.”
She followed his gaze and nodded happily, “I had many changes done. I couldn’t bear to think of all that took place within these walls.”
He nodded his approval, “Yes, I can see. You did the right thing; everything is as it should be.”
Narcissa took his hand again and asked earnestly, “Would you like a cup of tea? You must be hungry after your travels.” He was ravenous.
Dotty reappeared with a tray of the best cakes, pastries, and other delicious items.
Narcissa pointed to the tray and said sadly, “I don’t know what you might like anymore.”
Draco reached for a piece of chocolate-smothered cake and laughed, "Mother, I have the same likes. It is only my outlook on life that has changed. I think we can both agree that’s a good thing." During his time at the temple, he had followed a strict vegetarian diet and did not partake in dinner, for it made the mind lethargic and disturbed meditation.
Narcissa could hardly contain her exhilaration, “I cannot believe you are sitting with me; I keep expecting to wake up from his wonderful dream.”
Draco tossed a piece of fruit cake into his mouth and chuckled, “I assure you it's no dream. It does feel good to be back on English soil. Many things have changed, and I'm looking forward to catching up.” The Manor was completely different, and he wondered about the rest of London.
Narcissa smiled, “I daresay your friends will help you there.”
A smirk crept up Draco’s lips, “How are they? I hope they don’t hate me too much.”
Narcissa stirred her cup of tea and sipped the sugary concoction, “Ah, it's best you find out yourself. They will be as shocked as me to see you.”
Draco looked to the floors above and asked curiously, “Can I use my old room?
Narcissa nodded, but a frown creased her delicate features, “Yes, I would have had the room ready for your arrival. It still has your school things, Slytherin posters and old Quidditch equipment.”
Draco added an extra sugar cube to his tea and watched it disappear. He replied casually, “There will be time to renovate. There are a few additions I need to be done.”
Narcissa felt the hole in her heart fill each time he smiled. My beloved son.
She smoothed her gown, kept her hands on her lap, and requested curiously, “I want to hear about everything.”
Draco drained his cup of tea and got comfortable. It was a long story. He smiled lovingly and asked, “Where would you like me to start?”
Narcissa’s blue eyes shone excitedly, “At the very beginning.”
They spent the rest of the day speaking of his time at the temple and the fantastic people he shared his life with. Narcissa, in turn, spoke about her house arrest and other matters, including the family business and Lucius's passing.
Draco felt his heart clench. He was wracked with guilt over leaving her at such a sensitive time. Still, he raised a brow, “Have people been kind to you?”
Narcissa stiffened and remembered the incident in Diagon Alley. Hermione, bless her soul. She mustered a smile, “It will take some time for people to warm up to our family.”
Draco sighed exasperatedly, but yes, his mother was right. They had much wickedness to pay for, but Narcissa waved it off casually, “Let us speak of happier things.” She sent her son a secret smile, “Suri Jun? Was she someone special?”
Draco blushed, a steady redness creeping up his pale cheeks, “Oh, very special but not in that way, she would've liked to have been more than friends, but I wasn't there to break hearts.” He stared into the distance and muttered, “Especially, hers, she's a delightful person, and she meant a great deal to me.”
Candlelight flickered, but the rain had not let up. Streaks of lightning lit the night sky, illuminating the grounds and surrounding areas, and roars of thunder followed the steady downpour of rain. He leaned into the chair and sighed. There was so much he had missed and so much to learn.
Narcissa bit her lip and decided against telling him about the marriage law and Hermione Granger. It was the one thing she omitted and neglected to mention. She did so because she was afraid he would leave once again. From what he said, he was always welcome at the ancient monastery, and second, she had no wish to overwhelm him on the day he returned. There would be plenty of time to knock the socks off him later.
A German shepherd puppy came running across the marble floors, followed by Dotty shouting for it to come back. Its furry paws left a trail of muddy pawprints. It came to Draco's side, waged its tail, and begged to be picked up. He obliged, and it squirmed and licked his face.
Draco patted the animal and declared with a slight smile, “Affectionate little rascal, when did you buy him?”
Narcissa gushed, “I didn't. I found him abandoned on the outskirts of the Manor. I love him dearly.”
The puppy eagerly devoured the treat Narcissa tossed at him. Draco watched the display with a slight smile on his face, “I can see why. Does it have a name?”
Narcissa picked up the puppy off Draco’s lap and cuddled it, “Max, I felt it suited his disposition.”
Draco yawned. He was exhausted by the day’s activities and long flight. He needed to rest his eyes and body before he collapsed.
Narcissa noticed her son’s eyes droop, “It's been a long day, hasn't it? Why don't you retire?” She was still coming to terms with his arrival.
Draco got to his feet and stretched, “That sounds smashing. I do feel dead on my feet.” He dropped a kiss to his mother’s cheek, and she held on and pleaded, “Please be here when I wake in the morning.” Taking his mother’s hand in his, he kissed it and promised, “Of course.” Turning to the wide stairs that brought them to the upper floors, he touched the intricately carved bannister to reacquaint himself with the surroundings. Some things came naturally, and his feet carried him down the familiar path.
On the floor passing his parent's room, he caught sight of his father’s portrait through the crack in the door. His father's painted eyes caught him, and Draco looked away and hurried down the corridor to his room. Seeing his father’s accusing eyes prompted heavy, unsteady breathing. He was not ready to face his father. Pushing the double doors open, he stood at the entrance of his childhood room. Mother was right. It was left untouched; his eyes moved over the objects he held dearly in his youth and marvelled at how much each item meant to him.
The silver markings on the broom handle gleamed even in the darkness. Draco gravitated towards it and closed his fingers around the handle. He hadn't given a second thought to flying, but now, it came roaring back, and he couldn't wait to take to the skies.
Among the clouds was where he felt free from the burdens that plagued his youth. It had been his escape. He looked around and saw his trunk in the corner. He discarded his robes on the way to the massive ensuite connected to his room. Stepping into the large glass cubicle, he turned the silver knobs, and the large overhead shower came to life. He leaned into it and let the cool water wash the grime off his chorded neck, muscled back, chiselled chest, and firm, hardened thighs.
The faded rose-pink Sectumsempra scar that entwined its way down to his groin was kept company by a few new additions he acquired during sparing sessions and excessive practice. Long strands of platinum blonde hair stuck to his face, and Draco made a mental note to get a haircut.
Now that he was back home, his long locks were a constant reminder of how much he looked like his dead father, and he had no wish to bear any resemblance to him. He stood under the spray for nearly an hour. His mind wandered to the family business. Reaching for the large white towel made available for his disposal, Draco vigorously towelled his hair and then his balls. Discarding the towel, he walked around his room naked. His cock swung in tandem as he fetched a pair of black silk boxers from the cupboard in the corner.
He held them up and eyed them critically, “Well, they will have to do for the time being.”
Stepping into them, he struggled to pull them up to his long legs. It was a snug fit, and the material almost burst at the seams but fit tightly around his waist. A shopping trip was a must; he knew he couldn’t wear his kung fu robes everywhere, no matter how comfortable they were, and now that he was back, he would, in time, have to get used to certain luxuries again and dressing appropriately. He slid between the white Egyptian cotton sheets, placed his hand under his head, and stared at the ceiling in deep thought.
There was much to do. He had many wrongs to the right, starting with one particular witch first.
Exhaustion washed over him, and he fell into a content dreamless slumber. In the depths of his mind, he embraced the feeling of satisfaction at being back home, but he missed the temple dearly. There was a serenity about the place that could not be replaced with all the comforts in the world.
Thunder rumbled in the background, but the real storm was yet to pass.
Hermione's Flat
Hermione let her handbag drop the second her feet touched the carpet. It had been another long day and a horrible one. She looked around the familiar space and sighed.
First, she arrived in the downpour, and her beautiful red heel got stuck in a crack in the stairs and refused to budge no matter how hard she pulled it. After much pulling, she was forced to resort to magic to retrieve her beloved and expensive shoe. This resulted in paperwork explaining why she had to blow up Ministry property and why there was now a sizeable hole where a stair should be.
She had a weird fascination with footwear. Her cupboard had boxes upon boxes of heels, boots and colourful sandals. Her friends always had a go at her for purchasing shoes. She kicked her shoes off, and the silver ankle bracelet with otter charm bounced energetically. Her stomach rumbled, and it demanded sushi. By the time she showered and put her hair up in a towel, the food had arrived.
Hermione paid the Muggle delivery boy and settled in front of the telly with her sushi and sashimi. It took practice to balance the bowls, but after years of devouring her weight in the delectable Japanese food, she was a certified pro. Mrs Perkins had been a bloody nightmare. The woman just would not take no for an answer. Her farm was on the outskirts of London. She ran a sanctuary for Magical creatures, and her funding was adequate, but she kept demanding more. When Hermione suggested she hand over the books to see where the money had gone, the woman threw a proper hissy fit and refused outright.
There was definitely something fishy going on. Hermione reported the incident to The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and dear Miss Perkins would face an inquiry. Hardly anything got past Hermione; that's why Kingsley valued her and put up with her otherwise obsessive behaviour. She was bloody brilliant at her job.
Her mobile phone buzzed, and Hermione set aside her sushi and reached for it. It was a text from Terry. She tucked her legs under her and clicked on the little pulsating envelope.
I hope you had a good day. I'm thinking about you.
Hermione grinned from ear to ear. If he wasn't the sweetest bloody man. She replied quickly. Her fingers moved across the pad expertly.
Pigging out on sushi and heading to bed soon. I missed you at work.
His reply came almost instantly.
Miss you too, darling. See you tomorrow, sweet dreams.
It was more like wet dreams. She replied without a second thought.
Good night, sleep tight, and don't let the bed bugs bite.
She pressed send and regretted it immediately. Don't let the bed bugs bite? Hermione smacked her head and groaned. She seriously needed to up her flirting game. Her fingers would be working their magic later. After the last attempt and Malfoy's untimely appearance at the point of orgasm had scared her from trying again, but the need to let go of pent-up frustration overpowered the fear she felt. She desperately needed to reach a satisfying climax.
Terry stared at the screen and grinned. Oh, if he could have one night with her, it would be enough. He could not get her out of his head.
Malfoy Manor
Draco was up at dawn; it was a practice that he would not be giving up. The first rays of sunlight made their way into the room, licked the floors, and filled it with a warm glow. He pulled on a fresh set of robes and buttoned it to his chin. The transparent grey of his eyes adjusted to the mood.
Not a creature stirred, and he enjoyed the quiet. It was shattered by an over-enthusiastic puppy running about. He called it to heel. The dog whimpered, obeyed, and followed his master into the flower garden. Draco grinned and ruffled the fur on its head affectionately.
The sun was barely out. Insistent drops of morning dew hung on the leaves of the many trees in the immaculately preserved gardens. He walked aimlessly and came to a small clearing where he used to play with Theo and Blaise in their younger days. He sat down among the grass and small white stones, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes.
With proper concentration, he could block out the noise that came with a crisp morning. The puppy sensed his master's need and sat next to Draco and kept his soft head on his lap. He became one with his surroundings.
Draco took a deep breath and let the energy around him flow through and pull him into its inner warmth. This was how Narcissa found him hours later. She dared not disturb but watched in awe at the man before her. He was at complete peace with himself. His features were relaxed and serene. She observed for a few more minutes, left him in silence, and retreated to the foyer.
With his return, many things would need their immediate attention. Narcissa owled Bernard and requested his presence at once.
Chapter 6
Notes:
The Slytherins make their appearance. :) These first few chapters are paving the way for the rest of the story. :)
I felt the need to elaborate on everyone's background stories.
I'm thrilled everyone's enjoying this story! :) :)
Please read and review.
Enjoy Chapter Six!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Malfoy Manor
Narcissa generously buttered a piece of toast when Draco appeared in pure white robes with black buttons and sporting a shorter haircut. She smiled affectionately and got to her feet, "The short hair suits you better."
Draco ran his fingers through his terse hair and rubbed his neck, "Dotty did a decent job." He recalled how the elf had to balance two chairs to reach his head, even when seated. The tiny elf did not take criticism well, but she hardly needed it. His hair was neatly cut. The long locks were gone, and in its place was a shorter fashionable do that Dotty had seen in Witch Weekly Magazine's most eligible wizarding bachelor edition.
Dotty pointed to the picture of a rather good-looking young wizard in the magazine and said wisely, “This is the newest cut for a handsome man, sir.” The man was younger than him but not by much. Draco sighed and conceded defeat, “Well, you know best. Just don't make me bald.”
Dotty’s face contorted unpleasantly. She seemed highly insulted by what he was insinuating. He saw her pouting face in the mirror and quickly reassured her, "I have complete confidence in you." The elf grinned broadly and set to work. Draco said a small prayer to Merlin and sat very still. A few strands fell onto his forehead, and once the job was done, Dotty had beamed at him and taken immense pride in her handiwork.
Draco sat down at the table and looked at the lavish breakfast spread. His stomach rumbled, but he reached for a slice of bread and spread marmalade across it liberally.
Narcissa observed and scolded, “Son, you must eat more than that.” He smiled slightly, took a bite, and replied, “I will. I'm just pacing myself.”
A loud voice came from the foyer, “Narcissa, I left the moment I received your owl. Are you alright, my love?” An ageing man with silvery hair and light green eyes in a crisp grey suit rounded the corner and entered the clean dining room. Bernard came to an abrupt halt. His eyes fell on the tall, pale man sitting next to Narcissa.
A happy smile crept up his face, and he laughed, "Merlin’s beard, is this the little scamp that I used to give sweets to?" The older man radiated warmth. His eyes pleasantly lit up when he laughed. Draco pushed back the heavy chair and rose to his feet in greeting, "Bernard, it is so good to see you, and I'm forever in your debt for taking care of matters and my mother."
Narcissa blushed and pointed to a chair, "Please join us."
Bernard closed the gap, held Draco by the shoulders and nodded in approval, "You have become quite the man." He took a seat, and Dotty poured him a glass of orange juice.
Draco bit into another piece of toast and muttered, "I'm sorry about your illness."
Narcissa choked on her juice, and Bernard raised a curious brow, "What illness?” He pounded his chest and exclaimed, “I am as fit as a Hippogriff."
Draco looked perplexed, "Mother wrote to me about your heart issues."
Bernard grinned and turned to face the uncomfortable lady at the table, "Care to elaborate, Cissy?"
Draco glanced at his mother with a half-smile and shook his head, "I cannot believe you would lie about such a thing."
Narcissa defended weakly, "I did not lie, remember the chest pain you had?"
Bernard chuckled, "You mean the bout of indigestion I suffered.” He added fondly, “You should be ashamed."
Narcissa attacked her scrambled eggs, "If wanting my son back is something to be ashamed of, then yes, I'm guilty. Whisk me off to Azkaban."
Draco reached over and squeezed her hand, "That's all right. Everything happens for a reason; it was my time to return."
He rose with his empty plate in his hands, and Narcissa, Bernard and Dotty stared at him as if he had lost his mind. The nervous elf rushed to his side and held out her hand, “Master Draco, please give me the plate, sir.” He shook his head and held the plate out of her reach, "I'm quite used to washing my things. Now show me the way to the pantry."
Dotty looked utterly horrified. She glanced at Narcissa for instruction, and the stunned lady nodded. Once Draco disappeared with Dotty, Bernard broke the silence, "He seems rather put together. I am astonished at the change." Narcissa sighed in relief, "He certainly has mended his ways and let past demons go. I hope he can apply himself to running the company."
Bernard nodded and pulled a platter of food close, “Give the boy some credit. I have complete faith in him.”
Narcissa picked at her food and delicately munched on a scone.
Bernard cut a fat sausage in half, "Have you told him about the Marriage Law?"
Narcissa shushed him urgently, "He arrived yesterday. I'm not going to burden him with it right away."
Mouth full, Bernard sniggered, “The clock is ticking, darling.”
Narcissa pushed her plate aside and exhaled, “Yes, I know. I will tell him soon. I just need to find the right moment.”
Draco walked back in with a green apple firmly in his grasp. He bit into the ripe flesh of the apple, wiped the juice that trickled down his chin and asked, “Mother, do you have a way to contact Theo, Blaise and Pansy?”
Bernard puffed his chest out proudly, "Oh, those three are all doing well."
A fond smile made its way onto Narcissa’s face, and she replied enthusiastically, “Of course, they come by once in a way and call to see how I'm doing. I'm quite used to using a mobile phone. It's much more efficient than sending an owl.” Hermione had bought the device and spent an entire day teaching her to use it. Not easy, considering she had the knowledge of a troll regarding Muggle devices.
Draco finished off the apple and mumbled, “It is. Lots of Muggle ways are better if you think about it.”
Silence followed his alarming statement. The quiet was pierced by Bernard's fork scraping determinedly against the white china plate. After breakfast, Bernard wiped his mouth with the serviette, threw it down on the table and addressed Draco calmly, “Son, when you are ready, there is much to discuss.” The young wizard nodded in agreement, “Of course, I will be ready to begin going over business matters next week.”
The older charming wizard tipped his hat, threw Narcissa a loving gaze and took his leave. Draco retired to his room and stared at his mother’s mobile phone. He decided on calling Blaise first as he was the levelheaded one. He hoped his friends would understand why he did what he did and not resent him too much. A few rings passed, and just as Draco was about to hang up, Blaise answered, "Good morning, Narcissa."
Draco struggled to find the words; he held the phone silently, but this was his best mate.
Blaise’s deep voice came through, “Er, hello?”
Draco took a deep breath and exclaimed, "Blaise, it's me." He heard a loud thud and a slew of profanity.
Blaise came back on and asked suspiciously, "Draco?"
Draco replied at once, "Yeah, it’s me.” He asked casually, “Listen, are you free to drop by?"
A loud laugh cut through the moment, "You’re having me on. This isn’t Draco. It cant be."
Draco grinned and recited one of their most memorable pranks, “In our first year, you set fire to the curtains in the Slytherin common room and blamed it on Montague."
Blaise shook his head in disbelief and stumbled over his words, “Morgana’s tit, it is you, I, fuck....”
Draco interrupted and insisted, “Come over.”
Blaise couldn’t believe his ears but replied at once, “Yeah, of course,” and the line went dead immediately.
Draco scrolled through the numbers and stared fondly at the name Theodore Nott. Always the more emotional of the trio, he would have to tread carefully with him.
Theo answered after the first ring. His bubbly voice was calm and warm, “Narcissa, this is a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?”
Draco smirked, “Always happy and ready to help. Some things never change.” An uncomfortable silence was followed by frantic crying in the background.
Theo’s voice cracked with heavy emotion, “Don't fucking play with me. Is this really you?”
Draco sighed. Like Blaise, Theo would need convincing, "In our fifth year, Romilda Vane sent me an enchanted valentine's day card. You took it and snogged her inside Filch’s broom cupboard."
Theo blew his nose hard and chuckled, “Holy shit, I'm coming over right now! Are you at the Manor?”
Draco quipped, “Where else would I be?” There was a loud crash, and Theo yelled, "Luna, where is my bloody coat? I need to leave at once." The line abruptly cut off, and Draco could not help but laugh. Lastly, he reluctantly called Pansy. She would literally have his precious balls. The call connected, but she spoke to someone else, "Neville, love, can you fetch the cat from outside? I worry about my baby."
Draco stared wide-eyed at the black device in his grasp. Longbottom? That was the only Neville he knew.
Pansy giggled at something Neville said and spoke, “Yes, darling, how are you, Cissy?
Involuntarily, the dormant snake in him rose to the surface, and Draco questioned, “Pans, are you really with Longbottom?” A strained silence was punctured by heavy breathing.
Pansy sneered, “I'm going to kill you slowly, Draco. You are going to wish you didn’t return.” It was the kind of response he was expecting from her.
Draco snorted and mused, “Sounds good. Why don’t you come over?”
Pansy replied sternly, “Oh, I’m on my way, and you better run, Malfoy.” Obviously, his friends had changed and adapted as much as he did. It was a comforting thought. Draco returned to the foyer and sat next to his mother. Narcissa placed the intricate lace embroidery aside and inquired curiously, "How did it go?"
Draco laughed, "Better than I could hope. They’re coming over."
Narcissa smiled warmly, “Ah, I'll make myself scarce and have refreshments ready.” The air was punctured with the urgent sounds of apparation and loud chatter.
Draco braced himself for the incoming barrage. His mouth was dry, but he swallowed hard and got to his feet.
Theo shoved Blaise out of the way and yelled, "You rotten wanker." He had always been the tallest. The gangly man had hit another growth spurt. His dirty blonde hair was cut short, and he narrowed his clear blue eyes at his best friend. Theo instructed Blaise sternly, “Grab him and hold him still so I can kick his nuts.” He added angrily, “You turn up after all these years, you fucking arsehole.”
A high-pitched voice hurled, “Do you have any idea what you've put us through?” Heels clicked impatiently against the marble floors, and everyone ground their teeth. Pansy hadn't changed much except she looked like she stepped out of Witch Weekly Magazine with her short bob, stylish pleated pants, manicured nails and a fashionable silk shirt.
In surrender, Draco put his hands up and backed away slowly, "Calm down." He went to stand behind a rather sturdy cushioned armchair. The more distance he put between himself and the enraged frothing woman, the better for his wellbeing. Pansy wasted no time; she strode up to him, and Draco closed his eyes and surrendered to what might follow.
She grabbed his face, and he felt her nails dig in slightly and pulled him down to her height, "What have you been doing? Your skin is so soft."
Letting go, she took a step back and cocked her head to the side, placed her hands on her hip and grinned, “You look hot as fuck and weirdly different but in a good way.” She looked him over and whispered, “So fit and firm.”
Theo chuckled, “Steady on, Pans,” and unconsciously sucked in his small protruding gut. He clamped Draco on the shoulder and grinned, “It is good to see you, mate.”
Blaise walked behind the impulsive duo with a happy grin and his hand out. He was an inch shorter than Draco but broader and built. His chocolate brown skin was gorgeously tan, and his green-tinged eyes lit up happily at the sight of his long-lost friend.
Pansy choked back a sob, "You miserable worm. Do you have any idea how worried we've been?" She added in concern, “You could've died.”
Draco looked at each of his friends and replied solemnly, “If I stayed, I would have. I needed to leave.”
A deep voice concurred, “Yes, we know.”
Pansy rounded on Blaise and admonished, “Don’t encourage him.”
Blaise glared sternly, “We all know what he did was right, so shut it.”
An awkward silence filled the space.
Theo pulled Draco into a tight hug, “It's good to have you back.” He let go and asked earnestly, “Are you here to stay?”
Draco smoothed his robe and smiled, “Yes, mother needs me, and I accomplished what I set out to do.”
Pansy sat down, crossed her legs with poise and probed, “And what pray tell is that?” A smile split Draco’s face in half.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “Inner peace.” The rattling of a tray made it to their ears, and they turned towards the sound. Dotty balanced an enormous silver platter with a large pot of steaming tea and plates of cake, pastries and cut sandwiches.
Dotty flashed a bright smile at the group of young people and offered politely, “Tea?”
A hearty laugh erupted from deep within Theo, "Salazar, no! I need something much stronger; I'm still recovering from the shock of seeing this git." Dotty left the platter and hurried off to fetch a bottle of aged scotch.
Draco leaned back, ran his fingers through his ice-blonde short locks and asked with a grin, “So, what have I missed?”
Blaise shrugged and reached for a piece of cake, “I suppose we can start with the most obvious ones.”
Dotty reappeared with a golden tray laden with scotch in an intricately carved decanter and crystal tumblers.
Theo was first to pour himself a drink. He tossed it back and hissed as it laid a trail of fire down his throat. He smiled, displaying nearly all his teeth and gushed, “I married Luna Lovegood a few months back.”
Draco raised a brow, “Lovegood? As in Loony?”
Theo suddenly became defensive, “Hey, watch it. That’s my wife, and she’s been my bloody saving grace.”
Draco smiled warmly, bit into a cream-filled pastry and managed between mouthfuls, “I’m sure she’s great.
Theo poured himself another drink and continued, “We started dating after I ran into her at Blaise’s Quidditch store press conference about three years ago. Anyways, she was from the Quibbler. We talked, and boom, she broke through all my insecurities and here we are.”
Draco looked at Blaise lazily munching on a sandwich and asked curiously, “Quidditch stores?”
Blaise swallowed and smirked, “Yeah, it turns out I can be a decent businessperson when I put my mind to it. I own shops in Diagon Alley.” He pointed to his gleaming gold wedding band, “I married Daphne, maybe a year or so after Hogwarts. We have a boy and a girl.”
His face softened, and he added lovingly, “Carrie is almost five, and Adam is eighteen months.”
Draco could hardly believe his ears. He mused, “Wow, been busy, haven't we?”
Blaise took the scotch-filled glass Theo handed him and chuckled, “Yeah, I guess.”
Draco winced at the mention of the older Greengrass sister. Astoria’s name was bound to come up.
Pansy swirled the contents of her glass around and stared into it. She sighed, “When they passed the Marriage Law, and I got paired off with Longbottom, I was properly horrified, but oddly enough, he was delighted. I fought the poor man all the way, but now, I'm so in love with him I can hardly breathe.” She added with a small smile, “The Ministry knew what they were doing when they ran the algorithm.”
Thoroughly confused, Draco inquired further, “Marriage Law? Algorithm?”
Pansy’s gaze softened, “Of course, you know nothing about it.” She added, “But yeah, I suppose since you’re back, they will run your name as well.”
Blaise coughed. He knew from Daphne exactly who Draco had been paired with, thanks to Astoria arriving on their doorstep sobbing hysterically, that her betrothed was matched with someone else. For half the night, Daphne had tried to calm her younger sister and assure her that it was such a bizarre union that it would never happen.
Close to dawn, Astoria had finally calmed down enough to go home. Blaise thought it was brilliant that Draco got paired up with Granger, but he was undoubtedly sure there would be plenty of drama. Granger would give Draco a bloody good run for his money. She was a no-nonsense type of witch and certainly one that could knock their temperamental best friend off his high horse if need be. He kept mum; it was apparent Narcissa hadn't gotten around to telling her son about his pending nuptials.
Instead, he stirred the conversation away, “You remember Davis?”
A knowing smirk curved Draco's lips, “Oh yeah, I remember Tracey.” Intimately, they had shared a kiss or two in Hogsmeade. Sadly, though curious, he questioned, “I thought she died.”
Theo put the half-eaten sausage pastry down and shook his head, “That’s what we thought, but apparently, we were dead wrong.” Everyone groaned at his poor choice of words and attempted humour. Undeterred, he continued, “She's getting married next week to Weasley. Once she finds out you're back, I'm sure you will get an invite. I think your mum already got hers.”
Draco could feel the sweat build on his upper lip. He asked anxiously, “What? Was that also a Ministry matchup?”
Pansy grinned and leaned forward conspiratorially, “Yeah, but she took it rather well, Weasley not so much. The bugger is still hopelessly in love with Granger.”
Draco swallowed hard. This law sounded utterly fucked up. He had definitely chosen the opportune time to reenter the wizarding world, he mused sardonically. He wondered who he would get paired off with if they ever decided to run him through this algorithm. Maybe ex-Death Eaters were exempt from the new law. Not that he would ever entertain the idea of marriage to someone he did not know.
It went beyond that. He had not entertained the idea of spending the remainder of his days with anyone. He was happy to dedicate his life to meditation and looking after the family's interests. Of course, the matter of an heir to carry the Malfoy name would be of some importance, but there was time, and no way was he going to bend to some bloody law.
Draco pushed the thought away, cleared his throat and asked curiously, “What's Granger doing?”
Pansy ran her finger around the rim of her now empty glass and smacked her lips, “She’s the Undersecretary to the Minister.”
Draco widened his eyes, “Blimey, that’s impressive.”
Blaise grinned devilishly, “You won't recognise her. The woman’s come out of her ugly shell.”
Theo licked his bottom lip and indicated to a point between his chest and hip, “Those legs of hers go on forever.”
That bit of information piqued Draco’s interest. He wanted to see what they were on about, but he showed indifference, “Yeah?”
Pansy frowned and spat in disgust, “You fuckers are disgusting. Show some respect.”
Theo laughed, “Says the woman who wanted to hand over Potter gift wrapped with a bow.”
Pansy leered, “Sod off, Theo.”
Blaise laughed and stuffed his face with yet another piece of fruit cake.
Theo asked impatiently, “Well, cough it up. Where and what have you been doing all these years?” He looked around and dropped his voice to a mere whisper, “Narcissa isn’t around. You were shacked up with some Muggle broad, weren’t you?”
Draco replied with a roll of his eyes, “Yes, you caught me. I fathered a bunch of kids that are running around Muggle London.”
Pansy reached over, smacked Theo’s head with a rolled-up copy of the Prophet and hissed, “Idiot.”
He paused for effect and told them the truth, “I've been living and training in Kung Fu at a Buddhist monastery in China.”
Blaise narrowed his eyes in thought and questioned, “Isn't that some sort of deadly Muggle self-defence?”
Draco got his feet and moved his feet fluidly and took his signature stance, “Depends on how you use it.”
Theo gawked and said in awe, “That’s bloody brilliant.”
Blaise watched intently, and Pansy eyed the movements in interest, “That’s hot.”
Draco added purposefully, “After everything that happened, I didn’t know who I was, what I wanted or how to go on.”
Blaise raised a brow, “And do you now?”
Draco nodded at once, “Yes, I have purpose again. My mind is crystal clear.”
Pansy stared at his face and smiled warmly, “Well, I can see the peace in your eyes. I'm thrilled to have you back.”
Blaise cleared his throat, "Not to burst the happy bubble but have you spoken to Tori?"
Draco averted his gaze, “No, I will in time.” The mention of Astoria Greengrass brought back some rather painful memories.
Blaise advised solemnly, “Mate, be careful. Time has not been kind to her.”
Theo looked uncomfortable. He rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, “She's still in love with you, and her minds slipped. You will need to deal with her carefully.”
After all this time? Draco wondered but kept the thought to himself and replied gravely, “I understand, but I cannot give her what she wants from me.
Blaise sighed, “I don't think she will be easily discouraged.”
Pansy got to her feet and touched Draco's robes. Her eyes roamed over them critically, "You need to get some bloody clothes."
Theo nodded vigorously, “Yeah, mate. She's got a point.”
Pansy looked around the room excitedly, “Have about a day out in Muggle London?”
Theo clapped enthusiastically, “Oh, how fun. I'm in.”
Blaise rolled his eyes and frowned at Theo, “Shopping? You really are almost batting for the other side.” He smirked at Pansy, “I would love to, but I've got three shipments in and a ton of inventory to go over.”
Draco leaned forward. His eyes shone bright, “I have one request.” Everyone gave him their undivided attention and listened intently to his following words. Once satisfied that everyone was listening, he asked graciously, “I rather keep my return away from the public eye for the time being. Keep this between us.”
Theo raised his hand, “Can I tell Luna?”
Draco rolled his eyes, “Put your fucking hand down.” He locked eyes with his tall best friend and shook his head, “No, not yet, at least.”
Theo’s face fell in sadness. There were no secrets between Luna and him. He was awful at keeping things from her, but Draco insisted he should keep his mouth shut.
Hopefully.
Blaise lit a cigar and tipped his chin, “Yeah, The Prophet will blow this way out of proportion.” If he told Daphne, it would practically be the same thing. He loved his wife, but she was a horrible gossip. Not to mention her running off to tell Astoria.
Pansy touched her full red lips with her index finger and winked, “Our lips are sealed.”
Chapter 7
Notes:
The much-awaited meeting between Hermione and Draco. :)
I've taken a few liberties. :)
I love giving more insight into all characters. :)
Slow burn! It's about to get intense in the next chapters. :) :)
Enjoy Chapter Seven!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Ministry of Magic, Cafeteria
Harry drank his hot chocolate like a greedy child, and Hermione bit delicately into her chicken sandwich. They always had lunch together, the small perks of working in the same building.
Harry tried to scrape off bits of chocolate stuck to the side of the cup and asked casually, "Are you coming over on Saturday?"
Hermione swallowed and nodded, "I spoke to Meda about taking Teddy out. There's a new games arcade that’s opened in Diagon Alley."
Harry's face lit up, "Wicked, I saw that."
He grinned sheepishly, "Can I tag along?"
Hermione popped a thick-cut chip into her mouth and munched happily. She bobbed her head in complete agreement, "Sure, sounds like a plan."
She kept her gaze permanently fixed on the plate of food in front of her and mumbled, "How is Ron?"
She hadn’t seen him since the catastrophic bride’s maid incident at the Burrow. However, Tracey seemed to be keeping him on his toes.
Harry grinned, reached over, grabbed a handful of chips off Hermione's plate and mused, "Terrified but coping. He hasn't chucked everything and disappeared yet."
The wedding was literally a few days away, and Hermione toyed with the idea of asking Terry to be her plus one.
Hermione stared into the tall glass of her milkshake and shrugged, "Yeah, but Tracey does seem genuinely nice and wants her marriage to work despite the circumstances of their union."
If only everyone had that mindset.
Harry frowned, "He's still hung up on you."
Hermione grimaced, "He’s not hung up on me. He is hung up on the concept of us."
She added firmly, "Well, Ron is going to have to move on, Harry. You know I feel nothing for him."
Rough hands massaged her shoulders. She leaned into the touch and sighed. The subtle touch of a man in the right place was enough to send rippling sensations through her body.
His fingers pressed into the hollow of her shoulder blade. She felt a moan bubble to the surface.
Harry eyed the man disapprovingly and drank the last of his hot chocolate before something nasty left his mouth.
Terry pulled out the chair next to Hermione, turned it around and sat on it with its hard wooden front to his chest.
He reached over and played with a wild strand of hair, "Hey, gorgeous."
Hermione blushed, "Cheesy much?"
Terry smiled affectionately, "You bring out the best in me."
Harry frowned at the pathetic display and forced down the bile that rose.
Terry leaned over and placed an enduring kiss on Hermione's forehead.
Hermione moved back. Her chair scraped loudly against the hard floor in her haste to put some distance between herself and the undeterred man.
Hermione hissed, "Boot, people are watching."
Completely unfazed, Terry leaned forward and whispered, "So, let them. I like you, remember?"
Hermione shot back without hesitation, "And I wanted space, remember?"
Boot got to his feet, towered over the duo, pushed the chair aside and fired, " I missed you. Is that a fucking crime?"
He stormed off. People in the canteen watched him leave and threw a look of suspicion toward Hermione. She sighed and pushed her plate aside.
Harry continued to stuff his face with greasy chips and mumbled between mouthfuls, "I told you not to encourage him."
Hermione pulled the plate away from his grasp, and Harry protested loudly.
After lunch, Hermione strode into the Auror department and placed a chocolate-smothered cupcake in front of Terry Boot. Her critical eyes roamed over his exceedingly untidy desk.
Mountains of papers were piled to the left, and pieces of parchment and pictures littered the surface of his desk.
Hermione couldn't help herself, "How do you get any work done in such a mess?"
Boot looked up from his papers, stretched and regarded her lazily, "Madam Undersecretary, what can I do for you?"
Hermione stomped her foot down impatiently and whined, "Come on, Terry. I'm trying to apologise."
A grin curved his lips. He kept his eyes on a paper covered with untidy handwriting and muttered, "Let me take you out to dinner."
He slowly lifted his head and looked into her chocolate brown orbs, "You know, as a punishment for earlier."
Hermione had to hand it to him; Boot did not discourage easily.
She giggled, "You're incorrigible."
Terry pushed hopefully, "Is that a yes?"
Hermione conceded defeat. She placed her hands on the table and leaned forward so their faces were inches apart. As a result, he got a great view of her ample bosom and red silk bra.
His eyes lingered on the parting.
She bit her lip and warned, "I'll go out to dinner but no touching."
Terry shot to his feet, grinned devilishly, came around the table and cupped Hermione's face.
He stepped into her space and rasped, "One kiss, Granger."
Harry chose this moment to poke his head out of his office and yell, "Boot, Corner, get your pathetic arses in here."
Terry stiffened and let go at once. He hurriedly tried to get papers in order, "Ah fuck, got to go, Granger."
Michael Corner rose from his seat in the corner, threw Terry a look of pure dread and headed into what was widely known as the Lion's Den.
Harry was at it the second the door closed shut. Hermione heard her best friend berating the two wizards for not doing a thorough job and missing paperwork.
Malfoy Manor - Shopping day with Pansy and Theo
Pansy breezed in wearing a stylish outfit that suited her well and asked, "Are you ready, Draco?"
Draco ruffled Max’s head, and the loving puppy ran in circles around him. He smiled warmly at the well-dressed woman in stylish heels, "As I'll ever be." They heard a loud crack and a montage of colourful curses.
Theo hurried in and dusted the dust off his robes, "Thought you buggers left without me."
Pansy rolled her eyes and mused, "So close."
They disapparated into Muggle London and walked along the paved streets packed with bustling people. Draco looked around in awe. So much had changed. It was hard to wrap his head around it, but he marvelled at the significant changes. The men followed Pansy. She seemed to know exactly where to go. They entered a posh clothing store, and a vibrantly dressed young man rushed up to Pansy and swapped air kisses, "Darling, how marvellous to see you."
He knew a big spender when he saw one. His commission would be through the roof. Theo and Draco swapped a look of discomfort.
Pansy smiled warmly. Her ruby red lips parted and practised words flew out of her mouth, "Good to be back, but I'm not here for me."
She grabbed Draco by the arm, pulled him forward and displayed him as if he were a store mannequin.
Pansy touched the robes on Draco in mild disgust and grinned at the eager salesman, "We need the works, jeans, shirts, trousers, shoes, everything."
The young man fanned himself with his fingers and gushed, "Oh my, he is quite the specimen."
Unashamed and boldly, he took hold of Draco's hand and dragged him forward, "Come this way, Adonis."
Theo chuckled and followed after a determined Pansy and reluctant Draco.
A myriad of different options was pushed into Draco's arms. He struggled to carry them all, and a few items fell inelegantly to the floor.
Some he liked others not so much. They were too flashy for his taste.
He sighed and disappeared into the dressing room and walked out wearing different outfits to parade in front of his friends and shop clerk.
Each outfit garnered an approving nod or quick dismissal.
While Draco got ready to showcase his tenth outfit, Theo placed a wide-brimmed hat on his head and grinned, "What do you think?"
Pansy laughed, "I think I pity Luna."
Theo quickly took the hat off, carefully placed it back and quipped, "Fuck off. I could say the same about Longbottom."
Pansy opened her mouth to retort, but Draco strode out in a black shirt and trousers.
The clerk swooned. This man was worth a wank over when he returned to his lonely studio flat at the end of the day.
Pansy groaned impatiently, "For fuck sake, can you please pick a colour other than black?"
Draco was having none of that. He cut her off, "Black is my thing, and nothing you lot say will ever change that."
Theo eyed his best friend and nodded approvingly, "He does look rather fetching, though."
Draco frowned at his tall best friend and warned darkly, "Theo, don't comment on my appearance."
Theo shrugged, "I'm just being honest." He paused for effect and joked, "We would make a splendid couple."
Draco threw him a look of loathing and disappeared into the dressing room. He banged the door shut, and Theo and Pansy burst out laughing.
Three long hours later, Draco had everything he could possibly need.
The sophisticatedly dressed woman who sold underwear insisted he walk out wearing the boxers she presented to make doubly sure that they were indeed a good fit.
Theo raised a questioning brow, "Umm, is that necessary?" He knew without a doubt the odd request wasn't necessary.
Draco concurred, "I don't think..."
The woman replied hotly, "Oui Monsieur, it is important that your bits have sufficient breathing space." The men swapped a look of concern, and Pansy shooed Draco into the dressing room, "We don't have all day, Malfoy."
Theo grinned at the two women drumming their fingernails on the counter impatiently, "You just want to see the man in his underpants. Shame on you."
Pansy smirked, "Mind your own business, Nott."
Draco stepped into the pair of white silk boxers. They felt good; even over his briefs, they felt comfortable. He turned the price tag over and gasped. At one hundred and fifty quid, his cock and balls better feel magical in them.
False modesty aside. Wearing only a pair of black boxers with red trimmings and black socks, he came out of the dressing room. The clerk grabbed onto the clothes railing to steady herself and muttered incoherently in rapid French.
Draco glanced her way and smirked. Whatever she said was definitely complimentary because when he replied with a quick, “Merci,” the woman blushed crimson.
He really was fit—all taut lines and not an ounce of fat on his physique.
Draco tugged at the waistband, "I think they fit perfectly."
The French woman nodded vigorously, "Indeed, Monsieur. As if they were made for you."
His softened cock pressed against the material, and even in his flaccid state, it was plain to see he was packing something worthwhile between those firm pale thighs.
Theo whistled, and Draco threw him a scathing look.
Pansy cocked her head to the side and bit her lip, "Turn around."
Theo reached over and pinched her ear, "Slut."
Pansy came back to her senses and clicked her fingers, "Wrap these up, Nicole."
She pointed to the far end where pieces of black leather bras hung, "Bring me size 36 C."
Neville was in for a rather unforgettable treat. Nicole nodded and hurried off to comply.
Draco emerged fully dressed, ran his fingers through his hair and groaned in exhaustion, "I think we've just about bought everything in London."
Once shopping was done, they piled into a crowded Muggle pub and ordered some much-needed nourishment and beer. Blaise joined them after a bit, sat down and ordered scotch neat. Muggle women threw the wizards appreciative glances and looked their way suggestively.
Blaise downed his drink and mumbled groggily, "I'm exhausted."
Pansy signalled for a server and replied sympathetically, "You look it."
Draco opted for fruit juice. Theo and Pansy frowned.
Theo exclaimed, "Are you fucking serious?"
Pansy added in confusion, "You're going to sit there and drink that shite?"
Draco shrugged, "What? It's good for you."
Theo rolled his eyes and replied sarcastically, "Thank you, grandpa Malfoy." He pushed a mug towards his long-lost best friend and encouraged, "Have a pint, mate."
Draco wasn't easily swayed, "Maybe later."
Theo took a sip and wiped the foam off his upper lip, and said, "Malfoy?"
Draco raised a brow, "Yeah?"
Theo beamed, "It's good to have you back, mate."
Draco smiled, "It's good to be back."
Hermione's London Flat
The doorbell rang. Hermione sighed, kept aside the book she was reading and got to her feet.
She was dressed in a modest short dark purple dress that skimmed over her figure at the right bits. Nothing too provocative or alluring. Agreeing to dinner with Terry could easily backfire on her, as Harry had eloquently pointed out in frustration.
She looked through the peephole. It was him, all right. Neat, hair brushed back, wrinkle-free grey dress shirt and what looked like black trousers.
What the hell was he doing? Hermione pressed her eye to the hole to get a better look.
He seemed to be giving himself a pep talk. The man pounded his fist and took several deep breaths.
Hermione fought the urge to burst out laughing. Instead, she moved her shoulders in small circles to calm herself and threw the door open.
Caught off-guard, Terry stumbled and dropped the small bouquet he was holding. It hit the floor and came apart.
He cussed, “Fuck,” and bent to pick it up.
Hermione stifled a laugh, kept the door open and walked into the thick of the living room to fetch her handbag.
Terry gathered himself and followed. He looked around and whistled, “Nice place.”
Hermione slipped into her heels and closed the gap between them, “Thanks.”
Terry held out the flowers, “For you, sorry I squashed them.”
Hermione took the flowers and inhaled the sweet scent. She reached to kiss Terry on the cheek, but he turned his head and caught her mouth instead.
He deepened the kiss. Then, using his unusually long tongue, he pried her willing lips open and sought the inner sweetness she offered.
Terry groaned. She tasted faintly of peppermint and cinnamon.
Hermione dropped the bundle of flowers and moved her fingers up the crisp shirt and into Terry’s short hair. She fisted it and held on hard as he pulled her closer and kissed her fervently.
Things were getting out of hand, but none seemed concerned with ending the kiss until good sense kicked in and Hermione abruptly broke free and stepped back.
She touched her lip and felt a wave of bitter disappointment wash over her. The kiss was pleasant and enjoyable but lacked the spark, the fire she thought existed between them.
Terry, of course, had felt all that and more, his chest heaved, and a sappy grin split his face in half. He pulled Hermione closer and muttered against her lips, “Shall we skip dinner?”
Hermione pushed him back and grinned, “I don’t think so.”
She sashayed towards the door, glanced over her shoulder and said, “Come on, I’m starving.”
Terry shook his head to shake the mental image of her bouncing arse and followed her out. He put his arm around her waist, pulled her close and whispered, “Tease.”
Dinner was a pleasant affair, and Hermione thoroughly enjoyed Terry’s company. The restaurant was adequate, and the food was scrumptious. She Immensely enjoyed the butter chicken that oozed liquid cheese when pierced with the fork.
After the fourth glass of wine, she was feeling rather adventurous and nosy.
She stared at the rugged man over the candlelight and asked curiously, “Who did you get paired with?”
Terry choked on his wine. Finally, he cleared his throat and replied hesitantly, “I think you might remember her. Susan Bones, Hufflepuff.”
Hermione nodded eagerly, “Of course, I do. What happened?
Terry chuckled, “Well, she was already pretty serious with Ernie. They eloped the day after she got the letter.”
He gestured to himself mockingly, “And here I am. I can’t say I’m not relieved. Susan was not my cup of tea.”
He added with a tinge of discomfort, "They were rather heartbroken and second-guessing their relationship since they didn’t get paired up in the first place."
Hermione took a sip of the red wine and nodded. It made sense, she supposed.
Terry cut into his steak and asked, "Any bloke would be lucky to have you. So, fess up, I told you mine."
Hermione drank the rest of the wine slowly and dabbed the corners of her mouth with the napkin. She averted her gaze, "Lucky isn’t the word I would use. I got Malfoy."
Terry spat out his drink, “No fucking way. He is a complete arsehole.”
Hermione stared into her empty glass and muttered miserably, "Don’t I know it."
Boot was absolutely livid, "How could they pair you with someone like him. It's barmy."
He added confidently, "But no one’s seen him in years. So if you're lucky, maybe he’s dead or married some woman abroad."
Hermione raised her glass and slurred, “Cheers to that.”
Quite tipsy, they stumbled out of the restaurant, and Terry pulled Hermione close and nuzzled into her neck.
She felt his lips caress her skin, and it felt good, but reluctantly, she broke out of the embrace and kissed him hard before letting go.
Hermione smiled, “I had a good time.”
Terry grinned and suggested hopefully, “Me too. Can I come back to yours?”
Hermione laughed and took a step back, “Definitely not.”
He closed the gap and grabbed her by the shoulders, “You can’t deny this chemistry between us.”
Well, that remained to be seen.
Hermione patted Terry's cheek, “I have a lot to figure out.”
So she kept saying.
She backed away and blew him a kiss, “Good night, Terry.”
Terry rubbed his hands together to generate heat and replied, “Sleep well, Granger.”
Unlikely.
Hermione apparated into the middle of her living room, lost her balance and fell onto the sofa. She pulled a cushion close and hugged it. Sleep came before she willed it.
Nott Residence
Luna looked at her husband over the mixed salad, "Theo?"
Fuck.
Theo felt his palms sweat profusely. He wiped them on the napkin and faked a smile.
Luna pointedly stared at his full plate. Then, her eyes grew wide in concern. She reached for his hand and asked, "Are you okay? You haven't touched your food."
He usually wolfed down his wife's delicious cooking.
Theo moved his sweat-soaked hand away from her grasp and replied with weaning confidence, "I'm fine. Just not hungry."
Luna smiled warmly and pulled a bowl of hot bread pudding towards her, and inhaled deeply.
She shot her husband a loving gaze, "I made your favourite dessert. Would you like a piece?"
Theo shot to his feet abruptly, "I need to visit the bathroom."
Luna's face fell in sadness, and her bottom lip quivered, "Are you sure everything is okay?"
Theo looked away and pretended to rub his abdomen to hide his discomfort, "Yes, I have a tummy ache."
Luna wasn't buying it. Theo was a horrible liar.
He turned to leave the table, but her voice made him freeze, "Theo, I love you."
Fuck. Hold it in. Do not cave. You can do this, man.
He glanced over his shoulder and muttered, "I love you too."
Theo locked himself inside the bathroom and sat on the closed commode.
The look of pain on Luna's usually calm face gutted him. He mumbled into the silence, "Draco, this better be worth it."
Hermione's Flat
A frightened voice pleaded, “No, please….”
Bellatrix screeched, “Where did you steal it from?”
She cried in alarm, “Have you been inside my vault?”
Hermione sobbed in unimaginable pain, “Please, let me go.”
The deranged witch screamed, “You filthy, Mudblood bitch. I will gut you alive.”
A silent scream tore through Hermione's chest, and she woke with a start drenched in sweat.
Her hand unconsciously covered the faded scar on her arm.
She was already sobbing, but the intensity returned. She fell to the ground and wept for the cruelly taken lives and for the magic that flowed in her blood.
Hermione yelled into the darkness, "I never asked for any of this."
Chest heaving, she bent herself in half, hugged her knees to her chest and let hot tears fall down her cheeks.
She mumbled weakly, "Get out of my head."
Malfoy Manor
Draco stood by the window and stared into the immaculately kept grounds. So angelic and peaceful by day when night fell, the trees twisted themselves macabrely.
He returned to his place by the roaring fire and let the heat seep into his bones before picking up the leatherbound book once more.
His eager eyes scanned through the ancient manuscript. The ink was faded in places, but he knew to look beyond that and take in the words of wisdom. Magic simmered at his fingertips, and he moved them gracefully in front of his face. A glistening ball of blue appeared before his eyes, and Draco stared at it mesmerized for a few seconds before letting it disappear into nothingness.
A voice filled with pride made it to his ear, "Impressive."
Draco smiled, "Mother, I thought you had retired for the night."
Narcissa waved her hand casually, "Ah, I couldn’t sleep."
She pointed to the heavy book, “A bit of light reading?”
Draco nodded and ran his fingertips over the embossed lettering, "Brushing up on our history."
Narcissa sighed, "That book belonged to my dear departed sister."
Draco closed the book and shot it a look of disgust.
Narcissa saw the flash of hatred in her son's eyes. Then she sat down and explained, "Bella wasn’t always the monster you knew. There was a time where she was more human than beast."
Draco had no wish to speak of his murdering aunt. Instead, he steered the conversation purposely away, "Do you think about your other sister?"
Narcissa choked back a sob, "Andromeda."
She got to her feet, walked over to a high shelf of books, and felt around. Draco watched his mother’s actions intently.
Taking out her wand, Narcissa tapped an area, and a secret safe revealed itself. She opened it and took out what appeared to be a large leather-bound album. She blew the dust off it and returned to her seat.
She opened the book, and pictures came to light. Three sisters exceedingly different in looks smiled and stood next to each other in their long flowing gowns and pinned-up hair.
Narcissa touched Andromeda's smiling face lovingly, "I was most fond of her. We were exceedingly close. I loved her then. I love her still."
A tear rolled down her cheek, and Draco caught it before it fell to the ground.
He took his mother’s hand in his and asked soothingly, "Have you not tried to speak with her?"
Narcissa flipped the page, and more pictures of the sisters posing were visible under the bright candlelight. Finally, she whispered inaudibly, "I’m afraid."
Draco implored, "Of what?"
Narcissa smiled weakly, "That she will reject me, turn me away."
She knew more about Andromeda and Teddy than she led on. Hermione was always happy to dish out details about her darling sister, and she longed for the day they would reconcile.
Hermione herself had hinted that a reunion between the two estranged sisters was overdue.
Draco made a mental note to reunite the sisters and right the many wrongs done to Andromeda Tonks.
He spent the rest of the week playing catch-up. He had a training room installed with a wooden dummy and covered the space with mats.
Every morning diligently, he practised with the dummy and did his mandatory stretching.
After that, Max became a permanent fixture in his life, and the puppy followed him everywhere, even sleeping in his room.
Gone were the old posters and childish furniture, and in their place was a walk-in wardrobe filled with new clothes and other basic accessories. A shelf of books he kept handy for some nighttime reading adorned the entire left side of the room by the fireplace.
The smaller bed was now replaced by a larger four-poster bed draped in silk sheets that hugged his naked form in the night.
He continued to meditate outside, surrounded by the calmness of leaves falling and trees swaying gently in the wind.
Blaise's daughter Carrie jumped on the bed in her heart-printed nightdress and giggled, "Daddy, please read us a story."
He strode into the room in his work robes, fell onto the bed, grabbed his daughter and tickled her.
The toddler laughed uncontrollably, "Stop, daddy. I want a story."
Blaise let go and replied lovingly, "Of course, Princess."
Adam struggled to climb onto the bed. Blaise scooped him up and brought his son closer to his warmth.
He settled in next to his daughter and asked, "What would you like me to read?"
Carrie handed him a book off her nightstand excitedly, "Oh, the one about the brave dragon."
Blaise sighed. He had already met one dragon a few days back. A dragon who seemed well put together and ready to face the world.
He flipped the book open and tapped the book with his wand. A bright green dragon materialized, "Alright then. Once upon a time, there was a baby dragon."
Carrie requested loudly, "Do the voices, daddy!"
Blaise rounded his cheeks and deepened his voice to match the dragons.
Daphne poked her head into the room, “Are you coming to bed, darling?”
Blaise smiled fondly at his sweet wife, “As soon as the dragon frees the Princess.”
Daphne grinned, “Don’t take too long.”
Blaise winked and went back to reading the story animatedly.
Hermione glanced at the clock and decided she could skip work early. It was her day to visit Narcissa. She could not help but marvel at how close they had become over the many months.
She picked up the neatly wrapped package and hurried to an apparition point.
She always preferred to appear near the angelic fountain on the property. This is because it was so beautifully carved, and the area reminded her of her mother’s prized rose garden.
Hermione entered the usual way, but it was empty and usually, and Dotty was always around to greet anyone entering the Manor. She thought it strange, but boldly, she walked in and rounded the corner when the most beautiful melody flowed into her ear.
She had no idea Narcissa played the piano. It was the most beautiful sound.
Hermione followed the music without a second thought until she ventured upstairs into a part of the Manor unknown to her.
The music became louder, and it was obvious it was coming from within the room ahead. The door was ajar, and she curiously peeked through the crack and saw long fingers moving effortlessly across the ivory keys.
Her first thought was, oh, that's Lucius's ghost, but that seemed farfetched and borderline ridiculous.
Who the fuck was this stranger serenading the Manor? And why had Narcissa failed to mention it?
They spoke only the other day before Hermione placed the order for an expensive glass bowl Narcissa wanted.
The grand piano was a slave to the strong fingers caressing it and playing it expertly. The door hid the face, and she wondered who the regal woman was harbouring.
She snickered and wondered if Narcissa was dating a younger man. It wasn't unheard of but would send ripples of scandalous gossip through the community.
Hermione hardly noticed the puppy running across the polished floors to where she was spying. Then, it started to yelp and growl, forcing her to step back.
When had Cissy gotten a dog? Could so much change in a bloody week?
The music came to a blaring halt and stopped entirely, and the figure rose, giving her a full view of who it was.
The room grew small, and Hermione's heart slammed against the ribcage and fought to dislodge itself from her body and flee.
Oh fuck, it was him.
His deep voice drawled, "What is it, boy? Is someone outside the door?
Older, much taller, and strikingly handsome, but it was him.
She would know those clear grey eyes anywhere. But the lines that defined them were new.
Hermione backed away, but she was not fast enough. The doors opened, and Draco Malfoy strode out and asked the seemingly empty space before spotting her almost cowering behind a large potted plant.
He narrowed his eyes and scanned the area, "Is anyone there?"
She could hardly hide behind the plant until he went away.
Hermione gathered her bravado and stepped out of her hiding spot, and stood her ground. A stubborn leaf stuck firmly onto her elegantly done chignon bun, but of course, she noticed nothing but the man in a dark blue suit, and crisp white shirt towering over her.
Her heartbeat rang steadily in her ears. She was surprised there was no blood trickling down her cheek from a busted eardrum.
Gods, he smelt heavenly. She wished he would not come closer. Her body was having enough reactions as it is.
Draco eyed the woman before him cautiously. He knew those eyes and that hair, but could it really be Granger standing in his ancestral home staring at him as if he was a ghost?
His eyes roved over her, taking in the small details.
Her hair was still the mass of wild curls but with light brown highlights, and it was tamed and styled to suit her outfit. Gone were the buck beaver teeth, and in their place were a set of pearly whites. Her lips were lush and swollen, and her mouth parted in shock.
When had she changed into this shapely woman? Still, bits of her youth lingered, which attracted him most.
Her chest heaved, making her full breasts rise. The white shirt outlined her curves. Its material hugged her figure tight, and it rose and fell with the contours of her body.
His eyes moved down her shapely legs and took in the pedicured feet in dangerously high heels.
Blaise was right. Granger had undoubtedly put the awkward phase behind her and blossomed.
And Theo was fucking spot on about the long slender legs.
Draco hadn't given a second thought to sex in a while, but he was now. It hit him like the Hogwarts Express, and he almost doubled over to hide his mortification.
The way Malfoy looked at her made Hermione uncomfortable. She felt like a prize show pony under his critical gaze.
Draco swallowed hard. His feet moved of their own accord. He closed the distance between them. She was unmoving, rooted or frozen to the spot. Once he got close enough to smell her womanly perfume, he brazenly pulled the lodged leaf out of her hair and tossed it aside.
It fell in slow motion to the ground, and his fingers brushed over the outer skin of her ear, and a shiver went down her spine.
Draco kept his voice to merely a whisper, "Granger?"
His low, seductive drawl prompted her to act.
Max started to bark, snapping Hermione clear out of her daze.
"Tell your mother I came by," she threw the parcel at him and fled with him, calling after her.
He caught it effortlessly and yelled, "Granger, wait."
She wasn't waiting for a damn thing. She needed to get the hell away from him.
Run stupid shoes, she commanded of her ridiculously high heels.
Hermione flew down the stairs, into the grounds, took out her wand and disapparated.
The sound of imported shoes chasing after her disappeared into nothingness.
Ginny flew down the stairs and growled, "Hold your bloody horses."
James was asleep, and the impatient bastard on the other side of the door was going to die.
She threw open the door impatiently and snapped, "What?"
Hermione doubled over, trying to catch her breath. The stitch in her side was unbearable.
Ginny caught her best friend's elbow and peered into her face in concern, “What happened? Are you hurt?”
Hermione took in large gulps of air and muttered, "He's back."
Ginny felt her blood run cold. Her voice shook, "Who's back?"
Hermione tried to regain her composure, but it evaded her. Finally, she blurted out, "Malfoy! He's back."
Fuck.
Ginny frowned, left the door open for Hermione to enter and walked towards the kitchen, "Come in, I'll open a bottle of the good stuff."
Hermione kicked off her shoes angrily. Then, with her feet bare, she jumped over discarded toys and followed her best friend.
A bottle was hardly going to be enough.
Chapter 8
Notes:
Thank you so much for everyone who posted a review and for everyone following! It means so much! :)
Narcissa comes clean. Draco and Hermione are in a permanent state of shock. Ginny and Harry are awesome! :)
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Enjoy Chapter Eight!
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HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
No 12, Gimmauld Place
Harry stepped out of the Floo network, dusted off the particles of dirt and straightened to his full height. There was an eerie silence. Harry scanned the area suspiciously, pulled out his wand and called out to his wife, "Ginny."
Ginny came rushing around the corner with her apron flapping about madly and urgently shushed him, "For Merlin's sake, keep your voice down. James is still asleep."
Harry grinned, pulled Ginny closer and placed a lingering kiss on her lips. He whispered into the warmth of her mouth, “I missed you. You look hot in that apron.” She kissed him back but broke off the embrace and ran her fingers through his thick black hair.
Ginny pointed toward the kitchen and said, "As much as I love where this is going. We have an inconsolable guest in the kitchen."
Harry raised a brow and followed Ginny curiously to the kitchen. He desperately thought to himself, please don't let it be Ron. His best friend was driving him around the bend about the wedding. He caught sight of the bushy hair and relaxed, but not for long.
Hermione was slumped over the table and peered into her empty wine glass as if it was a magnifying glass. She spied Harry's blurred vision through it and squealed, "Harry. How nice of you to join us."
Harry eyed his best friend in concern, "I, umm, live here." He kept his bag aside and watched Hermione pour herself another drink and smack her lips. Looking over at where Ginny was making dinner, Harry raised his eyebrows in question. Ginny hid a smile and beckoned him over. She dropped her voice low, "Hermione is drowning her sorrows."
Harry quipped, "Clearly, but what brought it on?"
Ginny stared into Harry's confused face and told him the upsetting news, "Malfoy has returned."
Harry laughed in complete disbelief, "That's a load of tripe."
Hermione let out a loud ha, "Oh, but it's not. I saw him at the Manor." The sinfully smelling sod.
Harry took the seat next to his best friend, took hold of the wine bottle, kept it to his lips and drained a good portion of it.
Hermione mused, "Keep doing that for another two hours, and you might be where I am right now."
Harry wiped his mouth and stared at his distraught friend, "Well, what did he say?"
Ginny kept aside the pot, wiped her hands on the cloth and smirked, "Oh, please let me tell him this part."
Hermione glared, “Thrilled to know my life is amusing to you.” She pointed to Harry and leered, “But yeah, carry on.”
Ginny stifled a laugh and adopted a falsely sweet voice, “She saw him, threw a package at him and ran away.”
Harry was indignant, “You did what?”
Hermione peered into the empty bottle and confessed miserably, “I ran away like a frightened little mouse.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open, “Why?”
Hermione shrugged, popped a piece of cheese into her mouth and defended weakly, “I don’t why. It just happened.”
Harry frowned in disappointment. Since when did his best friend run from anything? The woman was tough as nails.
Hermione tossed back her drink and looked over the glass at Harry sheepishly.
Gryffindor where dwell the brave at heart or something like that. She had uncharacteristically run away from the dragon with steely grey eyes with her tail firmly between her legs.
His teeth looked good enough to devour her whole.
Draco stood at the entrance and stared at the place Hermione Granger disappeared for a good fifteen minutes or so before walking purposely into the foyer and minibar.
Max wagged its tail, and Draco patted the keen puppy’s head, “Yeah, that was extremely strange.” If there was a time to have a bloody drink, it was undoubtedly now.
He whispered into the silence, “Master Chun, please forgive me.” Draco poured himself a generous helping of expensive scotch and brought it to his nose. After inhaling the rich fragrance, he kept it to his dry lips and took a satisfying sip. His eyes closed on their own accord as the fiery liquid laid a gratifying path of fire down his throat.
He banged the tumbler down hard and cursed, "Fuck." His habit of using profanity returned with a vengeance, but some situations merited such language. What the fuck was Hermione Granger doing at Malfoy Manor?
It was the one place he figured she would avoid, like the bubonic plague. It made sense considering she was tortured and bled out on their earlier carpet. You can change the furniture and things but not the heinous acts that occurred within the walls.
Still, the woman had seemed perfectly comfortable enough to stroll through the hallways. Obviously, she was familiar with and had no problems with the many wards placed around the ancient home.
"Darling..." Narcissa's voice invaded his thoughts from around the corner. She came into the room and took in her son, nursing a glass of scotch, looking dazed and forlorn.
Narcissa raised a brow and bent to pick up the growing puppy, "What's the matter?" She ruffled the dog’s fur and said matter-of-factly, “He’s getting heavy.”
Draco stared at his mother intently, swallowed the lump that formed and casually informed, “We had an unexpected guest.”
An awkward silence fell upon the room.
Narcissa paled, “Oh, what day is it?”
Draco raised a brow and answered, “Thursday.”
Narcissa let the squirming dog down and pinched the bridge of her nose exasperatedly, “Oh dear, did Hermione come by?”
Draco choked on his drink. Finally, he surfaced, spluttering, “Hermione?”
Narcissa crossed the room and helped herself to a small drink of brandy. She took a dainty sip and replied calmly, “Yes, she comes by every Thursday.”
Draco shot his mother a look of bewilderment and mused, “You say that like it explains everything.” He inquired impatiently, “What didn't you tell me?”
Narcissa had the good grace to look mildly ashamed. She defended weakly, “There was nothing to tell, but of course, let me explain.”
Draco rolled his eyes and shook his head in complete disbelief, “Nothing to tell? So a girl I wished death upon is visiting my mother, and you think I didn’t need to know?” He was riddled with shock and fought to control his temper at being kept in the dark.
Narcissa frowned, “Wished death upon? That is awful.”
Draco wagged a finger, “Do not try to change the subject.”
A hearty laugh escaped him before he could stop it, “I think I scared the wits of her. She threw a heavy parcel at me, ran away and disappeared before I could stop her.”
Narcissa gasped, “Oh my goodness.”
Draco crossed the room, took the seat by the elaborate fireplace, and asked in interest, “Care to enlighten me on why Hermione Granger of all people is visiting you?”
Narcissa sighed, sat down across her son, looked into his face and readied herself to offer the dreaded explanation.
She held her head high and replied confidently, “Yes, of course.”
Draco pointedly looked towards the entrance, took a sip and asked jovially, “Can I expect Potter to turn up as well?”
Narcissa’s refined upbringing prevented her from rolling her eyes. Instead, she fought the urge and frowned to show her irritation, “Don't be ridiculous.”
Draco took another sip of the rich amber liquid, leaned forward, and inquired seriously, “What is going on, mother?”
Narcissa spoke into nothingness, “Dotty!”
Dotty appeared with a loud crack and came rushing to her Mistress's side.
Narcissa smiled fondly at her beloved house-elf, “Be a dear and serve tea.”
Draco held up the carved crystal tumbler in his hand and tapped it with a long finger, "No, thank you. This is working wonders." He threw his mother a look and smirked, “I'm dying to hear this.”
Dotty bowed and disappeared to sort out tea.
Narcissa neatly folded her hands on her lap and cleared her throat, “Months ago, the Ministry passed the marriage law just around the time my sentence came to an end, and Hermione paid me a visit because she wanted my help.”
Draco narrowed his eyes and questioned, “How could you....” Realization sunk in, and it dawned on him. It was such an implausible notion to entertain. Surely, he was horribly mistaken. He kept aside the glass and widened his eyes in shock, “No, wait.”
His voice low and calculated, he asked slowly, “Did Granger get paired off with me?” A loud manically laugh burst out of him, and Draco started to laugh uncontrollably.
Narcissa eyed her son laughing and pressed her lips together in disapproval. Then, when it became apparent, that he would keep laughing, she interrupted loudly, “As a matter of fact, she did.”
Draco took note of his mother’s tone and struggled to compose himself. Finally, he gathered himself and mused, “And she must be thrilled about it. How could the Ministry be so tactless?”
The Golden Girl and Ex-Death Eater. A match made in heaven. Were the idiots at the Ministry gormless?
Dotty appeared with tea and other treats. Narcissa carefully held the hot pot of tea and gingerly poured it into a flower-patterned China cup. She added two sugar cubes, stirred it and replied before taking a sip, “Well, she is not pleased.”
Draco stared into his almost empty glass and muttered, “And rightly so. I was a dreadful git to her back in school.” He added in disgust, “I took every bloody opportunity to make her feel absolutely shite about herself.”
Narcissa watched her son’s reactions intently, “I'm aware.”
Draco felt his face contort unpleasantly, “I was more horrid to her than I ever was to Potter.”
Narcissa delicately bit into a mini fruit tart, “Hmm....”
Draco averted his gaze and looked around the area they occupied, “She was this nobody who swooped in and started outscoring all of us.”
He slammed the tumbler down on the small table and hissed, “It infuriated me. I wanted to remind her that she was nothing. An abnormality. That she had no right or place in our world.” His face fell into his hands in despair. He ran his fingers through his hair and surfaced, “All my life, I was taught to shun people of her heritage, and she came along and outsmarted us all.” He sighed, “Granger rocked the foundation of my upbringing. She caused me to question everything I was led to believe.”
Narcissa nodded in understanding, “Yes, well, things are different now.”
Draco’s face hardened, “I doubt she will forget all I have done.”
Narcissa saw little point in lying. She sighed and replied gravely, “She hasn't. Hermione has tried everything possible to get out of this match, but so far, there has not been a proper solution but to carry forth the marriage.”
A genuine smile of affection tugged at her lips, “Truth be told, if I were to have a daughter in law, I would welcome Hermione with open arms.” Beads of sweat gathered on his upper lip, and Draco raised a questioning brow. Of late, his mother tended to render him speechless with her changed ways.
Narcissa laughed, “You could do a lot worse,” and added fondly, “She's brilliant, funny and such a positive presence.”
Draco sat up straight and retorted firmly, “Mother, I will not marry Granger and do her the dishonour.”
He shook his head slowly and said sarcastically, “I can only imagine how she must have felt when presented with my name.”
Narcissa stated bluntly, “Obviously, she was very upset.”
Draco rose and went to refill his glass. He glanced over his shoulder and said, “It’s ludicrous to expect her even to entertain the idea of marrying a man like me.”
Narcissa felt her temper rise, “Man like you? You are not the same boy you were at Hogwarts.”
Draco sat by his mother and patted her jewelled hand. He chuckled, “I know as my mother you want to see the best in me but, believe me when I say, I was a snobbish little prat who I would punch in the face if I ever went back in time.”
Narcissa covered his hand with her own and advised sternly, “You must speak with her.”
He would have to tie her down and make her listen. The thought made him grin.
Draco swirled the contents of his crystal glass around and watched the ice cubes melt. He shook his head firmly, “No, mother. I will not force myself upon Granger. I can at least do her this kindness and figure a way to get out of it.”
Narcissa scowled at her headstrong son, “Fine if that is your wish.”
He took a sip, and the cool rim of the glass pressed into the thin skin of his lip. Draco licked the drops of water and murmured, “Hermione Granger deserves far better than the likes of me.”
Narcissa felt an ache pierce her heart. Her voice trembled, “It pains me to hear you speak of yourself so lowly.”
Draco added decisively, “I will meet with the Minister and straighten this out. Anyways, I have meant to visit the Ministry.”
Narcissa raised a brow but decided against probing further, “I understand.”
Eager to stir the conversation away, she smiled warmly, “I was at the dressmaker's. Tracey and Ronald Weasley’s wedding is in two days, and I thought you would like to come as my guest.”
Draco nodded unsurely, “Ah, Pansy did mention it. Do you think it is wise of me to attend?”
Narcissa quipped, “You can hardly hideout in the Manor for the rest of your days.”
Draco grinned, “I always did like to make an entrance.”
Narcissa let out a poised, ladylike laugh and stated the obvious, “The Prophet will benefit well from it.”
Draco smiled, but his mind was elsewhere. Surely the Ministry would see reason if he voiced his concerns as well. He decided it would be wise to educate himself on this so-called law that had everyone falling over themselves.
Molly scolded, “Ron, stand still for Merlin’s sake.”
Ron tugged at the collar and coughed, “Mum, it's too tight.”
Thoroughly fed up with her son’s juvenile behaviour, she shoved the silk material into his hands and scolded, “Here, do it yourself. If you learnt to tie a bloody bowtie by yourself, then we wouldn't be in this mess.”
Ron grinned sheepishly and held out the fabric to his mother, “Is this the last fitting?”
Molly smiled lovingly and retook the bowtie in her hands, put it under the collar of her youngest son and proceeded to tie a perfect knot. Once done, she patted it and grinned, “Yes, and you look so handsome.”
Ron looked at his reflection and nodded in approval. He fixed the cuffs of his shirt and asked curiously, “Is everything ready?”
Molly moved aside some freshly laundered clothes and muttered, “Yes, Tracey has looked into all the details.”
The lanky redhead hung his face and questioned, “Do you think I'm doing the right thing?”
Molly set aside her task and patted the area next to her. Once Ron sat down, she took his hand in hers and gave it a slight squeeze, “Oh darling, I would have preferred you to fall in love and marry like the rest of your siblings, but we live in unsure times.”
She added reassuringly, “Tracey seems to be a decent woman, and she is making an effort to be liked.”
Molly pointed to a large box in the corner and smirked, “She sent me a box full of recipe books because she either thought my cooking was awful or wanted me to try new things, but either way, I appreciate the gesture.”
Ron laughed aloud, “Bollocks! The woman must have a death wish.”
His tone turned serious, and he shuffled his feet anxiously, “What if I’m in love with someone else?”
Molly hid the smile that made it to her face, “If by someone else you mean Hermione, then I am inclined to tell you to get your head out of your arse and move on.”
Ron flopped down on the makeshift bed in his room and closed his eyes, “I miss her terribly.”
Molly nodded in understanding, “She is wonderful.”
She pressed importantly, hoping her youngest son would see reason, “I'm sure you do, but that ship has sailed. Hermione does not return your affections except as a jolly good friend.”
Ron sat up and implored desperately, “But...”
Molly raised her hand and cut him off, “Give Tracey a chance. You might find love in the unlikeliest of places.”
Ron pulled his mother into a tight hug and muttered, “Thanks, mum.”
Molly patted his back and wiped the tears that fell. Finally, she managed between silent happy sobs, “Hush, that’s what I'm here for.”
Hermione drank her sixth cup of coffee and stared into nothingness. Morning and evening bled into each other, and yet, she sat by the window of her flat and looked at the visible parts of buildings transfixed.
She called in sick, hung up before Kingsley could protest and took the day to herself. Her head was pounding dangerously.
Her thoughts went back to Harry's house.
Harry bit into the sandwich Ginny handed him and licked the sauce off his thumb. He shrugged, “So he’s back. It's not the end of the world.”
Ginny leaned against the kitchen counter, sipped a cup of tea, and advised, “I doubt he will be thrilled about tying the knot.”
She added wisely, “He just got back from wherever the heck he was.”.
Harry munched on the sandwich happily and asked offhandedly, “What does he look like?”
Hermione stiffened, and her palms beaded sweat.
Unbelievably sexy.
She rolled her eyes, showed indifference, and recited, “A lot like Lucius but taller, more fit with broad shoulders and strong arms.”
Ginny snorted into her tea and teased, “But of course, you noticed none of that, right?”
Hermione reached over, took the uneaten half sandwich off Harry’s plate, and took a large bite.
The Chosen One protested loudly, “Hey!”
Her mouth full of chicken, she fired back, “I'm horrified at having to marry him. But, I'm not fucking blind.”
Either she was sex-deprived for far too long or weak-willed or both, but it was with increasing alarm she realized that she had noticed him a bit too much before she fled.
She banged her head on the table and cried, “Oh Merlin, this is a complete nightmare.”
Ginny cut pieces of apple, handed them to James and scolded, “Stop overthinking everything.”
She pointed to a lengthy guest list and a bunch of name-placement cards. Ginny grumbled, “We are going to have to put your predicament with Malfoy on hold and focus on Ron's stupid wedding.”
Hermione reached for a light blue card with a rose printed at the side and groaned, "Wonderful. Is it too late to take Ron up on his offer?"
Ginny grinned, “He would chuck everything in a heartbeat and run away with you.”
Harry took the opportunity and quickly gobbled up the rest of his lunch and offered pointedly, “The wedding is in two days. So, yeah, I would say pretty late.”
Hermione slumped her shoulders and whined, “Why does everything awful happen to me?”
Ginny tossed the last piece of apple into her mouth and scolded, “Stop your bellyaching and come help me.”
Hermione pushed the chair back and dragged her feet to where Ginny was organizing the cards.
The fiery redhead asked curiously, “Did you get a dress?”
Hermione felt instant panic. No. Fuck. She needed a bloody dress.
Hermione picked up a card, wrote “Charlie Weasley” in perfect handwriting and avoided Ginny’s penetrating gaze.
She bobbed her head up and down comically and reached for another card, “Yeah.”
Ginny raised a brow sceptically, “Oh really? What colour is it?”
Shite. Think fast.
Hermione blurted out the first colour that came to mind, “It’s light purple.”
What? Purple? Another lie.
Ginny shook her head. Clearly, she wasn’t buying it.
Hermione came crashing back to reality. She had forgotten all about the dress, and the wedding was tomorrow.
She smacked her forehead and jumped out of the chair. Then, rushing into the room, she pulled up her jeans while brushing her teeth, attacked her hair and put it up into a messy bun, grabbed her bag and flew out the door.
There were a few places she frequented. Hermione walked into the rather run-down boutique. The place looked washed out and unattractive from the outside, but once you walked in and looked through the racks, they had some of the most stellar designs in London.
A middle-aged woman chewing gum came toward her and greeted her, “Good evening, lovey. What can I help you with today?”
Hermione hurriedly looked through the racks full of dresses and implored impatiently, “Evening, Helen. It’s my best mate's wedding tomorrow. Have you got anything elegant in purple?”
She thankfully remembered her lie.
Helen smirked, “Of course we do.” She went into the back and returned minutes later with a protective garment bag and pushed it into Hermione’s hand.
She blew a bubble and pointed towards the dressing room with her head, “Go on then, give it a go.”
Hermione stepped into the dressing room, locked it behind her and nervously unzipped the bag and pulled out the most stunning light purple dress she had ever seen.
The beads were of clear grey, and light rays bounced off them leaving an elegantly sparkly effect.
Grey, stormy, translucent pools of hidden secrets crossed her mind at once.
Her mind wandered, and she thought of the imposing man she had come face to face with at Malfoy Manor.
His presence disturbed her in a way she could hardly begin to explain.
In their youth, she hated him, hated him still, but there was a profound difference in him. She felt it radiate off him in waves and the subtle brush of his thumb over the sensitive skin of her ear felt like a metaphorical punch to the gut.
Anger and frustration ate away at her, and seeing him in all his glory instilled a deep fear that their pending nuptials could happen and that not being in control infuriated her.
She would have to have a few words with Narcissa. The shrewd woman had omitted everything and behaved as if everything were normal.
Whether she liked it or not, she would have to face the hunky prat about their ridiculous situation. Hopefully, he would not be an arrogant asshat about it.
A loud knock on the small door brought her crashing back.
Helen asked in concern, “You alright, lovey?”
Flustered and hot in the face, Hermione stammered, “Yes, just give me a moment.”
She pulled up the beaded off-shoulder dress and, with some difficulty, secured it at the back.
It was exquisite. The material skimmed over her body and clung to the right places.
She walked out, did a twirl, and Helen whistled, "Gorgeous, love."
Hermione eyed herself in the mirror. The dress flirted indecently with the line between sexy and modest.
She turned to Helen and winked, “It is, isn’t it? Wrap it up, and I expect a discount.”
Happy with her purchase, Hermione folded the bag over her arm, stepped into the crisp London air, and hugged herself to keep warm.
She walked down the crowded street searching for a cafe to have a hot chocolate and buttery croissant.
Draco sat cross-legged, closed his eyes and commanded, "Inner peace."
A vision of brown hair and gorgeous eyes kept invading his thoughts. Soft skin and long legs kept playing on repeat. His cock twitched in anticipation. He had been trying to meditate for hours, but Granger kept floating by mocking him and pulling him further into some rather sinful thoughts. It was a matter of time before he would face her again. She would be at Weasley's wedding. Mother was right, and Draco made up his mind to speak to the ex-Gryffindor and set the record straight. She deserved that much from him. However, it was an intriguing thought that a complex algorithm found them to be compatible. It was mind-boggling but also fascinating.
Draco took a deep breath and tried again, "Clear your mind." This time he was successful. Finally, he managed to detach himself from his disturbing thoughts.
Chapter 9
Notes:
The much-anticipated wedding of Ronald Bilius Weasley and Tracey Davis.
I do adore playing around with multiple characters and really bringing in their side stories.
Enjoy Chapter Nine!
I would love to know everyone's thoughts on this chapter! Trust me, and it helps loads! :)
Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
The Burrow
Molly yelled, and everyone shielded their ears and ground their teeth. She looked around madly, "Can someone please find my mother’s ruby brooch?" The boys fell over themselves, trying to find the priceless family heirloom.
Ginny held the studded brooch carefully and brought it over. She pinned it to her mother’s dress and scolded, "Mum, will you calm yourself."
Molly rolled her eyes and waved her hand dismissively, "Ron and his bright ideas. We should have done all this at Astoria’s home."
Arthur grinned, adjusted his new suit, and stood by his wife’s side, "Ron wanted to spend his last few moments of single life at home." At Ron's insistence, the groom’s side would be getting ready at the Burrow and joining the wedding party at Greengrass Manor.
Molly shook her head, "The idiot."
Arthur hugged her tight, and they swayed to imaginary music, "You look lovely, Mollywobbles."
Ginny snorted but smiled fondly at her parents. Molly poked her head from under Arthur’s arm and widened her eyes at her only daughter as if she had just laid eyes on her. She shrieked, "Why are you still here? It starts in two hours. You need to be with the rest of the bridesmaids."
Ginny scowled, "I'm not spending a second longer than I have to with those uptight toads."
Harry handed Ron a glass of bubbling champagne. The redheaded man in a new tuxedo took the glass and questioned, "Don't we have anything stronger?"
Harry bit back a laugh and recalled his mother-in-law's strict instructions. Ron was horrible at handling his booze. He took a sip of the bubbly and responded, "Molly insisted we keep it light."
Ron tossed the drink back and raised a brow, "Too late to run away?"
Harry chuckled, "Far too late, mate."
Ron's face fell, and he asked guiltily, "Where's Hermione?"
Harry shrugged, "I haven't seen her yet."
Ron stared into the sparkling golden liquid and muttered, "I miss her."
Harry cautioned, "Come on, it's your wedding day."
Ron snickered, "Yeah, yeah."
They clinked glasses and tossed them back. He smacked his lips, "Not bad. It's got good after taste."
Hermione twirled in front of the mirror and smirked. She looked quite appealing. The long, elegant dress was lavish, so there was no need for a necklace. Fetching her grandmother's diamond drop earrings, she fastened one to each lobe. She had done up her hair in an elegant bun for the occasion but let wild curls fall carelessly over her face. Her makeup was perfect, nothing too glamorous—a soft eyeshadow and a fine line of eyeliner with a rich nude lip gloss to finish the look. The phone buzzed. She glanced at the number and grimaced. Then, clicking the button, she put the call on speaker.
Ginny's impatient voice came through, "Where the fuck are you?" We are about to leave.”
Hermione answered urgently, “Okay, okay, I'm on my way.” She dabbed the gloss with her index finger, reached for the beaded clutch and wand, and disappeared with one destination in mind. Thankfully, they had adjusted the wards so everyone could apparate right outside the large backdoor. Thus, she would be spared the pools of mud. She pushed the door open and was surrounded by a bone-crushing hug.
Charlie held on tight, "Hermione, so good to see you."
Hermione urgently tapped on his bulging bicep, "I can't breathe, you muscled moron." It was a standing joke that Charlie worked out religiously to maintain his curling biceps. He let go and flexed, "Feel it, Granger."
Hermione laughed, "No, thank you."
Bill and Fleur glided towards her. She swapped air kisses with the stunning French woman in a tight pink gown, "Ma Cherie, you look so pretty."
Hermione returned the compliment, "And you look fabulous, Fleur."
Bill gave a quick hug, "Hope you are well, Hermione."
Ginny came out of the kitchen in a flowing light blue bridesmaid gown that made her look practically saintly until she opened her mouth, "Ah, decided to join us, have you, Miss Granger?" She looked over her best friend and added grudgingly, "You look stunning, by the way."
Hermione snorted, "The makeup helps." She looked around and inquired curiously, “Where's Percy?”
Ginny replied sadly with a touch of disappointment, “Stuck with work. Poor bloke tried his best.”
Hermione bobbed her head in understanding.
Ginny blocked her path and looked to the floors above, "Ron's been asking about you."
Hermione frowned, "That can't be good." She slowly went up the winding stairs and knocked on the door. Harry opened it wide enough for her to enter. A warm, affectionate smile split her face in half, "Ron, don't you look dashing."
Ron approached her, took her hands in his and gushed, "And you look gorgeous as always."
He turned to Harry and requested keenly, "Harry, can I have a moment alone with Hermione?"
Harry looked at his watch pointedly, "I don't think we have time."
Ron insisted, "I need a minute."
Hermione swapped a look with Harry that said, "Don't you fucking leave me alone."
Harry threw an apologetic look before closing the door behind him. The second the door closed, Ron cupped Hermione's face and leaned to kiss her. She moved back and cried, "What the hell are you doing?"
Her face was squashed between his large hands, but she wriggled out of his hold and said harshly, "Ron, look, I don't love you." His face fell, "I know." Hermione asked in irritation, hands on hip, "Then what the hell are you doing?"
Ron shrugged and retorted sheepishly, "I just wanted to remember what it felt like to kiss you."
Hermione cried indignantly, "And you thought your wedding day would be the best day to do that?" They sat down next to each other and awkwardly stared at the hands on their lap.
Ron broke the silence and smiled meekly, "You mean the world to me."
Hermione returned the smile, "As you do." She added without hesitation, "Tracey is good for you. I really think you can make this work."
Ron sighed, "It's too soon to tell."
Hermione patted his hand reassuringly, "Give this a chance. I will always be one of your best friends." They hugged tight until Ginny burst into the room and yelled, "What the fuck are you doing?"
She added impatiently, "Let's go! Tracey is going bat crazy. She's convinced you're about to leave her high and dry."
Hermione got to her feet and pulled Ron up with her, "Come on."
The grounds were decorated tastefully. White canopies trimmed in gold decorated the large garden, and hundreds of candles lit the way and illuminated the evening sky. Each table had a beautiful centrepiece of dark blue roses that entwined its way upwards and glistened with white fairy dust. Clearly, no expense had been spared.
Hermione looked around and gasped, "Everything looks stellar."
Ginny and Harry nodded in agreement. Ron had gone pale white and stared emotionless.
Charlie put his arm around his younger brother and quipped, "You hit the jackpot, mate."
Ron turned paler still. George excused himself from his wife Angelina, who held on tightly to their son Fred's hand and came to stand by the youngest Weasley boy's side.
George patted Ron on the back and smiled, "You can do this."
Since Fred's passing, he had bonded with his younger brother, and they worked well together in the shop. In addition, Ron had confided his many insecurities about the marriage to George.
George pointed to a window where Tracey was clearly visible in her lace wedding gown and matching veil, "That's your future wife." She looked amazing. Ron smiled blushingly, "She's a good woman."
Ginny’s sharp tongue cut through the moment, "Yeah, she's a fucking gem. Now off with the lot of you, get ready; it's almost time."
George chuckled, and Charlie frowned, "You sound more like mum with each passing day."
Ginny punched her brother in the arm, but Bill's calm and collected voice made them all freeze, "That's enough mucking about. Behave yourselves." She turned red, stared at her dainty feet and replied embarrassedly, "Yes, Bill.” She dragged Hermione towards the gathered group of women. They got closer, and Hermione complimented without hesitation, "Tracey, you look absolutely breathtaking."
Tracey smiled angelically. Astoria handed Ginny a small bouquet and leered, "Cutting it close, aren't we?"
Ginny smirked and took the delicate bundle of flowers, "Bite me, Greengrass."
Tracey cut them off and took a deep breath nervously, "Let's get started then?"
Hermione glanced at her watch, "I think there’s another hour to go."
Tracey locked eyes with Hermione and asked anxiously, “How's Ron holding up? This past week, I have been having nightmares of being stood up at the altar.”
Hermione laughed, "Ron is an immature idiot at times but an honourable man."
Astoria brushed past Hermione brazenly. The woman was still seething about Malfoy and her.
Hermione entered the large canopy and looked around in awe. Each visible inch was tastefully covered in delicate sweet-smelling flowers. The many rows of white chairs were already filled with people they knew, but a few unfamiliar faces chatted amongst themselves animatedly. She waved at the Minister and a few old Hogwarts friends before sitting beside Andromeda.
Andromeda was dressed in her finest. She wore high-collar robes of dark green with little or no makeup, but she aged well and hardly needed it.
Teddy sat next to her and fussed, "Gran, this collar is itchy." The budding wizard looked darling in a dark grey suit and bowtie to match. He pulled at it uncomfortably.
Hermione adjusted his collar and beamed, "My, aren't you a handsome young man?"
Andromeda smiled affectionately and patted Teddy's head with bright purple hair.
Teddy tugged at the suit and complained, "This suit is very prickly."
Hermione winked, took out her wand and waved it over the grumbling boy. Once she was done, Teddy grinned and waved his arms about, "Thank you. It feels much better."
Narcissa glanced at the large grandfather clock in the foyer. It was a centuries-old masterpiece that she had inherited after her parents’ demise. She clicked her tongue impatiently, "We have to leave shortly."
Draco kept aside the book he was reading and sighed exasperatedly, "Everyone we know will be present, I suppose."
Narcissa nodded solemnly. The wedding was the talk of the community. Anybody who was anybody was invited to the extravagant event. She cleared her throat, "Yes, umm, Draco…."
Draco raised a brow and gave his mother undivided attention, "Yes, mother?"
Narcissa began uncomfortably, "Astoria will be there. She has not given up on the idea of becoming your wife."
Draco sighed and mused, "Can we deal with one marriage proposal at a time."
Narcissa stifled a laugh, but after, her voice turned deadly serious, "I'm sure your friends would have told you about her deteriorating health."
Draco felt a sadness grip his heart. While he did not harbour strong feelings for his betrothed, so to speak, he cared for her dearly as a friend. His features contorted unpleasantly, "It greatly saddens me."
Narcissa implored, "Please deal with her carefully."
Draco forced a smile and reassured, "Don't worry. I will be gentle." He vividly remembered the time at Hogwarts when he tried to end it.
They retired to their rooms to get ready for the evening festivities. Draco ran his fingers along the new suits and settled on a black suit, new black shirt and tie. He slipped into the shirt, buttoned it up and threw the dark mark on his arm, one last look of loathing before rolling down the sleeves and securing them with solid silver cufflinks with emerald snake eyes. The Windsor tie knot he tied was perfect. He brought it to the centre, ran his fingers through his hair, carefully folded his jacket over his arm and made his way to the main living area.
Narcissa wore elegant cobalt blue dress robes, and diamonds glistened tastefully at her throat and ears. She rose when her son approached, took his hands in hers and beamed, "So handsome."
Draco smiled warmly, "And you are timeless." He graciously offered his arm, "Shall we?"
Narcissa took his arm and grinned, "Are you ready, Draco?"
Draco laughed, "To face the wizarding word? Indubitably."
They appeared near the boundary of the function and slowly ascended the stairs to the entrance. The wizards in the main foyer stared at the approaching duo with their mouths hanging open in disbelief.
Narcissa smiled in greeting and handed the invitation to the woman gawking at Draco, "My dear, I am Narcissa Malfoy, and this is my guest, Draco Malfoy." The woman kept her eyes fixed firmly on the tall, good-looking man and pushed the card into Narcissa's hand without bothering to look at it.
Narcissa linked her arm through Draco’s, and they stepped purposely towards the function. The wedding guests had gathered inside the large canopy, eagerly awaiting the procession to begin. Draco held his mother’s hand firmly, stepped inside, and they slid into the back row, hoping to avoid any unwanted attention or questions, but it was pointless. Many heads turned their way and refused to look away.
They heard many whispers.
"Is that Malfoy?"
"I thought he was dead."
"Is Narcissa being courted by a younger man?
"Who is that man?"
"He looks remarkably like Lucius."
Narcissa held onto Draco’s hand and squeezed it tightly. Theo towered over the gathered group of witches and wizards. He turned their way and waved cheerfully at his best friend. Luna followed his action and broke out in a bright smile as if it were the explanation she needed for Theo's strange behaviour of late. Blaise glanced over his shoulder, caught sight of Draco, turned around completely, and threw him a welcome salute. Daphne stared from their place at the front and then pinched Blaise's arm.
He rubbed the area and hissed, "Ow, what the hell, woman?"
Daphne scolded, "How could you not tell me that Draco returned?"
Blaise grinned, "Because, my dear wife, you would have blabbed to everyone, and Draco insisted on keeping things under wraps."
Daphne huffed, "Ridiculous. I would have kept my mouth shut."
Blaise pulled her close, "Not a chance. Now, let it be and enjoy the evening."
Daphne kissed her husband gently and gushed, "Did you see how sweet Carrie looks in her dress?"
Blaise patted his son’s head and replied lovingly, "Just like her mother."
Pansy pulled Neville by the arm of his jacket and murmured hurriedly, "Oh my goodness, Draco is here."
Neville raised a curious brow, "Malfoy? He's back?"
Pansy nodded and discreetly pointed towards the ice-blonde man.
Neville widened his eyes in shock, "No bloody way."
Pansy smoothed her green figure-hugging gown and decided against telling her husband that Draco had been back for over a week.
The scandalous whispers continued.
“That can't be Draco Malfoy.”
“Wasn’t he last seen in Russia?”
“He looks bloody good for a dead man.”
Andromeda heard and caught bits and pieces of the gossip. Curiously, she glanced over her shoulder and first caught sight of her younger sister. Her breathing hitched as she devoured her sister’s presence. Afterwards, her gaze shifted to the empowering young man standing firm and tall by her side.
Hermione was busy keeping Teddy entertained, but she sensed the tension and softly asked a transfixed Andromeda Tonks, "What's the fuss?" Andromeda stared unwaveringly, as did most of the other guests. Hermione raised a curious brow, followed the stern woman’s gaze, and froze. She held onto the chair in front to steady herself.
Oh, Merlin, what was he doing here? She saw Skeeter discreetly slide in next to Narcissa. The woman wasted no time. She knew a front-page story when it presented itself.
Skeeter smirked, displaying a row of crooked lipstick-smeared teeth, "Thank heavens. This wedding has been as dull as dishwater.”
Narcissa frowned and made her displeasure evident. This intrusion was unwelcome. She held her head high and snapped, "Mind your tongue, and stay away from us."
Skeeter studied her polished fingers, threw Draco a look of approval and smirked, "It’s not every day the Malfoy Heir returns from the dead." She edged past Narcissa and came to stand by Draco. He eyed her in contempt but held his tongue.
Skeeter bit her lip and asked sweetly, "Where have you been?"
Draco narrowed his eyes and stared at the hated woman at his side. Then, he bared his teeth and hissed, “You want the exclusive, Skeeter?" He wondered why she had been invited. The woman was repulsive and hated by most.
Rita threw her head back, and a seductive laugh escaped her plump lips, "Of course, I do, darling."
Draco gave a curt nod and sneered, "Then piss off and leave us alone for the duration of this event."
Rita let her eyes rove disgracefully over the fit platinum blonde. Finally, she bit her lip and rasped, "The time away has done you good." She boldly stroked Draco’s face; her inch-long black talons dug slightly into his skin. He flinched uncomfortably, and before Narcissa could step in, Draco stepped back and warned darkly, “Don’t touch me.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes at the brazen behaviour of the reporter. His eyes caught hers, and she hurriedly looked away. Random thoughts began swirling around her head. How would she face him after running away the other day? Why did he look so enticing in black? Irrelevant, Granger. His colour preferences are not your concern.
Skeeter got to her feet, offered a sickening smile, and snuck a business card into Draco's jacket pocket. She patted it, leaned closer and whispered, "Call me about the interview. I'll give you the front page."
Draco moved away and shot her departing figure a look of pure disgust.
Narcissa frowned but remained quiet on the matter. She saw Hermione and Andromeda. Seeing her sister after all these years made her heart clench in wanting.
The bride was expected to turn up at any moment. Ron twitched nervously. Harry came to his side from his place as best man and muttered reassuringly, "Almost over."
Harry looked over the sea of people and exclaimed in shock, "Fuck. Is that Malfoy?"
Ron hissed, "What? When did that slimy bastard return?" They caught sight of their ex-Slytherin rival and shared looks of astonishment.
Hermione watched her two dearest friends' faces twist in displeasure, and the smile disappeared off their faces. She felt a pair of eyes bore into the back of her head. Don't turn around, Granger. Let it go. Fuck, self-control. She surreptitiously glanced over her shoulder and found Malfoy eyeing her in interest. The bloody wanker didn't even have the good manners to look away. Instead, he grinned and looked her over like she was a prize cut of beef.
Narcissa nudged her son gently, "It is not polite to stare." She glanced at Hermione and nodded approvingly, "But I must admit, Hermione does look fabulous tonight."
Draco snapped out of his daze and weakly defended, "Oh, I wasn't staring at Granger."
He really was staring rather creepily. There was a softness to her face that truly enthralled him. The material of the dress she wore hugged her in the right places and cascaded to the floor in generous layers. A faint outline of her cleavage teased him from where he stood. He noticed the slit went all the way up to her thigh, and he wondered what her skin would feel like under his touch.
He asked in growing interest, "Who is that charming boy next to her?"
Narcissa stiffened and offered quietly, "That would be your cousin by blood. He is Andromeda's grandson."
Draco closed his eyes as he digested this new bit of information, "Tonks had a son before she passed?"
Narcissa nodded gravely, "Yes." So much death had torn families apart.
Draco continued to look at the small boy, jumping up and down to get Granger’s attention. A harmonious, timeless classic serenaded the space, and everyone rose. Tracey stood at the entrance with two bridesmaids at the helm and little Carrie holding onto a small blue and white roses basket. The happy toddler smiled proudly at everyone. The bride held onto her father’s protective arm and glided down the aisle in perfect time to the music.
Ginny winked as she passed, and Hermione saw Ron beam as Tracey approached him. His nerves vanished the second he stepped down to claim his bride.
Hermione glanced over her bare shoulder without much thought and caught a pair of clear grey eyes watching her intently. He grabbed her gaze and grinned. Why did he keep looking at her? She wished he would stop. His intensity was making her squirm and exceedingly uncomfortable. She turned away at once and stubbornly stared ahead.
Merlin, help her.
The ceremony was beautiful. Tracey and Ron came together under a stunning arch made of white wood and an intricately carved design of blue roses. Arthur comforted Molly as she wept tears of joy when the priest declared the couple as one and sealed the bond with entwining gold ribbons that burned bright when they shared their first kiss as husband and wife.
Butterflies fluttered relentlessly inside Hermione. She felt a sudden rush of sadness. Ron was indeed married, which left her and the formidable man she was paired with to sort out the mess that had been forced upon them. Once the ceremony ended, Narcissa walked out with Draco and ran into the Minister of Magic.
Kingsley’s low but loud voice boomed. He asked in genuine concern, "How are you, Narcissa?"
Narcissa smiled politely, "I'm well, Minister. Thank you for asking."
Kingsley eyed Draco and probed, "I trust you are coping fine."
Narcissa patted her son’s arm, and her face lit up, "Better since Draco's been back." She looked past Kingsley and saw Andromeda speaking lovingly to the sweet child. She longed to approach her sister, but this wasn't the time for their reunion. On cue, Andromeda caught Narcissa observing her, but instead of disregarding her, the older sister smiled warmly and led Teddy away to get some cake.
Kingsley turned to Draco and grinned, "Ah, young mister Malfoy. It is good of you to return to England."
Shacklebolt mused, "The timing couldn't be more perfect."
The tall blonde took the Minister's hand in a firm handshake, "Thank you, Minister."
Draco glanced over to where Hermione was eating cake and goofing around with the boy of no more than eight and felt his heart clench uncomfortably. Kingsley followed his gaze and smirked. Draco snapped out of his daze and asked anxiously, "Minister, would it be possible to meet with you on Monday. There is a matter that I must discuss with you."
Kingsley laughed, "Indeed, my boy." He pointed to Hermione, "She's been trying to get out of it for months." The Minister left Draco standing by himself. Narcissa was busy speaking with past acquaintances. Most welcomed her kindly, but others kept their distance but spoke politely enough.
Draco searched the crowd and walked towards his gathered bunch of friends. Witches and wizards muttered as he passed. Most were not concerned about being heard. Instead, he saw the judgment flash across most faces. They narrowed their eyes at him in suspicion. He knew they were all wondering where he had been.
“I thought he was dead.”
“Filthy Death Eater.”
“So handsome.”
“Look at those fine features.”
“I wouldn't mind getting to know him better.”
“He is the spitting image of Lucius.”
That last comment made his skin crawl.
Blaise laughed as he came close, "You never did do things the normal way."
Draco looked around and frowned, "Yeah, well, now everyone knows I'm back."
Theo downed his drink and sighed in relief, "Thank fuck, I can finally tell Luna." A few witches passed by and shot Draco appreciative glances. One licked her lip, "Welcome back, Malfoy."
Draco took a champagne flute from a server passing by and nodded curtly in the woman's direction. The newlyweds stood by a four-tier wedding cake. Ron took Tracey's hand in his, and together, they cut it and lovingly fed each other small pieces of red velvet cake. They hardly got a moment's peace. The band leader called upon them to share their first dance as husband and wife. Ron held Tracey protectively and gazed into her face adoringly.
Ron had been practising for weeks. He cleared his throat, "I will try to be the man you deserve."
Tracey smiled, "I think you're just fine the way you are." Others joined the happy couple who looked positively smitten with each other on the dancefloor, and soon, everyone was having a jolly time.
Pansy came over with Neville and Daphne. The older Greengrass sister held onto an active toddler in a pure white gown with a large blue bow around the middle who wanted nothing more than to run about and play.
Neville offered his hand reluctantly, "Blimey, Malfoy, er...good to have you back." He didn't mean it one bit.
Daphne poked Draco in the chest and hugged him tightly, "You are real."
Draco returned the hug and replied jovially, "Very much so."
He fondly looked at Adam and Carrie, "Are these your little ones?"
Blaise picked up Carrie and told her animatedly, "This is the dragon I told you about."
Carrie scrunched up her nose and squirmed to be let down. Blaise obliged. Carrie looked at Draco and pouted, "He doesn't have green scales, daddy."
Draco bent to the level of the naughty toddler and grinned, "I'll work on it, sweetheart." A soft voice cut through the moment, and everyone visibly stiffened.
The voice was barely audible. It was uttered in heartbreaking reverence, "Draco."
Draco straightened and fixed his jacket before staring into the teary-eyed face of Astoria Greengrass. He mustered the most genuine smile he could, ran his fingers through his hair and said, "Hi, Tori." She stepped into his space. Her light blue dress trailed after her, and she touched him gently at first. Then, her trembling fingers tenderly caressed his face.
Astoria choked back a sob, "Oh, Salazar, it is you." She rested her head on his chest and broke down in tears. Draco held her to him but was unsure of what to do. He looked desperately at his friends for help. He had not planned on confronting a hysterically sobbing woman. They shared collective looks of concern over Astoria's behaviour.
Draco stroked Astoria's hair and reassured, "Tori, we have plenty of time to catch up and speak of things." She broke away, stared into his face, took his hand and led him away from the wedding party. Despite his unwillingness to leave the company of his friends, he let himself be led. They arrived at a deserted area surrounded by trees and hidden by thick branches. Astoria sat down and patted the spot next to her. Draco undid the button of his jacket, took the seat and stared into the distance.
Astoria held his hand and whispered, "I have missed you every single day."
Draco sighed and opened his mouth to retort, "Tori..." She touched his lips and shushed him, "Please don't say anything. Let us celebrate your return."
Draco nodded reluctantly, "If that is what you wish." She moved closer to his side, rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes in contentment. Draco took the opportunity to look over the woman at his side. Instead, she grasped onto his arm until he felt her fingernails dig into the sleeve of his jacket. Astoria had always been a pretty girl, but now she was a beautiful woman. Regal features and high cheekbones were the trademarks of her pureblood status. However, her touch radiated warmth and the love she undeniably felt for him.
They sat in silence, and minutes ticked by. The noise from the wedding party drifted to where they were, and Draco pointedly cleared his throat, "We should head back." Astoria felt too much resentment at being left behind. Before she could control herself, the words left her, "I wish you wrote to me or told me where you went."
Draco braced himself and kept his cool, "I didn't tell anyone except my mother." She shot him a look of pain, "Didn’t I mean enough to you?"
He massaged the bridge of his nose, "Tori, I was going through a lot. You knew that." She lashed out, "So was I, but you left me to die." His voice turned stern, "This isn't the time to speak of this."
Astoria took Draco's hands in hers and nodded. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, "I know, I'm sorry. Please forgive me." She mustered a happy smile, "Now that you're back, we put the past aside and focus on us."
Fuck. Everyone was right. He had to find a way to break it to her gently and without further delay. She leaned in, and before he could move away, she placed a loving kiss on his lips. It was tender, and he barely felt her soft lips under his.
Draco let himself be kissed. It was over in a second, and he hurriedly shot to his feet before she expected more. Astoria linked her arm through his, and they rejoined the festivities.
Daphne eyed her sister in concern.
Blaise dragged Draco forward, "Let's go pay our respects to the couple and have a drink."
Draco sighed in gratitude, "Thanks, mate."
Blaise nodded in understanding, "You needed to be rescued." The second they approached the couple, Ron spat, "Malfoy, what hole did you crawl out of?"
Draco stiffened but kept his patience intact. Everyone at this sodding wedding was determined to push him to the limits and test his newfound resolve.
Ron added in anger, "Thank you for upstaging my wedding."
Tracey placed her hand on her husband’s sleeve and chided, "Ron! Please…." But Ron was not done, "I don’t recall sending you an invite."
Draco kept his composure, smiled and was about to retort when Tracey answered on his behalf, "I invited Narcissa, and Draco has obviously come with her."
She flashed a happy smile at her ex-housemate, "Had I known you were back. I would have hand-delivered the invitation to you myself."
Ron flinched, and anger radiated off him in unmistakable waves.
Draco ignored the fuming redhead and bent to kiss Tracey on the cheek.
He regarded the couple and wished them, "Congratulations to you both." He added fondly, "You look lovely, Trace."
Tracy blushed, "Thank you. You don't look too shabby yourself."
Ron was beside himself. He bit back a nasty retort and glowered at the reunion between long-lost friends. An hour went by, and Draco was exhausted by the stream of questions that came his way. He understood everyone's curiosity and eagerness to find out where he had been, but it was gruelling to keep smiling and offer but a smidge of the truth. He quickly grabbed a tumbler of scotch and drained the fiery liquid in one gulp.
Theo smirked, "No fruit juice today?"
Draco rolled his eyes, "I need something stronger if I'm going to survive the night."
Theo nursed his drink and quickly looked around, "There are some fine-looking ladies here today."
Blaise frowned, "And you’re very married."
Theo nodded at once, "Of course I am, but I do have eyes, Zabini. I must say that most of these women are wetting their knickers for Malfoy."
Blaise sighed, "You have no fucking inner voice, do you, Nott?"
Draco decided Theo was right. So many ladies were throwing him appreciative glances and batting their mascaraed lashes at him suggestively.
Sex! Once so unimportant and forgotten, it clawed its way into his mind when least expected. His eyes settled on a familiar sight, and his heart slammed against his ribcage.
Blaise took a sip from his drink and followed his friend’s intense gaze, "Malfoy, why are you staring at the Gryffindors?"
Draco grabbed another drink, drained it, and replied cautiously, "I need to speak with Granger."
Theo grinned, "She’s looking rather sexy."
Blaise clinked his glass with Theo and laughed, "For once, I agree with you."
Draco heard none of that. He was halfway to the Gryffindor table. Pin-drop silence followed. Harry dropped the fork in his grasp and reached for a glass of water. Ginny patted her husband on the back and offered a small smile. Luna beamed, and Hermione broke off a piece of cake and looked away before stuffing her face with it.
She internally raged, kill me now.
Draco straightened, kept his hand at his back and greeted graciously, "Good evening."
Harry regained his composure, rose to his feet, and offered his hand, "Malfoy, when did you get back?"
Draco took the hand in a firm shake and replied, "A week ago." He greeted Ginny with a slight bow, "Ginevra."
Ginny burst out laughing, “Please call me Ginny. My mother is the only person who uses my given name, and most often, when I have pissed her off." Without introduction, Luna threw her arms around Draco and gushed, "Thank goodness." She added in her mystical undertone, "Theo was keeping your return a secret. I was convinced he was cheating on me."
Draco laughed and broke out of the embrace, "He would never. The witless sod is head over heels in love with you."
Luna blushed and skipped toward her husband. Her bright yellow dress flounced with each step. She all but jumped into his willing arms. People around them threw them curious and disapproving glances, but the couple could not care less.
Draco looked at the uncomfortable squirming form of Hermione Granger. He gathered his inner strength and held out his hand, "Granger, will you do me the honour?" Hermione swallowed the mouthful of cake and stared at the hand in front of her face in disbelief. Ginny kicked her foot under the table, and Hermione came crashing back. She muttered a weak, "Oh..."
Ginny rolled her eyes and replied in her stead, "She would be delighted to dance with you."
Hermione turned to her friend in outrage, "What? Ginny!"
Ginny grinned, "Hurry up, Hermione. The man hasn't got all bloody day."
Hermione took the hand Draco offered grudgingly and shot Ginny a look of pure loathing. Her hand seemed minuscule in his. His long fingers closed around her tiny hand, and he led her to the middle of the dancefloor. The other couples stared at the unlikely duo in both shock and fascination.
Draco placed his hand on Hermione's waist, and she gulped at the sudden contact with a more sensitive part of her body. With the other hand, he entwined his fingers through hers and held her at a respectable distance. He stared at the floor and their feet and joked, "I haven't done this in a while, so I apologise in advance if I step on your pretty toes."
They swayed in perfect time to the music. Clearly, he had not forgotten, but she was most likely to tread on his feet and fall on her arse unceremoniously. Being held by him was certainly evoking some rather distressing feelings. She gathered her courage to ask, "What are you doing, Malfoy?"
Draco smirked in satisfaction, "It's called dancing, Granger."
She frowned at this smug reply and fired back, "Yeah, but why are you dancing with me." The arrogant arsehole.
She discreetly glanced at Astoria, staring at them and grasping her bouquet tightly as if it did her some great offence.
Multiple petals fall to the ground. Hermione stared into the pale face of her unlikely dance partner and added mockingly, "When Astoria wants to curse me into oblivion and take my place."
Draco ignored the apparent jab and replied, "I hear you're my mother’s new best friend. I don't quite know what to make of it."
Hermione tightened her grip on his fingers and hissed, "I don't particularly care what you make of it." She added salt to the wound, saying, "She was quite lonely without you."
Draco sighed and peered into Hermione's face, "Thank you for being there for her. I know she holds you in high regard."
Hermione looked over to where Narcissa was engaged in a lively conversation with Mrs Parkinson. She replied fondly, "I adore her," and added with a sour tone, “I don't trust you."
Draco chuckled, "No surprises there." He turned her around abruptly, causing Hermione to lose her balance.
He leaned in and muttered, "Relax, Granger. I won't let you fall. Not now, not ever." She held on tight and fought the urge to curse his precious nuts.
His tone turned serious, "Why did you run away the other day?"
Hermione looked away in embarrassment, "I, umm, panicked. I was not expecting to see you." He looked over her head into the distance and stated firmly, "My mother told me about the law."
Merlin, here we go.
Hermione retorted with dripping sarcasm, "Oh, did she? Isn't it wonderful? I mean, utterly amazing to be paired off with that one person you think is worse than a pile of dog shite."
Draco could not help but laugh, "So much hostility." A smirk tugged at his lips, "But even you have to admit that it is rather intriguing."
Hermione glared sternly, "Nothing is intriguing about it. I want out."
Draco stifled a laugh, "Clearly."
Hermione did not like his calm, happy-go-lucky attitude. She bared her teeth and spat, "Fuck you, Malfoy."
Draco pulled her close. A gasp escaped Hermione’s lips, and the fine hairs on her neck came alive.
He drawled, "Tempting." Was the smug prat attempting to flirt with her? It was a mind-disorienting thought, to say the least.
Hermione took a step back in shock, "What did you say?"
Draco replied firmly, "You have my word that I will do everything in my power to get you out of this."
She thought bitterly. Of course, he would. Why would he ever consider marrying someone he considered beneath him?
Hermione could not help the resentment that rose. Sure, she wanted nothing to do with the incorrigible Slytherin arsehole, but she wanted to be the one to refuse him. She muttered, "Typical."
Draco raised a questioning brow, "Excuse me?"
Hermione smiled slightly too sweetly and replied hotly, "I mean, yeah, thanks."
Draco smiled halfheartedly and declared sternly, "You don't deserve this. I'll speak with the Minister on Monday and sort this mess out."
Hermione continued to stare unblinkingly, but she managed, "I don't know what to say."
Draco smiled. His eyes lit up pleasantly, "There is nothing for you to say. For what it's worth, I deeply apologise for you being matched with a man you loathe." She couldn't even be a bitch to him when he was so sickeningly nice.
Hermione bit her lip in thought, "I guess I'm glad you’re not being difficult."
Draco took in her look of bewilderment and mused, "I have no reason to be difficult, Granger."
His hand dropped to the small of her back, his thumb moved in soothing circles over the exposed skin, and her heated flesh came alive under his touch.
The intimate gesture sent tiny shockwaves throughout her already trembling body, and another small whimper escaped her lips. She unconsciously stepped closer until the material of his jacket brushed against the front of her dress. He freed his hand from hers and tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, "You look nice." His voice was a seductive low that caressed the inner shell of her ear as it made its way into the depths of her mind.
Unsure of what to do, Hermione placed her freed hand palm down on his chest and even through his shirt, she could feel his firm defined chest. She toyed with the idea of throwing both arms around his neck.
She stared into his eyes boldly, "So do you, I mean smart. Yes, you look smart." Get a bloody hold of yourself, woman.
Draco watched her intently; her eyelashes were lowered, and they moved in rhythm to the music in each other's arms.
Ginny nudged Harry for the fifth time, "Will you look at the two of them?"
Harry rolled his eyes, "Ginny, stop your meddling."
Ginny frowned, "I'm not meddling. Malfoy seems reformed."
Harry bared his teeth, "I don't trust that git."
Ginny nodded and smirked mischievously, "Neither do I, but you have to admit they make a striking couple."
Draco gently took hold of Hermione's hand and placed it on his shoulder, but she boldly moved it around his neck. He tensed at her touch on the back of his neck. Her fingers lightly touched his hair and caressed it gently.
Two can play this game, Mr Malfoy. If you pull, you can be sure that I will push. It’s as if he read her mind. He placed his hands on either side of her waist and brought her, if possible, closer, and they moved effortlessly in time to the music. Her breasts pushed up flat against his chest, and she felt arousal wet her thong.
Hermione struggled to control the raging hormones her body conjured. It was betraying her mercilessly.
Draco fought his inner demons. Bringing her closer to his body was a dreadful mistake. She smelled intoxicating. Her womanly scent travelled up his nostrils and took permanent residence.
Hermione had always been a curious soul. She demanded arrogantly, "Where have you been all this time?"
Draco winked, "Wouldn't you love to know."
Hermione studied the face. He was good-looking. She fought the urge to cup his face and run her fingers through what looked like incredibly soft hair. After a moment’s thought, she retorted, "You look and, umm, seem different."
Draco snickered and replied with a bit of smugness, "Glad you noticed."
He inhaled deeply, "I love that smell."
Hermione licked her suddenly dry lips, "Well, you can thank Christian Dior for that." She cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes sceptically, "A compliment sounds utterly weird coming out of you."
Draco took another whiff, loomed over her and smirked, "I'm at an age where I can appreciate a beautiful woman."
Hermione's mind went blank. Never in her life had she ever been at a loss for words. The song ended. He let go abruptly, stepped back and bowed respectfully, "Thank you for indulging me. I hope it wasn’t too repulsive."
Hermione stood frozen on the spot; her body tingled pleasantly from his touch. She watched him hurriedly walk away, drain a glass of champagne, and rejoin his group of friends.
Blaise waved at her and handed Draco another drink. Astoria stood on the sidelines, seething and stewing with frustration. She was beside herself in anger.
Hermione saw Narcissa by the massive buffet table that boasted an impressive assortment of food. She crept up behind the aristocratic lady and hissed, "You have a lot of explaining to do, Narcissa Black Malfoy."
Narcissa held herself with poise and turned to face Hermione with an impish smile, "I do apologise."
Hermione waved her hand casually and reached to take a white China plate, "Don't worry about it, but I wish you had given me some warning."
Narcissa served herself some chicken salad and replied, "I didn't quite know how to approach it."
Hermione spooned a portion of mashed potatoes and smiled warmly, "I am thrilled for you, though. I know how much you missed him."
Narcissa asked seriously, "What do you make of him? I saw you two dancing earlier."
Hermione fidgeted and busied herself with piling more than the average amount of food onto her plate. She showed indifference, "Oh, umm, he does seem different."
She nudged the older woman and teased, "Are you sure it's your son?"
Narcissa laughed, "Quite sure," and added affectionately, "But I'm incredibly pleased by his change. He seems happier than I've ever seen him."
Hermione nodded because she wasn't sure what to make of the seemingly new Malfoy. He was so vastly different and put together from his earlier years that it completely threw her off.
Theo interrupted Draco's sinful thoughts of roaring fireplaces, melted chocolate and bushy brown hair.
The lanky Slytherin chuckled, "Did my eyes deceive me or were you chatting up Granger?"
Draco threw him a dangerous look, "Shut it, Theo."
Blaise struggled to hold onto Adam but laughed, "I don't know, mate. Nott does have a point."
Draco looked at Hermione, deep in conversation with his mother, and took in how they seemed at ease around each other.
He looked at his friends and grinned, "Granger and I have some unfinished business."
Theo snorted into his drink, "In the bedroom?"
Draco fired back, "For fuck’s sake, not everything is about sex."
Blaise cradled his sleepy son and whispered, "Narcissa finally told you about your upcoming nuptials.
Draco accused in irritation, "You knew."
Blaise nodded sadly, "Yeah, Astoria found out, and she did not take well to the news."
Draco frowned, "You could've told me."
Blaise grinned, "I saw you after years. I hardly think it was appropriate for my opening line to be, welcome back and by the way, you are supposed to marry a woman you tormented in school."
Draco laughed and nodded in agreement, "Fair point." He added despairingly, "I hope I can get us out of this predicament."
Blaise mirrored his weaning confidence, "Ah, that might be harder than you think."
The day after his mother finally confessed about his match to Granger, Draco called Pansy and asked her for the document and whatever information she had on the law.
Unfortunately, she had coughed it up only after she grilled him on why he wanted it suddenly. Her shocked gasp was apparent, "Shut the fuck up. You got Granger?"
Draco sighed, "Yes, unbelievable, isn't it?"
Pansy shrieked, "That's bloody mental." With the promise to owl the documents at once, she had hung up and contemplated the impossible matchup. He had read through the clauses thrice but came to no satisfactory conclusion. It was ironclad and tied up neatly. However, he would speak to the Minister and make him see reason.
As the night progressed, Hermione danced with Charlie after he rescued her from the wandering hands of Lee Jordon. It had been a harmless bit of flirting until Jordon decided to take things too far. The man had a few drinks in him and would not be discouraged easily. Charlie swooped in and whisked her away. He was always good fun, and Hermione always imagined he would be like Charlie if she had a brother. They had a merry time laughing at his jokes and poking fun at others.
Narcissa took her leave. Before which, she cupped Hermione’s face lovingly, “You will come by next week?”
Hermione smiled warmly, “Of course.” She noticed Malfoy laughing with his friends and a woman in a low-cut red dress flirting with him mercilessly. Obviously, he wasn’t leaving with his mother. Surprisingly, Astoria was nowhere in sight. After Draco danced with Hermione, Astoria made it her mission to make her intentions obvious by hanging around the Slytherin men.
Ginny shoved Hermione drunkenly and slurred, “You had fun dancing with Malfoy. Admit it!”
Hermione grinned, “Fuck no.”
Ginny laughed and held onto Harry to steady herself, “You lying bitch.”
Harry rolled his eyes, handed them crushed, sweet-smelling petals, and instructed firmly, “Throw these at the couple.”
Ginny threw a handful in his face, and some got inside Harry's gaping mouth. He spat them out and frowned in disgust. Hermione and Ginny held onto each other and collapsed in a fit of uncontrollable giggles.
Ron appeared with Tracey close behind him. He took her hand in his and radiated happiness. Everyone threw the petals at them, and the couple hurried through it and got into the waiting carriage.
They waved happily at the crowd gathered to watch them off.
Hermione felt a presence next to her. She was definitely feeling the effects of the many glasses of champagne she consumed because when she turned to see who it was, her heel caught in the hem of her gown, and she fell.
Strong arms caught her around the waist and held her firmly to a sculptured chest.
A voice whispered confidently, “I promise, I won’t let you fall.” Before registering who it was, her head spun dangerously, and everything turned black.
Chapter 10
Notes:
A chapter dedicated to our duo and the bubbling sexual tension that they can't seem to escape from.
Enjoy Chapter Ten!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Hermione stirred. Her head was pounding, and her mouth felt like something had died. It was the most disgusting taste imaginable. Her fingers brushed over something soft and cotton.
She struggled to open her eyes but managed to pop open a swollen eyelid. The sheet entwined around her was her bedding, but she had no recollection of making it home. Blurry snippets flashed across her mind—Ron's wedding, what a night that had been.
Ginny and she had drunk possibly three bottles of imported champagne between them. She vaguely recalled falling. Did she hit her head? Was that the reason for temporary amnesia? Bollocks, had she been so plastered that she could not remember how she made it home? If only her parents could see her now.
Hermione heard movement coming from the bathroom. She sat straight up and regretted it at once. The bile rose dangerously and threatened to spill over, but the distinct sound of a toilet being flushed made her heart pound rapidly.
Evidently, she was not alone. Fuck.
She looked around for her wand and shockingly found it neatly tucked under the pillow. Without hesitation, she pointed it at the partially open door with a trembling hand and waited for whoever it was to come out.
The door opened slowly, and the man who walked out in the same clothes as the night before caused her mind to go blank. Her heart started to beat rapidly, and she stared transfixed.
Fuck. Her inner monologue fired off a stream of colourful curses.
He wore his tailored black trousers from the previous night and an unbuttoned black shirt displaying a defined chest and scarred body. Hermione had the sudden urge to trace the healed rose-pink scar that disappeared into the waistband of his trousers with her index finger.
She saw the angry red marks on his neck and flinched. Did she do that? Oh lord, please don't let it be her. She would never live it down.
The man ran his fingers through his fine locks of hair and grinned smugly, “Ah, good morning.”
Hermione held back her surprise and croaked, "What are you doing here?" She felt naked and completely vulnerable.
He narrowed his eyes and instructed firmly, “Put that wand away before you hurt someone.” The cautious Gryffindor was having not of that. She kept it pointed directly at his chest. Make one move to my disliking, and I will hex your pretentious arse, she thought.
When she didn't budge, he flicked his hand almost lazily, and the wand flew out of her hand. It landed elegantly on the other side.
The hammering in her head increased. Stunned into silence, she mouthed, “What?”
Hermione hurled accusingly, “How did you do that?”
The imposing man replied calmly, “I don't know what you're on about.”
Hermione sneered, “Don't insult my intelligence.”
He laughed heartily, “I wouldn't dare. I do, however, think you're delusional.”
She almost lunged forward with the intent of causing bodily harm but found herself looking down and discovered she was in a baggy white t-shirt and unflattering grandma knickers.
Hermione clutched the bedding tightly to her chest and groaned.
Merlin. Had they fucked?
His voice was laced with mocking sweetness, “Figured you wouldn't be a morning person.”
He fetched a vial from the small table in the corner, held it out for her to take and instructed confidently, "Drink it."
Hermione stared at it suspiciously, pressed her lips together and hissed, “Not until you explain what the hell you’re doing in my flat, Malfoy?”
Draco rolled his eyes and retorted, “There’s plenty of time for that. Right now, you need to drink this.”
He smirked, “It's not poisoned. I swear, it will make you feel better.” Looking towards the kitchen, he added reassuringly, “There was a cupboard in the kitchen labelled potions. I took it out of that.”
While she slept it off, he had first tried to get some sleep on the sofa in his boredom, but the many fluffy cushions kept tickling his nostrils.
Then the twisted armchair in the corner of her room was definitely meant to look pretty because the witless sod who designed it was a certifiable idiot. It was probably the most uncomfortable chair he ever had the misfortune of sitting upon.
He had also peered into her face and tenderly brushed away the strands of hair that fell over her face. Conceding defeat that sleep was a luxury he would be deprived of for the night, he walked around the flat and took in the small trinkets that decorated her space.
The framed pictures of her family and happy framed photographs of her hugging Teddy Lupin appealed to him. He picked it up and held it under the light to get a better look.
She had an extensive collection of books and leather-bound manuscripts; no surprises there. Towards dawn, he had pulled out a book on the French Revolution and settled down on the sofa to read it—nothing like the beheading of royals to set the mood.
The woman staring daggers at him was disturbing. He would’ve gladly opted for the Guillotine at that moment. Hermione eyed him sceptically, grabbed the small glass bottle out of his grasp, pulled the plug out with her mouth, dramatically spat it out, and the wooden cork landed near his feet.
She paused for effect and tossed the purple contents of the vessel back. The potion took immediate effect. It seeped into her blood and spread to every corner of her body.
Draco pointed to a large cup with a hand-painted cat and grinned, “I hope you don't mind, but I helped myself to coffee.” He sat down with the steaming mug on the painful armchair and cursed internally. After crossing his legs, he leaned back to get comfortable and regarded the fuming witch before him curiously.
Hermione wished she were more trained in the art of Occlumency. She would have given anything to know what was happening behind those mysterious orbs of grey.
An awkward silence engulfed them, and Hermione decided to address the elephant in the room. She cleared her throat and summoned the courage to ask, “Did we?”
Draco lazily took a sip of coffee, sighed in contentment, and replied innocently, “Did we what, Granger?”
Hermione kept her temper at bay and decided to humour the infuriating wizard in her room, “You know exactly what I mean.”
Draco shrugged nonchalantly, “Do I?” So, he would make her say it. Fine, if they did, she would forget about it and move on with her life.
She cocked her head to the side and frowned, “Please don't act stupid.” Looking him in the eyes was not an option.
She averted her gaze, played with the corner of a pillow and muttered, “Did we, umm, have sex?” She joined her hands together and entwined the fingers to emphasise her point.
Draco leaned forward pointedly, and his long fingers tightened around the hot coffee cup. He stifled a laugh and settled for his trademark smirk, “What if we did?”
Fuck.
A satisfactory grin tugged at the corner of his lip, “I assure you, you would now if we made love.”
Hermione laughed cynically, “Made love? What are you a fucking girl?”
Draco frowned to make his displeasure evident, “I didn't touch you, well, besides helping your drunken arse in.”
Hermione stopped laughing and thanked Merlin, “That's a bloody relief.” She felt the t-shirt, tugged at it and raised a questioning brow, “My clothes?”
Draco grinned and offered a plausible explanation, “A simple transfiguration charm can work wonders.” The potion did its job, and Hermione felt more like herself.
She bundled the sheet around to cover her exposed bits and threw him a wary look, “Umm, care to explain why you’re sitting in my flat? She tried desperately to remember the events that led them to where they were, but regrettably, no memory rose to the surface.
Draco brushed her question aside, got to his feet and said in exhaustion, “I don’t know about you, but I'm starving.”
He ran his hand over his tired face and asked offhandedly, “Do you have cheese, bread, anything?”
Hermione responded reluctantly, “Er, yes, but….”
Malfoy ignored her, turned on his heel and headed to what he presumed to be the kitchen. She took the moment of privacy to fetch a pair of discarded shorts and wriggled into them.
She dashed madly into the bathroom, stared at her reflection and gasped. Lord, her hair stuck to her head in messy oily strands, and uncleaned makeup from the night before left ugly streaks on her cheeks and under her eyes.
Hermione groaned. Is this what Malfoy had seen? Why did it even matter what he thought? She attacked the tube of toothpaste, squeezed a generous amount onto her toothbrush, and stuck it into her mouth. It felt beyond heavenly to erase the taste of the dead cat off her tongue.
Next, she washed her face with the cool water and sighed when the icy beads connected with her skin. The exhausted woman in her rubbed at the unsightly blotches of makeup that decorated her face and ran wet fingers through her hair to tame it momentarily.
Once she looked somewhat presentable, she tiptoed out and heard the unmistakable sound of open cupboards and cutlery moving about.
Hermione found him shuffling through her cupboards. She opened her mouth to hurl an insult but held her tongue and watched the uninvited intruder going through her stuff.
An unopened box of sanitary napkins fell to the floor, and Draco picked it, turned slightly red, pushed it into the cramped cupboard, and hurriedly closed the small door.
He threw open the door to the fridge and exclaimed excitedly, "Finally, something edible."
Pulling out an almost empty tray of eggs, he frowned, “Well, it's not much. Two eggs, a few slices of cheese and three slices of bread.”
Hermione sat at the small wooden table and scowled, “Look, I eat out mostly because I’m hardly home.”
She pointedly stared at the eggs and asked irritably, “Are you going to cook?”
Draco grinned, “Yes, I am. Is that so surprising?”
Hermione responded sarcastically, “It is. Doesn’t a pampered prat like you have people falling over themselves to cater to your needs?”
He found her childish retorts amusing. He quipped, “Once upon a time ago. I have changed my selfish ways.”
Hermione countered mockingly, “Clearly.” She watched him trying to find a frying pan in glee. When he failed to find one, she got up lazily, went to stand by him, bent over and retrieved a nonstick pan from under the stove.
Her rounded bottom was high in the air, making the delectable flesh wobble in the nonexistent shorts. The material pulled tight and wedged itself between her smooth arse cheeks.
Draco swallowed hard, eyed the rippling skin in interest and fought the carnal urge to grab a handful and leave his handprint on her creamy buttocks. He glanced at his large hand and then her arse and decided it was indeed a perfect fit.
Before his thoughts ran away with him completely, he quickly grabbed the pan she handed and busied himself with cracking the eggs into a bowl and whisking them.
Hermione returned to her seat and watched the striking man walk about her kitchen like a daily occurrence. In next to no time, the enticing smell of a cheese omelette surrounded the small kitchen, and Hermione felt her stomach rumble with a sudden pang of hunger.
Draco placed a mug of steaming coffee in front of Hermione and pushed the plate of food toward her. Indeed, this was an out-of-body experience or some parallel universe because that was the only logical explanation for Malfoy cooking her fucking breakfast.
She took the mug with both hands and drank the hot liquid. It felt immensely gratifying, but her curiosity was yet to be sated.
Hermione cleared her throat of the tingling sensation and demanded, “Malfoy, why the fuck are you in my flat?
He pulled out a chair, sat down and smirked, “That is quite an interesting story.”
Hermione took another sip and impatiently probed, “Well, get to it.”
Draco rested his elbows on the table, brought his hands together and asked curiously, “What's the last thing you remember?”
Hermione tossed her head back in exasperation and tried to recall. It came to her in bits. She sat up straight and swore.
She hissed, narrowing her eyes, “Lee Jordan tried to grab my arse on the dancefloor, but Charlie shooed him off.”
Draco bit into a piece of toast and nodded. He had seen Jordan's failed attempts at intimacy, Granger's blatant refusal of his advances and one of the Weasley boys stepping in to defuse the situation.
He couldn’t help the rising contempt, “Yeah, Lee’s a class act. I should have let him bring you home.”
Hermione fawned mockingly and asked in false eagerness, “Aww, did you save me, Malfoy? Should I be grateful?”
Draco stifled a laugh and replied truthfully, “A thank you would be nice, actually.”
Then it dawned on her, and she cried in realisation, “My heel got caught in the hem of my stupid dress, and I fell….”
She clicked her tongue and added, “Oh Merlin, you caught me.”
Draco stretched his legs, and his foot brushed up against Hermione’s ankle. He flashed a flawless smile and joked, “If I knew you were going to treat me so poorly, I would've let you fall on your shapely arse.”
He stretched and joked, “You blacked out after that, and here I was, carrying you about trying to figure out what I was going to do. It caused quite the stir. I bet most thought I had hexed you to have my wicked way with you.”
Hermione licked her bottom lip and inquired, “And did you?”
Draco narrowed his eyes and growled. A low rumble left his lips in anger, “I am no rapist, Granger. I prefer a conscious willing woman who can leave marks on my back.” That statement piqued Hermione’s interest. Malfoy did not seem to mind a bit of rough play in the bedroom area. Interesting.
She shamelessly wondered how far he would go. He got to his feet, washed his coffee cup, and kept it on the counter meticulously.
Hermione swallowed hard. Her eyes followed him around. He was ultimately at ease using Muggle devices. Who the bloody hell was this man?
His eyes crinkled with laughter, “There was this one old witch who thought you fainted from the shock of seeing your beloved riding off into the sunset.”
He let out a laugh, “She made her thoughts quite vocal. Even told me to be cautious.”
Hermione bared her teeth and spat, “Well, point her out, and I'll give her a piece of my bloody mind.” People never minded their own business.
Draco leaned against the clean kitchen counter and asked curiously, “What happened? I would've bet my weight in gold that you and he would get married and have a bunch of ginger-haired kids running about by now.”
Hermione grimaced, “What? No.” She massaged the bridge of her nose and replied in frustration, “Well, not that it's any of your fucking business, but Ron and I grew apart.”
Draco chuckled, “Long story short. You grew up; he couldn't keep up, so you dumped him.”
Hermione shifted in her seat uncomfortably and defended weakly, “No, umm...”
Draco noticed her awkward body language and grinned, “I’m impressed, Granger. That's something a Slytherin would do.”
He added without a shred of remorse, “You must have broken his poor heart to bits.”
Hermione decided he had reprimanded her enough and fired back, “No more than you broke Astoria’s.”
Draco stiffened and wondered how she knew about his tumultuous relationship with Astoria Greengrass. He cautioned, “Careful, Granger. It is hardly the same thing.”
She recited her first encounter with Astoria at the Burrow with a hint of loathing, “She gave me an insulting tongue lashing about how I was beneath you and that you belonged to her.” Ah, so that’s how she knew. He felt the need to apologise. She watched his face contort unpleasantly. It was a painful issue, but she was curious about his reaction.
He replied thoughtfully, leaving no room for doubt, “You are beneath no one.”
Hermione reeled back from the shock of hearing the words that seamlessly flew out of his luscious mouth. Not knowing how to respond, she sighed and stated what she believed to be obvious, “She loves you.”
Draco pressed his lips together and seemed far away. He muttered, “I doubt it's true love. Since we were children, she’s been brainwashed to love me.”
He added gravely, “I never loved her, nor did I pretend to. We had a physical relationship because I was a dumb teenager with a hard-on, but I never gave her false hope.”
Hermione shrugged, “Well, evidently, she missed the owl.”
Draco injected, “Memo.”
Hermione raised a questioning brow, “What?”
He retorted complacently, “The Muggle term is the memo.” It was utterly barmy to hear pureblood fanatic Draco Malfoy correct her on Muggle phrases.
Hermione chewed on her bottom lip and muttered unsurely, “Are you going to speak with Kingsley?”
Draco nodded at once, “Of course, I am.”
He pointed at them and quipped, “This is a disaster waiting to happen. We are as different as night and day.” Yet, a complex algorithm deemed them compatible, ruling out hundreds if not thousands of other possible candidates.
Hermione locked eyes with him and grinned, “I gave it some thought. If all else fails, you can tell Kingsley you’re gay.”
The platinum blonde widened his eyes in surprise, “Excuse me?” Was she fucking nuts? Not that he had anything against homosexuality, but it just wasn't for him. While in school, some of the others had experimented, but he had never given it a second thought.
He fumed, “Have you read the bloody document? That is not even a clause, and I will do no such thing.”
Hermione threw her hands up in defeat, “Fine! Don’t get your knickers in a bunch.”
Draco stared. Of all the stubborn women in the wizarding world, he had to get stuck with the worst one of the lot.
She shrugged and said casually, “I would be glad to put the word out that I fancied women if everyone didn't already know about Ron and other men I've dated, but you, they know practically nothing about.
Hermione winked suggestively, “Pretty boy like you should have no problem in getting himself a handsome boyfriend.”
Draco took a threatening step forward. He roughly turned her chair around, loomed over her and glared sternly, “Granger, I'm not fucking gay and nor will I pretend to be to get out of a ridiculous law.”
She mumbled weakly and moved to the edge of the seat, “It was worth a try.”
She remembered the woman in the ridiculously low-cut dress and mustered a halfhearted apology, “I'm sorry I ruined your plans of getting laid.” First, she wanted him to act as if he were gay, and then she apologised for upstaging a probable night of shagging. No wonder Weasley couldn’t keep up.
Draco leaned forward so his face was inches from hers. He placed a long finger under her chin, lifted her face, and forced her to look at him. Her lips were so close to his. He could smell the fresh peppermint toothpaste.
He half expected her to shove him back, but she sat still and gripped the corner of the chair rigidly until her knuckles turned visibly white.
His tone turned alluring, sending shivers down her spine, "Why are you sorry? I got to bring home the prettiest woman at the wedding."
He nuzzled into her hair, snapped her head to the side and took charge, “Look at me, Hermione.” She was drowning. Surely, it wasn’t her imagination playing cruel tricks on her, but her given name rolled off his tongue sinfully. Gathering her bravado, she looked at him through hooded eyelids.
The amber in her eyes burned with a passion that longed to be satisfied. The intensity that radiated off her set his core ablaze.
His own eyes clouded over with lust and his teeth grazed her sensitive earlobe, “Cat got your tongue, Granger?” The deep, sensual low of his voice made Hermione lean into it. It sent rippling sensations through her body.
She wanted more. Her lips parted in want, and she closed her eyes and almost surrendered to the ministrations he bestowed upon her. Just like that, his presence left her circle of warmth, and it was over. When she opened her eyes, Malfoy backed away and gazed at her through conflicted eyes.
Neither were in control of the raging attraction that seemingly pulled them into its disgraceful embrace. Her chest heaved, leaving her bosom bare. He closed his eyes and channelled his inner strength, his teachings, in a futile attempt to regain control.
Eager to stir the situation away from dampening knickers and what looked like a semi-hard erection, Hermione asked anxiously, “Where were my friends?”
Draco stared in silence before the scrapping of Granger’s chair prompted him to reply, “Potter had his hands full with a sleepy toddler and drunk wife. The others were busy, I guess.”
He added triumphantly, “It was his idea that I bring you home.” The Chosen One had grilled him and promised bodily harm if he deviated from his instructions.
Hermione’s mouth fell open in disbelief, “He wouldn't.” The traitor.
Draco smirked, “Oh, he would. He gave me the address, and I apparated us right outside your door.”
He continued to paint a vivid picture, “I propped your lifeless form up against the door and went through your purse to locate your keys when you suddenly came to and grunted. Scared the fuck out of me.”
Hermione glared, “I do not fucking grunt.”
He chuckled, “It's a good thing you did because this woman came out of the flat next door in nothing but an overcoat and bombarded me with many questions. She threatened to call the coppers, but you told her it was alright because you were with your fiancé.”
Hermione gasped. She was mortified, “I did not!”
Draco enjoyed her reactions immensely, "Hmm, but you did." He purposely neglected to mention how, once they entered the flat, she had peppered his neck with lingering kisses, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, and touched herself enticingly.
He was tipsy but in control, but it took every ounce of self-control not to rip her dress off her body and fuck her right there on the floor. When she hiked up her dress to retrieve her wand, his cock had hardened instantly and pressed painfully against the material of his new trousers.
She then plopped herself down on the sofa and beckoned him forward, and in a weak moment, he had stridden towards her intent on pleasure, but her eyes rolled back in her head, and she passed out again.
Draco laughed aloud, “After you passed out yet again, I threw you over my shoulder and put you to bed.”
Hermione cried indignantly, “What are you, a caveman?” Somehow, being overpowered by Malfoy sounded titillating.
She widened her eyes and asked urgently, “Oh Merlin, did I vomit?”
Draco frowned with mild repulsion, “A few times, actually. That was fun.”
Hermione could barely look him in the eyes. Even Ron never came in when she was feeling sick.
She questioned meekly, “Did you see?”
Draco nodded reluctantly and replied at once, “Oh, I saw, and cleaned up after. Yes, did all that. I also held your hair back as you painted the inside of the toilet with your vomit.”
He raised a questioning brow and inquired in interest, “I must ask why you have coloured bars of soap?”
Hermione smiled sheepishly, “Oh, umm, I like having a variety.”
He threw her a look of utter confusion, “Like for the bloody days of the week?”
She frowned, “No, you arsehole.” Why was she even entertaining him and his ridiculous questions?
Draco was thoroughly amused. He shook his head and replied, “You have issues, Granger,” and added, “I used the green one without skipping a beat.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, “Of course you did.”
Draco straightened and looked at the time pointedly, “Well, now that I know you won't die of alcohol poisoning, I'll take my leave.” She grasped his arm and stopped him from leaving. He came to an abrupt halt and stared at where her lilac-painted nails dug into his pale flesh.
Hermione averted her gaze and asked, “Why did you bring me home? You didn't have to.”
Draco sighed, “I didn't, but I am a decent human being now, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Hermione was not convinced. She probed impatiently, “But why?”
He answered patiently, “I just told you why.” It made no sense.
He pushed the cold plate of food towards her and instructed firmly, “Get some rest and eat. You need your strength.”
He left her sitting in the kitchen, strolled towards the door, and said, “See you around, Granger.”
Hermione pushed back the chair, strolled over to his retreating figure, and whispered, “Malfoy?” He towered over her easily without her heels, making her uncomfortable.
He stood his ground and regarded her curiously, “Yeah?”
Hermione went on tiptoes, placed a gentle kiss on his cheek and mumbled a quick “Thank you.”
With his hand on the doorknob, Draco glanced over his shoulder and inquired earnestly, “Are you and Charlie Weasley an item?”
Hermione grimaced. The repulsion she felt was apparent. She almost screamed, “Have you lost your bloody mind?”
In her haste to spit out the words, she stumbled over them, “He is like a brother to me…,” and added in utter disgust, “And Ron's brother. The whole idea is revolting.”
Draco felt an unexpected sense of relief wash over him. It was unprecedented, catching him completely off guard, so much so that he went still for a moment.
Hermione smiled fondly, “He’s also very gay and currently dating some dragon wrangler back in Romania.”
She closed the gap between them, cocked her head to the side and bit her lip, “What does it matter to you?” The closeness of their bodies was wreaking havoc, and he felt his defences beginning to crumble. It was purely a physical attraction to an enticing woman he considered forbidden fruit.
His grasp on the handle tightened, and he replied coolly, “I was just curious.”
Hermione didn’t buy it, but why put him on the spot? Instead, she showed indifference, “Yeah, whatever.”
Draco hurriedly opened the door and walked out. The air in the corridor was cold, and he felt the tiny hairs on his body react to the sudden coolness.
He closed the door behind him, leaned against the painted wood and breathed a sigh of relief. His resolve hung by a thread. A mere second longer in her presence, he would have done the unthinkable.
Hermione stared at the closed door, rubbed her sweaty hands and willed the rapid beating of her heart to still. She walked towards the kitchen, put the plate of food in the microwave and went back to bed with disturbing thoughts swirling around in the depths of her conscience.
Chapter 11
Summary:
The morning after drama continues :)
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Chapter Text
Draco walked down the carpeted, narrow corridor away from Granger’s door. He avoided the lift and took the stairs purely because he wanted to occupy himself with thoughts other than the former Gryffindor Princess.
The late morning air was warmer than he expected, but aimlessly, Draco strolled down the streets amongst the busy people going about their daily work.
Sundays usually brought out the working crowd for a spot of breakfast and shopping. He saw many families gathered in the nearby cafes enjoying a cold or hot treat while children jumped about excitedly as they licked their melting ice cream cones. They seemed so content with their lives, and he had every intention of living a peaceful existence, but that was until a certain woman threw a monkey wrench into his plans. A small smile made it to his face, and he remembered something his mentor Chun had repeated more than once, “Ah, Draco, you can’t stop the inevitable. Everything happens for a reason.”
A permanent hard-on for Granger could not possibly count as a reason. It was a phrase his Master Chun was pretty fond of using right before he knocked Draco off his feet. The surprised blonde would lie on his back, wince in pain and frown as his Master chuckled and made him repeat the routine until he reached perfection.
Hands in his pockets, Draco walked along the cobbled streets and thought of his situation. He had little choice in the matter, and he dreaded the meeting with Kingsley. Despite finding Granger sexually appealing, he could not fathom being forced to marry her. They would literally drive each other mad with their mannerisms.
Deciding that he had looked around enough, he ducked into a relatively deserted alley behind a department store, and a creepy-looking, disfigured mannequin stared at him accusingly. Closing his eyes, he thought vividly of where he wanted to go.
The tall black stone walls, the beautiful gardens and the century’s old ancestral structure came into view. Draco waved his hand casually and disappeared, leaving behind the sudden rush of wind and rustling of papers. His feet touched the ground near the fountain, and he took a few moments to stare into the saintly face of the marble angel that spewed water in a perfect arc. He slowly descended the stone stairs, hoping his mother would not cross his path. How could he explain where he had been?
Random thoughts played in his mind. He was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t hear his mother speak to him from the ladies parlour. She had been somewhat concerned when he hadn’t turned up, but she figured he was having a merry time with his friends. That didn’t stop her from letting out a sigh of immense relief at the sight of her only child.
Narcissa sat up straight and smiled, “Good morning, Draco.” The aristocratic woman wasted no time. She took in his crushed clothes and unkempt hair and regarded him with mild scepticism, “Should I ask where you have been?”
Bollocks. Draco slicked his hair back with his long fingers and grinned sheepishly, “Mother, good morning.” Different scenarios ran rampant in his mind, but he saw little point in lying. He purposely averted his gaze, stared at the ugly painting of a hog and hound, and mumbled incoherently, “I, umm, I spent the night at Granger’s flat.”
Narcissa could hardly believe the words that flew out of her son’s mouth. Ineligible as they were, she heard each word loud and clear. The surprise she felt was evident in the widening of her eyes, “What?”
Draco stepped closer and explained rather sheepishly, “She had too much to drink, and I saw her back to hers.” He knew his mother’s fondness for Granger. Putting his hands up in defeat, he added reassuringly, “I swear nothing happened.” Even though plenty could have happened.
Narcissa reached out, took his hand in hers and flashed a happy smile, “I trust your word.” Her eyes clouded over in concern, “Is she alright?”
Draco nodded at once, “Yes, she is now. I made her breakfast and left.”
Narcissa raised a brow and quipped, “You made her breakfast?” He internally berated himself: idiot, no one needed to know the finer details. Hopefully, the marks on his neck would remain hidden from wandering eyes. He consciously pulled up his collar and buttoned it. Max chose this moment to come crashing into the room and ran in circles around his beloved Master.
The shiny-haired dog kept his giant paws on Draco’s trousers, hoisted itself up, and demanded attention.
Narcissa eyed the affectionate exchange fondly, and a diabolical smile pulled the side of her lip upwards, “If I didn’t know any better, and I always do. I would say you have feelings for Hermione.”
Draco went on one knee to Max’s level and scratched him under his neck. The happy dog slobbered and whimpered in comfort. He rolled his eyes so his mother couldn’t see and retorted firmly, “Don’t be silly, mother. I helped a woman in distress. Please do not read too much into this.”
Narcissa beckoned Max forward and showed her son indifference to appease him, “Of course, as you wish.”
Draco yawned and quickly covered his gaping mouth with the back of his hand.
Narcissa took in his dishevelled appearance and suggested, “You look tired. Why don’t you get some rest?” She offered kindly, “Shall I ask Dotty to send up a pot of hot tea and some breakfast.” A proper cup of milky tea would hit the spot and tend to the foul taste in his mouth.
Draco perked up at once, “Thank you, that would be great.” He thought back to Granger’s lack of groceries. The bloody woman had no food at her flat.
No 12 Grimmauld Place
James hollered from down the hall, “Mummy!” He ran into his parents’ room unannounced in his snitch-patterned pyjamas and jumped onto the bed.
Just as he was about to wake his mother, Harry picked up the naughty toddler and tickled him. The happy child collapsed in giggles and screamed, “No, Daddy, stop!”
Ginny buried her head under the stack of pillows and grumbled, “Oh, my head. Not so loud, munchkin.” She scowled, “Someone turn off the bloody sun.”
Harry replied merrily, “Ah, my loving wife has awoken.”
Ginny struggled to sit up, and once, she croaked, “Are we home? Or did I drink that too?”
Harry smiled fondly and gave her a quick peck on the forehead, “We are home, my love.”
He reached over, grabbed something off the nightstand, and asked, “Do you want the hangover potion now?”
Ginny groaned and nodded slowly, “Oh Merlin, yes.” She took the opened bottle, threw her husband a look of gratitude and tossed the contents back. The potion started to take effect when it disappeared down her parched throat.
Harry plopped beside his pretty wife, peered into her face and inquired, “Feeling better?”
Ginny breathed a large breath of fresh air and grinned, “Much better.” They shared a soft kiss. James frowned at his parents’ display of affection, jumped off the bed and ran out of the room. They heard the sound of his train set come to life.
Ginny smacked her forehead and regretted it at once, “Fuck. Where’s Hermione? Is she downstairs?”
Harry averted his gaze guiltily and fell over his words, “Er, well, no.”
Ginny raised a questioning brow and probed sternly, “Harry?”
Harry groaned, closed his eyes, and the words flew out of his mouth rapidly, “I’m sorry, but I had no choice. Malfoy took her back to her flat.” He exhaled like a huge burden had been lifted off his shoulders.
Ginny’s mouth fell open, and she cried in shock, “What?”
Harry massaged the bridge of his nose and explained further, “She passed out, and he caught her. You were throwing up; James was grumpy, and Charlie had blacked out in the corner.” He slumped his shoulders in defeat, “I had no choice.”
Ginny grinned devilishly, “Calm yourself. You did the right thing.”
She pondered why Malfoy had been so close to Hermione to catch her in the first place. Sure, she had seen him glancing their way when he thought no one was looking. She especially enjoyed the ex-Slytherin’s hardened expression of Lee Jordon getting handsy with Hermione.
Harry threw his head back and groaned, “She’s going to kill me.”
Ginny patted his hand but offered no reassuring words, “Well, yes, definitely. You know how much she hates him.”
Harry frowned and replied sarcastically, “Thank you, I feel loads better.”
Ginny grinned and tapped her chin in thought, “I wonder how that went.”
Harry shrugged and laid back on a fluffy white pillow, “She probably hexed his balls off and flung him out of her flat.”
Ginny looked uncertain, “I don’t know about that. He looks like he could go a round or two with the great Miss Hermione Granger.”
Harry pulled her to his side, and Ginny cuddled into the warmth her husband always offered. She danced her fingers across his chest and muttered, “It was a good wedding.”
Harry stroked his wife’s flaming red hair and replied, “The best. Everyone had a blast, and I have the marks to prove it.”
Ginny giggled, “I’m so sorry.”
Harry laughed and winked, “Why? I mildly enjoyed it.” He asked meekly, “Should we call Hermione?”
Ginny smirked, “Maybe later. We don’t want to interrupt anything.”
Harry frowned, his face contorted in mild disgust, “What do you mean?”
Ginny rolled her eyes and shook her head exasperatedly, “You are so slow at times.” She pulled him to her and placed a heated kiss on his lips.
Hermione’s Flat
Hunger eventually won over, and Hermione ate the meal prepared with enthusiasm, washed the dishes, flopped down on the bed, and stared at the ceiling. Never would she have pegged Malfoy to be kind and nurturing. She figured he would eat his young as soon they were born—a rather harsh assessment but one that suited him.
She hugged herself and took in the masculine scent he left behind. It was a blatant lie to pretend that his presence did nothing to her. It did, and she hated herself for it. It was an uphill battle to remind herself what a hateful person he had been.
Malfoy Manor
Draco stepped into the glass cubicle, and the overhead shower came to life. He leaned into it and enjoyed the luxurious, cool spray of water that ran through his hair and down his back. He had never seen Granger in a more comprising situation. She had the softest skin.
The way her fingers had brushed over her skin when she was trying to seduce him in her drunken state caused a powerful stirring within. It was sensually beautiful how her fingertips danced across her smooth skin. Then she bit down on her lip and looked at him through hooded lashes. He felt his cock show signs of life. It grew hard and inched upwards. He palmed it and moved his fingers up and down his shaft, encouraging it to reach its full potential.
It had been a while since he had a good wank, but this was beyond his control. He wanted to think of her. He wanted to have her under him, and by Salazar, he wanted to slide his cock into her presumably tight cunt and fill her up. His fingers grasped his fully erected dick and worked it to perfection. Beads of pre-cum oozed out of his throbbing head, mixed with the steady stream of water and slid to the floor.
Incoherent words left his mouth.
“Granger, touch yourself.”
“Yes, there. Slowly, move down.”
“Show me those beautiful tits.”
He hadn’t seen them, but a glimpse of her delectable mounds was enough for his imagination to run wild. His fingers tightened, and his movements grew urgent. It didn’t take much afterwards for him to reach a satisfying orgasm. A groan rippled through his chest, and his release spurted forth and coated his long fingers in thick strands of semen.
Draco pounded the wall beside him, closed his eyes in pure exhilaration and whispered, “Hermione….” The water felt extra soothing after the tense muscles in his body relaxed.
He stepped into his room naked, towelled himself and walked over to the table laden with cold cuts of meat, several options of bread and a jar of his favourite jam. He generously applied a thick coat of strawberry jam on a piece of crunchy toast, bit into it and sighed.
After he had his fill, he slid between the cotton sheets and closed his eyes. Sleep took him away into a dreamless yet content slumber. He had been celibate for over five years, and when it came to the actual deed, he was concerned whether his performance would lack his past vigour.
A bird tapping on the window made Hermione groggily open her eyes.
She hissed, “Bloody pigeon. You’re lucky I don’t casserole you.” Dragging her feet to the bathroom, she pulled her unruly curls into a messy bun.
It was Sunday, and nothing needed her immediate attention. Deciding to pamper herself, she ran the bath full of water and fetched the new bath salt she bought the other day. The area filled with a pleasant earthy aroma, and Hermione drank it in. She pulled the t-shirt over her head and noticed the faint outline of a bruise and the distinct mark of fingers pressed into her side.
Strange, she had no recollection of them, but then again, the past fifteen hours were dodgy as fuck. In reality, the marks had been made by Draco when he grabbed her. His long, strong fingers had pressed into her skin to steady her before she fell to the floor and split her skull on the paved floor of Greengrass Manor.
Hermione dipped a leg into the warm water and shuddered as the water seeped into her pores. It came in contact with the bruise, and she winced before a state of complete relaxation descended upon her. She closed her eyes, rested her head on the edge of the smooth tub, brought her legs up and sighed in satisfaction.
Malfoy.
Clear grey eyes.
Pale, unblemished skin.
Strong arms.
Fit, hardened chest.
Hermione wondered what he looked like underneath the tailored trousers. Unquestionably, God had not blessed him with everything. There had to be something lacking. She had suppressed the memory, but flashes of her lips caressing pale skin came to mind, and even though he said nothing about the marks on his neck, they bared an uncanny resemblance to her shade of lip gloss.
Theo strode into Malfoy Manor at half-past five p.m. Narcissa looked up from her embroidery, and Dotty moved closer to her Mistress’s chair. He bowed respectfully and greeted cheerfully, “Good evening, Narcissa.”
Max reared his head and growled at the outsider. The puppy grew rapidly and resembled a miniature version of a snowy white wolf with bloodshot eyes.
Narcissa ruffled the fur on the dog’s head and cooed, “Easy boy, Theodore is a friend.”
Theo eyed the dog in caution and slowly moved into the luxurious space of the newly refurbished foyer.
Max lay at Narcissa’s feet protectively but kept his eyes firmly on the nervously approaching tall man.
Theo came to stand by Narcissa’s side and bent to give the regal lady a peck on the cheek. Max made his displeasure evident and let out a low growl of warning.
Narcissa stroked the irked dog’s head again and disciplined, “Hush now, Max.” Without much thought, Theo reached into his robes for his wand. If the dog attacked, he would be ready. He mumbled, “Bloody menace,” and watched Narcissa fondly gaze at the mutt at her feet.
Narcissa looked into Theo’s face and smiled warmly, “How good to see you.”
Theo looked to the floors above and inquired curiously, “Is Malfoy around?”
Narcissa turned to give Max a treat and replied, “Hmm, he should still be asleep.”
Theo scratched his chin in thought and made a mental note to shave. There was a significant amount of stubble. He frowned, “That’s unlike him.”
Narcissa gave the young wizard her undivided attention. A satisfactory grin tugged at her perfectly formed lips, “Yes, but he did have a rather long night.”
Theo looked away in thought. They had indulged heavily and were all drunk when Weasley and Davis rode off in that gaudy, bloody carriage. It hit him like a ton of bricks, and a roguish glint flashed across his startling blue eyes, “I last saw him with Granger in his arms.”
Narcissa opened her mouth to reply and hopefully offer a decent explanation, “Quite right and .....,” but Theo cut her off and let out a hearty laugh, “That dog.”
Max tilted his head and regarded the visitor suspiciously.
Theo took the stairs two at a time, threw open the doors to Draco’s suite and held his tongue. It was a rare occurrence for the lanky man who was known to make his thoughts vocal. He instead plopped himself down on the black leather sofa in the corner and patiently waited for her best friend to wake up.
Draco was dead to the world. Light snores emerged, and Theo sat tolerantly for about fifteen minutes. When it became apparent that his best mate would not wake, Theo did the most logical thing. He reached Draco’s sleeping form and poked him hard in the arm.
Big mistake. The sleeping man jumped to his feet, knocked Theo off his feet with one smooth kick to the chest and put him in a headlock.
Theo tapped rapidly on Draco’s forearm and croaked, “Let me go, you maniac.”
He was kneeling and, without hesitation, added in disgust, “You better be wearing boxers.”
Draco let go and narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “Theo, what the hell are you doing?”
Theo gingerly rubbed his shoulder and neck and got to his feet. He roared in disbelief, “You could’ve fucking killed me.”
Draco smirked, “I could’ve, but clearly, I did not,” and then raised a brow, “why are you in my room?”
Theo coughed and hissed, “Blaise and I are heading out to watch a Quidditch match. We thought you might like to come.”
He touched the purpling bruise on his neck and fumed, “How fucking wrong was I.”
Draco laughed, “That’ll teach you to come in unannounced.”
Theo pointed to his watch and asked in mock curiosity, “It’s pretty late. Why are you still in bed?
Draco shrugged, tried to fight the sleepiness, and offered a plausible explanation, “I umm...”
Theo crossed his arms over his chest and radiated smugness, “Did you fuck her?”
Draco scratched the back of his neck and pretended to think, “Who?”
Theo leaned forward and smirked, “Granger, you idiot.”
Fuck.
Draco fired back indignantly, “Of course not. I helped her back to her flat and left in the morning.”
Theo hollered incredulously, “In the morning??”
Draco rolled his eyes and explained further, “Yes, she was completely plastered. I feared for her health.”
Theo doubled over in laughter, “Bollocks. You like the Gryffindor swot.”
Draco frowned at his friend laughing and defended weakly, “Bullshit, I was merely a gentleman.”
Theo straightened, wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and replied sarcastically, “Right. You keep telling yourself that.” He added confidently, “If you think I’m going to believe nothing happened, you have another thing coming.”
Draco sighed and swapped a weary look with his best mate.
Theo shook his head exasperatedly and asked, “So, do you want to come? It’s Kestrels vs Cannons.” He added desperately, “We need this fucking win.”
Draco ran his fingers through his hair and pointed to the door, “Yeah, get out and let me change in peace.”
Theo put his hands up in defeat and backed out of the room. He called over his shoulder, “Fine, I’ll go keep Narcissa company until you make yourself presentable.”
Draco shook his head and headed into the deluxe ensuite.
Narcissa laughed at something Theo said when Draco joined them in a pair of ripped blue jeans and a black t-shirt.
Theo got to his feet, looked Draco over and frowned, “Don’t walk next to me.” The jeans hugged his tight waist, and the t-shirt skimmed over his impressive physique.
Draco smirked and questioned, “And why is that?”
Theo sneered, “Your blonde arse is giving me a inferiority complex.”
Draco chuckled and bent to kiss his mother, “I’ll see you later, mother.”
Narcissa cupped her son’s cheek and replied warmly, “Have fun, my darling.”
Draco shoved Theo, and the lean man almost toppled over.
He grabbed hold of Draco’s hand, laced his fingers through his, held on firmly and blew him a kiss, “Hang on tight, sweetheart.”
They arrived at the stadium boundary, and Draco dropped Theo’s hand at once, “Was that bloody necessary?”
Theo laughed heartily, and Blaise happily waved them over. The place was packed to the brim with supporters. Stalls were erected, and a mix of Muggle and wizarding food was sold to enthusiastic fans. The smell was mouthwatering, and the atmosphere was exhilarating.
Many fans waved flags of their preferred team and sang chants aloud. Theo jogged over to a pizza stand and ordered a whole sausage and bacon pizza smothered in cheese. The Kestrels owned the stadium, and since the boys were old enough to mount a broom, the Kenmare Kestrels had been their club. In their youth, they hardly missed a match.
Draco spoke over the noise, “When did the Kestrels get their stadium?”
Blaise handed them a VIP pass and grinned, “After I made it big. I helped with funding, and I’m on the board.” He led them up a carpeted staircase and into a glass-encased private box. Surrounded by solid transparent glass panels, it was lavishly carpeted with a fully stocked bar, and an eager bartender pouring drinks stood to the right. The space held every bit of luxury one would need when watching an hours-long Quidditch match.
Draco walked over to the large pane of glass that overlooked the stadium, and the brightest smile split his face in half. From where he stood, he could easily see the hundreds of fans eagerly awaiting the start of the match. It was a never-ending sea of orange and green. He missed Quidditch but mostly the touch of a broom. To feel the polished wood was beyond satisfying.
Blaise came up from behind and exclaimed, “Spectacular, isn’t it?”
Draco nodded in agreement but kept his eyes on a few Canon players doing practice drills. He replied without hesitation, “I’ve missed this.”
Blaise handed him a drink. They clinked the crystal tumblers and raised them high, “Cheers.”
Theo adjusted his Kenmare Kestrels jersey and pressed his face to the glass for a better look. They sat on the black leather sofa and waited for the match to begin. Blaise and Theo filled Draco in on the essential bits of Quidditch he had missed over the years. It was a completely new team and the best one yet.
Theo pounded the air, “The Seeker is fucking insane.”
Blaise smiled at Theo’s enthusiasm, glanced over his shoulder, and clicked his fingers. His assistant snapped to attention, disappeared for a spell, and entered the area with a neatly wrapped package. The smartly dressed man handed the package to his boss.
Blaise leaned forward and held it out for Draco to take. He raised a curious brow and took the package. It was apparent by the shape what it was, but that did not stop the excitement that fluttered in the pit of his stomach. He tore at the wrapping and gently placed the gleaming solid oak broom on the glass table.
The handle was painted black, and the words Malfoy 07 gleamed on the top in embossed silver lettering. Draco took it with trembling hands and moved his fingers reverently along the shiny surface.
Blaise explained, “I wanted to get to you something. I figured this would be the best bet.”
Draco swallowed hard and tightened his grip around the handle. His long fingers fit perfectly around it, and he whispered, “Blaise, I don’t know what to say.”
Blaise waved it off and replied happily, “Consider it a welcome home present.”
Theo peered over Blaise’s shoulder and whistled, “That’s the newest model in the Firebolt series. The fastest broom made to date.”
Draco touched it again worshipfully, “It’s beautiful.”
Hermione dozed off in the clawfoot tub. Her body was catching up, but the loud beep of her mobile forced her to crack an eye open. She sleepily grabbed the phone and struggled to focus. Her fingers and toes resembled wrinkly bald men, and her body was a lethargic pool of mush. The name that popped up made her grin. She clicked on it and read it aloud.
Fancy a spot of dinner? You can fill me in on the wedding.
She had mentioned it to him in passing and almost asked him to be her guest. Terry was such a sweetheart. She figured it would be nice to get out for a bit. Her fingers moved across the keys with practice.
Sure, meet you at the Cauldron at 6 pm.
She pressed send and awkwardly got to her feet, sending water splashing over the edge and onto the floor. Walking naked around the bathroom, she tied a towel around her, reached for her wand and waved it over the mess. The floor returned to its former pristine condition. Hermione sighed and went in search of something casual to wear.
Draco pointed outside and roared, “That fucker is as blind as a bat. I saw the damn snitch three times already.”
“Steady on, mate,” Theo mused, trying to calm down his best friend. A loud cheer broke out and drowned the chants of the Kestrel supporters.
Blaise cursed aloud, “What the bloody shit?”
Draco ground his teeth, “These buggers are pissing this away.” The Cannons scored another goal.
Kestrel supporters were on their feet again, chanting songs and cheering their players on, but some openly showed frustration. Gritted teeth, obscene hand gestures and spit blew in the wind at the slew of curses that left their mouths.
Theo pressed his nose up against the glass of the premium box and watched the players whiz past. His scarf came undone, and he adjusted it while glaring at the Kestrel Seeker. Chudley Cannon supporters were sure of a win, and a wave erupted on their side.
Magically enhanced, it looked like a tsunami of orange moving fluidly through the crowd. Sparks of the same colour erupted from their wands and filled the night sky. Confident and jubilant that they would win and secure their place in the league finals, they sang praise.
Draco frowned. Bloody, gaudy orange. Angry Kestrel supporters fired back with their chants.
“Blimey,” Blaise exclaimed, looking at the angry crowd pounding the air with their fists.
Draco nervously paced with his fingers clasped around a cool glass of orange juice, muttering desperately, “Come on, come on.” Apparently, the Kestrels hadn’t won the League in over four years. Hopes were high among Kenmare’s supporters.
This was their year. The current team came into the League Cup undefeated and with a perfect record. Cheers erupted from below, and Draco jumped over a chair, eager to join Theo by the glass.
Blaise whistled anxiously, “Here we go.” They saw the white and green billowing robes of the Kestrel Seeker Aiden tear through the skies with bright orange robes speeding after him. The Cannon Seeker was gaining fast, his goggled eyes hungry as he came up behind Aiden. You could see the smug expression spread across the Irish Seeker’s tanned face.
The chase lasted less than twenty seconds, but it seemed longer. They watched, horrified, as Aiden balanced himself on the broom. Without a care in the world, the tall man dove forward, seemingly into nothingness.
“Catch it, mate,” Blaise muttered helplessly.
Theo shut his eyes and said a silent prayer. Draco watched relentlessly. The seasoned Seeker somersaulted and landed back on his broom with ease. Triumphantly, he punched the air and held up his gloved hand. Thunderous cheers erupted as the small, winged golden ball resting on his palm appeared. Its wings fluttered weakly and moved no more.
Blaise jumped up and down. All dignity was forgotten. Draco picked Theo and shook him in delight. Theo squealed like a girl and shed happy tears. Quidditch was a way of life, and Draco could unashamedly admit he had sorely missed this bit of his former life.
If The Kenmare Kestrels won the League Cup, it would be most satisfying. Sparks of white and green erupted out of wands across the enormous stadium. The air was thick with the rich hue of a blend of the two colours. Ecstatic fans could not hold back their happiness.
They saw the other players reach Aiden and cover him with their bodies through the glass. Cannon supporters took the defeat to heart, leaving the surrounding areas with disheartened faces and angry scowls. Random scuffles broke out, and wizarding guards rushed in to maintain the peace.
Draco watched intently. Joy radiated out of him, and his fingers twitched with longing to try out his new broom. Nothing beat the exhilarated feeling of soaring through the clouds. That pure rush of adrenaline was beyond compare.
Theo clamped him on the shoulder and asked, “Shall“we grab a pint before heading home?”
Draco rolled his eyes, “I had enough to drink last night.”
Theo replied jokingly, “Fine, you can watch us then,” and hurried after Blaise.
The Leaky Cauldron
The Leaky Cauldron was packed to the brim with supporters from either side, and despite the mix of colours, things remained peaceful. Theo, being the tallest, scanned the immediate area. He couldn't spot one but pointed to a few empty chairs at the corner, "Come on, that's the best we can get. It's bloody mental in here tonight.”
Terry reached over and brushed away a smidge of mayonnaise from Hermione's mouth. She smiled and used her napkin to clean the rest.
Blaise caught sight of the duo first. He nudged Draco in the ribs and muttered, "Umm, Isn't that Granger?"
Draco slowly turned towards the area Blaise pointed at in time to catch some man licking mayonnaise off his thumb and Granger batting her eyelashes suggestively. Their body language and secret glances made it clear that something was there, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
Draco looked away, uninterested and showed indifference, ”Yeah, so it is.“
Theo quipped, “Should we go say hi?” A woman in tight jeans and a red blouse passed by. She bit her lip and eyed Draco in interest.
Keeping his eyes on the pretty woman, Draco mused, “Knock yourself out." He had better things to do.
Theo took Draco’s arm and reluctantly dragged him forward. He smirked, "We must not be rude.”
Blaise followed closely and inquired curiously, “Who is that bloke she’s with?”
Theo narrowed his eyes and replied, “He looks familiar.” They approached the table in the corner, and Theo grinned devilishly, “Granger, fancy meeting you here.”
Hermione almost spat out her drink and raised her head to survey the three men standing by the small table. They, indeed, were an imposing bunch.
She spied Malfoy, hovering in the background uncomfortably. He had a curious expression, and it was hard to gather what was going through his mind.
She wanted to disappear, but instead, she composed herself and greeted with faux enthusiasm, “Nott, Blaise, umm, Malfoy, what brings you by?”
Blaise cheerfully pointed to where drinks were poured and animatedly stated, “The obvious, Granger.”
Theo winked and mused, “We heard you had an adventurous night.” That bit piqued Terry’s interest. Hermione had failed to mention whatever happened when she talked about what a bloody fun wedding it had been.
Hermione shifted in her seat uncomfortably, pointedly avoiding eye contact and muttered, “Well, you heard wrong.” Her eye caught the dangerously handsome man looming in the background, regarding her curiously. Ripped jeans never looked better.
Draco strode forward, intent on making his presence known. He enjoyed watching Granger squirm.
He threw the glass of scotch in her grasp, a disapproving look and asked genuinely, “How are you feeling?”
Terry narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and they darted from Malfoy to Hermione. Something had happened between the two, and he dreaded whatever it was.
Hermione stared at Malfoy head-on and smirked, “Fine, as you can see.”
Draco pushed the drink out of her reach and warned, "Didn’t you have enough to drink last night?" Lazily, he picked up the cheap glass tumbler, held it to the light, and twirled it while she struggled to find a suitable answer.
Her mind went blank; it was doing that a lot around him, and she hated not having the upper hand.
The words left her mouth before filtering them, “What are you, my father?” It was such a pathetic response.
Draco laughed. His laugh tickled her senses pleasantly, but his response did not, “How mature of you, Granger, but go easy on the scotch.”
He drained the rest of her drink, slammed it on the table and grinned, "I would hate to have to look after you two nights in a row."
Terry roughly pushed back his chair and slowly got to“his feet; he was an inch shy of Draco's imposing six-foot-two-inch stature.
His face contorted, and he hissed threateningly, “You have no right to tell her what to do, Malfoy.”
Draco sized up the frothing man and came to an immediate conclusion. The idiot was well on his way to falling in love with Granger.
He massaged his chin and inquired in boredom, “I don't think we've been introduced.”
Hermione sprang to her feet and introduced, “This is Terry Boot. We work together at the Ministry. He’s an Auror.” She was babbling. It was irrelevant, and Draco couldn't care less. He nodded lazily and looked away.
Terry crossed his arms over his broad chest and added smugly, “I'm Hermione's boyfriend.”
Hermione whipped around and cried in outrage, “What?” Oh, Merlin! Terry had gone and done it now.
Theo, who had been watching the situation unravel, spat out his drink and yelled, “What?”
Blaise pondered momentarily and clicked his fingers with realisation, “Ah, Ravenclaw. I remember you now.”
Draco smiled and raised a curious brow, “Interesting. Good to meet you, mate. It's a pity she's never mentioned you.”
He patted Terry on the shoulder, “Take her home safe.”
Terry shook the hand away and glared, “Of course, I will.”
The pretty woman passed by again and batted her eyelashes at Draco.
Momentarily distracted by the attention he received, he kept his eyes on the woman and retorted, “Enjoy your date, Granger.”
Hermione threw the woman a seething look. The words “Bloody tart” lit up the insides of her mind, and she reeled back in horror at the sudden thought that invaded her thinking.
She bared her teeth, shot Terry a deep look of loathing and hissed, “It is not a date.”
Draco snapped to attention and gave Hermione his undivided attention. He didn’t mean to sound like a git, but the words flew out anyways, “This poor schmuck thinks otherwise. Besides, you owe me no explanation."
With a small smile, he added, “Your dating life is hardly my concern.”
Hermione fired back, “I wasn't offering any explanation, simply stating the truth.” The arrogant fucking wanker.
Draco grinned. He did enjoy riling Granger up, “Duly noted.” Some things never change.
Terry poked Draco hard in the chest and bellowed, “Who the fuck are you calling a schmuck?”
Theo rolled his eyes and snorted, “Took you long enough, mate.” What an absolute moron!
Draco stepped back and“smiled, “I apologise. Please enjoy the rest of the night.”
Terry glared and hoped to inflict pain, and he spat spitefully, “Death Eater scum.”
Draco stiffened and flexed his left arm, making the faded macabre snake move. Hermione could hardly believe her ears; she was beyond furious. Things had officially gone too far. The air around them tensed. Some stopped what they were doing to stare at the heated exchange openly.
Theo had his wand out first, pointed it directly at Terry's face and warned, "Walk away. While you still can." He was under no false assumption that the man before him was skillful.
Blaise played mediator, "Look, calm down and think about this. We are not in fucking school. Let's act like adults."
He smiled weakly at Hermione, “Granger, our apologies for interrupting your dinner.”
Hermione mustered a smile, "It's quite alright." The smile disappeared as soon it came; she was fuming at Terry's words in his ignorance. It was unforgivable to hurl such a damaging insult, but clearly, the man was not done.
Terry smirked and asked Blaise arrogantly, “Does Malfoy need you to fight his battles? Has he left his balIs back at wherever he was?” He would take great pleasure in putting the arrogant bastard in his rightful place.
Blaise narrowed his eyes and fought to keep his cool. He leered, “Not at all. He’s not the one I'm worried about, mate."
Boot closed the between them and jabbed Blaise in the chest, “I'm not your fucking mate.”
Terry turned to Draco and goaded, “What's the matter, Malfoy? Don't you have the guts to face me?”
He got close to his face and looked around mockingly, “Your father isn't here to protect you. He's not here, is he?” Lucius Malfoy was dead and buried, it was common knowledge.
Draco stood his ground and willed himself to remain calm. He knew he would have to endure the taunting that came his way eventually.
Hermione stepped between the tall men, placed a small hand on each chest and said calmly, “Let it go.”
Draco felt the snake in him stir, “See, I apologised, but you had to be a fucking dick about it.”
Terry swung first, but Draco dodged it almost lazily.
Terry tried again to land a blow, but the ice blonde sidestepped the clumsy attempts gracefully.
Draco placed his palm on Terry's chest, roughly pushed him back and warned, "Enough!"
He turned on his heel and walked away, but Boot was having none of that. The thwarted man grabbed the back of Draco's black t-shirt and aggressively pulled him back.
Blaise and Theo reached for their wands, and Hermione tried to grab hold of Terry's arm to pull him away.
Still, he unintentionally bumped into her, causing her to lose balance and fall unceremoniously to the floor. She had been falling a lot lately, especially since Malfoy came back.
Draco grabbed her around the waist and stopped the nasty fall. He pulled her to her feet and frowned, "Can you please stop collapsing whenever we meet."
She mumbled, “It's not my bloody fault. You seem to be disastrous to my health.”
He fired back unapologetically, “And you’re a clumsy twit.”
She grabbed his arm, her fingers dug into his faded Dark Mark and pleaded, "Stop this, please."
Draco glared, "Tell your boyfriend that.”
Hermione spat defensively, "Terry’s not my boyfriend.”
Draco pulled her to his side and mouthed, “I don't care.”
Theo cried from the sidelines, “Look out!”
Terry's awkward punch brushed past Draco's ear.
Draco deflected the attack using his arm and landed a challenging punch square on Terry's face.
There was a sickening crunch, blood gushed, and Terry Boot fell to the floor clutching his bloodied nose.
Draco clenched and unclenched his fist to release the tightness. He bent to Boot's fallen form and hissed darkly in his ear, "Next time you pick a fight or say something unkind. Think twice."
The silence was eerie. Every person stared at Draco in disbelief. Hermione stood frozen, unsure what to make of the situation or the man walking away from her. When and where did he learn Kung Fu? By the looks of it, he was a force to be reckoned with. Would he continue to knock the socks off her at every turn?
Hermione reached for his hand unconsciously, and Draco watched her actions intently. Still, Terry's pained whimper brought her back to reality, and she hurriedly knelt by his side and peered into his face to assess the damage.
Draco warned, “Take your boyfriend home, Granger.”
He added with little remorse, “I hope I didn’t put too much of a wrench into your evening plans.” Once more, Hermione was at a complete loss for words.
Hermione helped Terry to his feet. Her eyes went to the reddening knuckles on Draco's hand. The very hand she almost touched.
Terry wiped the blood off his face and sneered, "You got lucky, Malfoy."
Draco did not bother answering. He strode towards the bar. Wizards moved out of the way and let him pass without fuss. Everyone had watched the encounter, but none dared to step in.
The bartender eyed him curiously, but Draco smiled and requested, “Can I get an order of Firewhiskey, please?”
The seasoned bartender grinned, “Of course, Mr Malfoy, sir.” Draco caught Granger staring at him oddly before she led Boot out of the crowded pub.
Fuck.
Theo whistled, “I had no idea you were that good.” He did a few awkward punches.
He was impressed and voiced his opinion, "The way you moved. It was a blur.”
Blaise nodded, "You have certainly picked up some important skills.”
Draco swallowed hard, closed his eyes and muttered, “I shouldn't have hit him. That's not the way.”
Theo downed his shot, licked his lips, and stated, "Well, he fucking deserved it.”
Draco shook his head and sighed in disappointment, “I've been back less than two weeks, and I've already got into my first fight.”
Blaise patted him on the back and advised reassuringly, “Let it go, Draco. He had it coming.”
Theo concurred, adding, “Granger is an idiot to be hanging out with a mediocre wizard like that.”
Draco tossed back his drink and savoured the rich amber liquid that burnt his throat. He wondered what relationship she had with Boot. It didn’t seem important, but it still left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he couldn’t quite explain why.
Chapter 12
Notes:
Things are certainly not looking good for our favourite duo.
A hidden desire of Draco's is revealed, and that bit will play a vital part in the chapters to come.
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Enjoy Chapter Twelve!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
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Chapter Text
Terry growled, “That bastard.”
Hermione swung the door to her flat wide, tossed her bag aside angrily and marched straight to the kitchen. Each step was forceful to mirror the anger she felt. Her blood boiled with the seething rage that rapidly flowed through her veins.
She threw open the door to the fridge roughly. It flew open, the hinges protested, and it almost closed on her hand. Reaching into the ice-covered freezer, she pulled out an ice pack she kept handy for an emergency.
Terry held a handkerchief to his nose and laid back on the sofa. The soft material soaked up the excess blood and dampened in no time. He cleansed it with his wand and repeated the action.
Hermione sat down next to him with her wand out. She took his hand off the damaged area, pointed her wand at it and almost whispered the spell.
She fought the sudden urge to hex him into oblivion—the loud-mouthed immature git. The bones shifted with the slightest crunch.
They moved back to their original place, the bleeding stopped, and Terry groaned in discomfort. Hermione ignored his bellyaching and kept the ice pack on his busted lip with a bit more force than necessary.
Terry grimaced as the coolness of the ice seeped into his skin. He complained outwardly, “Ow, woman, be careful.”
Hermione moved away from his heavy frame and glared sternly, “Boot, why did you say you were my boyfriend?”
Terry tried to wiggle his now-mended nose and used his wand to clear the congealed blood around his face. Malfoy busted him up good, and he would return the favour in kind.
Clearly, he thought she could benefit from his ill-timed lie, “I figured I was doing you a favour.”
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes in annoyance, “By lying?”
Terry ignored the evident anger in her icy tone and countered firmly, “We are like a couple.”
Hermione sighed in exhaustion. Why was it so difficult to understand? They were friends, nothing more. If anything, they were friends with certain benefits.
She rubbed the bridge of her nose exasperatedly and said, “We are not a couple.”
The smile on Terry’s face faltered; he had no intention of riling up the already irked woman, but he shot back truthfully, “You certainly weren’t complaining when I had my tongue down your throat.”
Hermione tried to keep her anger at bay, “I enjoy spending time with you and occasionally locking lips, but that’s as far as this will go.”
She added in frustration, “I was clear about wanting space.”
Terry frowned and questioned suspiciously, “Are you attracted to him?”
Hermione purposely ignored the question, got to her feet, and walked to the kitchen. An uncomfortable silence engulfed them. She expertly uncorked a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass.
She stared at rich red liquid swirling within in deep thought, kept it to her lips and muttered unconvincingly, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Terry narrowed his eyes and took in the finer details of her body language. She drummed the fingers of her free hand on the countertop nervously and avoided any form of eye contact. He felt an uncomfortable stab at his heart.
Failing miserably to keep his composure, he hurled, “Yet you don’t deny it.” The hurt in his voice was apparent, and Hermione flinched. She had not bargained on Terry feeling anything more than a sexual attraction.
His voice cracked unpleasantly, “I saw how you were looking at him.”
Hermione stiffened and responded with open hostility, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Terry watched her movements intently. As an Auror, he was trained to detect when a person felt out of place or if a particular line of questioning made said person uncomfortable.
He didn’t bother keeping the blatant contempt out of his deep voice, “You want him.”
Hermione brushed it aside. The entire notion was borderline unbelievable. She felt perhaps a mellow sexual stirring when faced with the imposing presence that was Draco Malfoy, but want him? Nothing could be further from the truth.
She laughed cynically, hoping to throw Terry off her obvious discomfort with his prying, “That’s neither here nor there. I have no such feelings for that pale-faced snake.”
Terry homed in for the kill. Her little gesture back at the Cauldron did not go unnoticed. It wounded him deeply. He hissed through clenched teeth, “Still, you reached for his hand while I bled on the floor.”
Fuck.
Hermione rubbed her shoulders to generate heat and averted her gaze, “I, er...it was a reflex. It didn’t mean anything.”
Terry laughed manically, “Like hell it didn’t. How could you possibly feel anything for that fucking cockroach?”
Hermione denied weakly, “I don’t.” Terry closed the gap between them and reached for her hand, but she moved further away and looked upon him in abhorrence.
He sighed and tried his best to offer some explanation, “Look, I shouldn’t have called him that. I couldn’t be arsed to give it some thought, but I like you, a lot.” He wasn’t sorry in the slightest, but it was best to make it seem that way. He had probably damaged any possibility of a relationship with Hermione by displaying his ignorant behaviour.
She stared at her trembling hands and kept her voice low, “You should leave. I want to be alone.”
Terry sighed but decided against pushing her further. He backed away and threw her a pitiful look, “I’m sorry, Hermione. I’m as dumb as a troll at times.”
Hermione looked up and scowled. If that wasn’t the bloody understatement of the century. She cocked her head to the side and retorted sarcastically, “At times?”
Terry grinned. His smile was enduring. He did have genuine feelings for Hermione. The slightest notion that she may have shared Malfoy’s bed caused a possessive streak in him that caused him to be woefully dramatic and handle the situation abysmally.
He tried to be cute and replied sheepishly, “Okay, most of the time.”
Walking to the door, he opened it, stood at the threshold and asked in desperation to make amends for his horrendous mistake, “I’ll see you at work tomorrow?”
Hermione shrugged, “Yeah, I guess.” She pointed to his busted face and said in genuine concern, “Get some rest, Terry.”
Terry tried to smile, but his bruised face was not cooperating. He managed an awkward lift of his lips, “See, you do care.”
Hermione could not help but smile, but she was quick to show indifference, “Yeah, whatever.” The door closed noisily. She looked around the empty, quiet flat and felt a sudden sadness envelop her.
Loneliness long forgotten made its presence known. She sat on the sofa with her head in her hands, and before she knew it, her emotions got the better of her, and angry tears streamed down her face. Terry was dead wrong.
Yes, she thought Malfoy was good-looking. Any idiot with eyes could see that, but that was it. She wanted nothing more to do with a vile human being who, at one point, thought she deserved to be raped and violated.
The tears turned to sobs. She fell sideways on the sofa, dragged a cushion to her, and hugged it in an effort to fill the empty void inside her.
Back at the Manor. Draco strode into his room, ripped off his clothes and pulled on his Kungfu robes. Max came running into the room and sensed his master’s aggravation.
The curious dog followed Draco about and watched his erratic movements. His body tensed with the infuriating rage he felt at himself. This was not what he intended to return to, and it certainly wasn’t the person he wanted to be. He closed his eyes in bitter disappointment and groaned.
He had let something petty get under his skin and lashed out most viciously. His skills were supposed to be used only when necessary. Terry was not a threat in the least. He was a pompous arsehole who wanted to impress the woman he was with.
Ah, the woman he was with. The underlying cause of it all. He sat cross-legged in the middle of his room and closed his eyes.
Draco took a deep breath and willed the scorching blood flowing rapidly through his veins to still. It did nothing to soothe the raging thoughts that ran rampant.
Granger...
Granger...
Hermione...
Blaise sat by the fireplace and lit a cigar. He puffed on it and let out translucent rings of smoke. The rings disappeared into nothingness, and the olive-skinned man lowered his head deep in thought.
Daphne leaned against the doorway and smiled, “Rough night?”
Blaise frowned, “Draco’s getting one hell of a welcome back.”
Daphne swayed her hips, walked up to her husband, curled on his lap and sighed, “Well, that was expected. He has made a few enemies over the years.”
Blaise bared his teeth and replied determinedly, “True, but he’s different now. I hope everyone gives him a chance to prove himself.” A loud “Daddy” cut through the moment.
Daphne sighed, “Your daughter demands your presence.”
Hermione’s Flat
Hermione woke up screaming. Her throat ached by the time she stopped. She fell in a heap to the floor and clawed at the hated word cut into her flesh. Her sharp nails broke through the layer of skin and dug deep enough to draw blood.
She hissed darkly to a seemingly empty room, but her demons resonated deep in her mind, “Get out of my head, you fucking bitch.” The magic in her blood hummed within. It prickled unsteadily and mirrored its owner’s disturbed mindset.
She bared her teeth and whispered to a ghost, “If you were alive, I would take every pleasure in watching you squirm in pain.”
The voice crackled in glee, “Stupid little Mudblood, do you think I’m dead? I am alive and thriving. I live on in your head, and it suckles me at its warm bosom.”
The cackling was replaced with uproarious and hysterical laughter. It mocked and humiliated her, “You want to fuck my nephew, don’t you?”
Hermione felt her heartbeat hasten, but she managed a few strangled words, “I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole.”
Bellatrix’s voice echoed and bounced off the walls, “You are many things, Mudblood, but a liar isn’t one of them.”
Hermione grabbed hold of her head, her fingers fisted her hair, and she warned, “Get the fuck out of my head.” The voice disappeared with the mocking parting words, “Until we speak again, darling.”
She made it in time to the toilet, bent over the commode, and threw up whatever dinner she managed to get down before Draco Malfoy turned up and upstaged a quiet night with Terry.
Theo punched a cushion awkwardly and kicked the air clumsily. He lost his footing and fell onto the grey sofa in the living room. He declared proudly, “You should have seen him, Luna. It was awesome.”
Luna asked curiously in her dreamy undertone, “Draco knows Muggle self-defence?”
Theo grinned, “Yeah, and he’s bloody brilliant.”
Luna covered her mouth and asked in concern, “Goodness, is he okay?”
Theo beamed, “Of course, Boot couldn’t lay a finger on him.”
Luna smiled warmly, “That’s nice, dear.” She adjusted her new bright pink robe and sat at a more provocative angle. She had plans for her dear husband, and the last thing she wanted was to discuss Draco’s newfound skills.
Theo’s face lit up in anticipation, “I want to learn. It looks so fucking cool.”
Luna pointedly cleared her throat, “Ahem, Theo...”
Theo turned to his wife, “Yeah?” and his eyes widened at the sight of his wife’s crotch staring at him, “Oh, you look different.”
Luna parted the gown to reveal further a pair of yellow silk knickers and nothing else. Her upper body was bare and rosy. Pink nipples stood erect and begging against the paleness of her skin.
Theo swallowed hard and hurriedly pulled the white turtleneck over his head and kicked his shoes off. He strolled over and tried to touch his wife, but she stopped him and whispered, “I want to have a baby.”
Luna smiled shyly. Theo picked her up bridal style and grinned, “Why only one? We can have a dozen.” Her eyes widened. That was more than she bargained for.
Theo kicked the door close, dropped Luna on the bed and climbed on top of her. He kissed her passionately, “I’m going to love you good.” He quipped, “See what I did there?”
Luna pulled his head down and whispered, “Oh Theodore, kiss me.”
Theo cupped a supple breast and bent to take a nipple in his mouth. He smirked against the hardened bud, “I aim to please, my darling.”
Malfoy Manor
Draco was up at dawn. It could be a long day, and he wanted to get a head start. He had a scenic view of the beautiful Malfoy Gardens from his room. Majestic white peacocks paraded around the property. The sun was barely up, and the fluttering feathers of the beautiful birds shone in the dying darkness.
The birds were Lucius Malfoy’s prized possession. Since Draco had returned, he avoided his mother’s room, knowing full well of the tastefully painted oil portrait hanging on the wall. He wanted to disassociate himself from his father’s memory, but he was also aware that it was the most pressing monster he had to face.
He wore a black skinny and loose bottoms and strode barefoot into the training room and started his warmup exercises. It felt good to let off steam. He spent the next hour working with the wooden dummy he had made to his specifications.
Draco had a golden bell attached to a rope hanging from the ceiling. To ring it, it required him to reach beyond his body’s limitations.
He pulled up his bottoms, took his stance and used an accurate high kick. The tips of his toes grazed the bell, and it let out a soft ring.
The sound never failed to remind him of the monastery, his master, and occasionally, he thought of Jun and how she was fairing. Draco landed on both feet, straightened and bowed respectfully to an invisible entity.
The sun made its presence known. The hot beams fell steadily on the foam mattresses in the training room, indicating that it was time to change and start the day’s demanding activities.
Hermione hardly got any sleep. She had stayed awake for most of the night and thought about what her future held. Once, it had been so abundantly clear, but now a fog descended on her future plans, and uncertainty held it by its vicious claws.
She had always wanted to travel, take a year off and see the world, especially the more exotic lands like Thailand, Sri Lanka and India. With those morbid thoughts swirling around her head, she washed her bits and settled on a red pencil skirt, white long-sleeve blouse and matching heels from her ever-growing collection. Since learning of her match with the Slytherin asshat, her collection of imported shoes had grown—retail therapy at its best.
Happy with her outfit, Hermione did one turn and mumbled in a weak attempt to motivate herself, “Today is a new day,” she grabbed her bag and disapparated.
Harry buttoned up his freshly laundered Auror robes and took the hot mug of coffee Ginny handed. He was about to take a sip when she showed him the front page of the Daily Prophet. Her pretty face was pinched in worry, and she made a mental note to call Hermione immediately.
Harry quickly read the lengthy article and exclaimed in sheer disbelief, “What the fuck?”
Ginny sighed, “Yeah, she’s had an exciting night.”
She opened the paper and recited word for word a passage from the well-written yet trashy article, “I quote, two men who schooled with Miss Granger were seen battling for her affections.
One was none other than the missing Malfoy heir, Draco Malfoy, who was long thought to be deceased. Sources at the scene report that Miss Granger left with Terry Boot, who happens to be a newly appointed Auror.”
Harry gritted his teeth, “Dear Merlin, what has she gotten herself into now?”
Ginny looked sympathetic and shook her head in confusion.
Harry sighed, “I guess I’ll have to face her.”
His decision to send her home with Malfoy would bite him in the arse; of that, he was sure.
Ginny raised a questioning brow and joked, “You are the head of the DMLE, and you’re afraid of little old Hermione?” The women in his life were feisty and headstrong. He shuddered and replied quietly, “Have you seen her when she’s pissed? Trust me; it is not pretty.”
Ginny rolled her eyes and offered sensible advice, “Tell you what, stop by the bakers and pick up chocolate croissants. You know she devours them by the dozen.”
Harry put his arm around his wife’s waist, pulled her into a loving embrace and mumbled into her mouth, “I knew marrying you was the right thing to do.”
Ginny put her arms around Harry’s neck and muffled her words into his mouth, “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
Harry felt his pocket burn. He was being summoned. He sighed, “I’m sorry, love. I’ve got to go.”
Draco adjusted the new white shirt and pulled at the cuff on the dark grey suit. His heels clicked against the marble, and Narcissa looked up from the Daily Prophet as he entered the dining room and bent to kiss his mother’s cheek in greeting, “Good morning.” He took his seat and reached for the strips of bacon glistening with fatty bits.
Max made his presence known by rubbing his head against Draco’s leg. The blonde ruffled the fur affectionately and slid the dog a hefty piece of bacon.
Narcissa studied her son’s casual behaviour and raised a curious brow, “Eventful night?” She tossed the Prophet at him and frowned. Draco glanced at the wizarding paper, and the headline jumped out at him.
“Missing heir returns a Kung Fu Master.”
Fuck.
There must have been a reporter, or some fucker had taken the picture and sold it to the Prophet. It had a glorious blown-up view of his fist colliding with Boot’s arrogant face.
A satisfied grin unconsciously crept onto his face, but Narcissa scolded, “We are not encouraging this behaviour.”
Draco covered his mother’s hand with his and gave it a gentle squeeze, “Mother, I promise it won’t happen again. It was a horrible misunderstanding.”
Narcissa pointed to the picture and asked suspiciously, “Is that Hermione?” True enough, Granger loomed in the background, staring at her ponytailed boyfriend with her mouth hanging open.
Bollocks.
Draco took his hand back and busied himself with cutting a sausage into bite-sized pieces.
Narcissa demanded rather impatiently, “Draco?” He avoided his mother’s intense gaze and replied in a low, calculated voice, “Yes, it’s her, but we ran into her after the match, that was all.”
Narcissa wasn’t buying it. Her face contorted in displeasure as she read out bits of the passage, “The article says it was a love triangle gone wrong.”
Draco choked on his orange juice and spluttered.
Love triangle? Indeed.
He coughed and replied indignantly, “The Prophet will print anything. There was no such thing. It was a disagreement between two men who didn’t see eye to eye.”
Narcissa’s face fell in sadness, “Son, I worry about you.”
Draco smiled and reassured without hesitation, “I know, mother, but I can fend for myself. I promise it won’t happen again.”
Narcissa nodded, reached for a piece of toast, and buttered it. She informed offhandedly, “Bernard owled. He is expecting you to come by the office today.” She always blushed when Bernard was mentioned, and her observant son did not miss the crimson of her cheeks.
Draco forked a piece of sausage and replied between mouthfuls, “Yes, I know. After I visit the Minister, I will go by the head office and meet with him. I am quite anxious to get to work.”
Narcissa expressed her discontent, “So, you’ve decided to go ahead with trying to overturn the marriage law.”
Draco nodded with absolute certainty, “Yes, of course.” He softened his tone, “We spoke about this.”
Narcissa attacked the boiled egg resting in the hand-painted egg cup with more force than necessary, “Even you can admit that there is some chemistry between the both of you.” Chemistry was putting it lightly.
Draco brushed it off, “Granger will put me in an early grave. She’s high maintenance.”
Narcissa frowned at the word high maintenance and defended fiercely, “She is most certainly not. I refuse to entertain the thought, and even if she was, I’m sure you can handle it.”
Draco cleared his throat and wished he used a different way to describe his mother’s new best friend, “There’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s certainly not for me.”
Liar.
Oh, he would love to maintain her, especially pinned under him and screaming his name. You arsehole, these thoughts are not appropriate, mainly when your mother is staring at you, trying to figure out what you’re thinking.
Narcissa was an accomplished Legilimens. Draco willed his mind to clear in case his mother saw fit to probe into his mind and discover his rather dirty thoughts of bending Granger over the table in his room.
He confidently added, “I will meet with Kingsley and get us out of this by any means necessary.”
That last bit did not sit well with Narcissa. How far would he go? It caused her to shudder anxiously.
Ministry Of Magic
Hermione walked down the long corridor to reach her office. She passed many witches and wizards. Most greeted her enthusiastically, but some glanced at her oddly.
She didn’t quite know what to make of it. Thinking it was bizarre, she quickened her step and found Brenda nose-deep in a Muggle erotic novel. Hermione looked around and asked intriguingly, “Er, is something going on?”
Brenda had obviously not seen the morning paper because she was caught up in a steamy situation where Luke, the main character in the raunchy novel, confessed his feelings to Polly, his forbidden love interest, and they were trapped alone in the barn for the night during a thunderstorm. A night of passion was sure to follow. It was a cliche in the most vulgar way possible.
She pushed her bright pink glasses further up her nose and smiled, “Not that I’m aware, Hermione.”
Hermione took in the cover of a semi-naked man and woman fawning over him. Typical. She raised a curious brow, “Good book?”
Brenda blushed crimson, “So good.”
Hermione saw Stacy from Logistics staring at them weirdly. The woman usually threw her looks of contempt and dislike, but today she looked agitated.
She smiled sweetly and showed the meddlesome blonde the finger, causing the woman to flee as fast as her heeled feet could take her.
Strange, Hermione thought as she closed the door to her office, sat down in her newly bought comfortable leather chair, pulled a cramped brown file towards her and flipped it open.
Soon, she was engrossed in the case and forgot about the worrying glances that came her way.
Draco entered the Ministry through the visitor’s entrance, stood on the marble floor and stared in awe. Gone were the horrible statues depicting wizard dominance. In their place were beautiful white and blue fountains that sang a soothing tune.
The area was busy with wizards, witches, goblins and other magical creatures hurrying about their business. It was utterly jam-packed, and a few people bumped into Draco, but he quickly sidestepped the mob and found himself inside an ages-old lift that looked like it would collapse at the slightest jiggle.
Bold as brass, the top number on the lift carried the name Minister of Magic and Madame Undersecretary.
Fuck. He hoped he would not run into Granger. Yes, you do. You want to fucking see her, you lying sod.
Draco shook his head to rid himself of any unwanted distractions and went through the points he wished to discuss with Kingsley in his head. He was confident the Minister would agree wholeheartedly and overturn this ridiculous pairing.
The lift shot up to the top floor without interruption. Draco stepped out and stared once again. In his youth, he had visited the Minister’s office multiple times with his father, but what greeted him now surpassed his imagination.
Spotlessly clean and strikingly white tiles adorned the floors. Priceless works of art and oil paintings of important past wizarding legends hung in ornate frames on the wall. One with a long silver beard caught his curious and fearful eye.
Even in death, Albus Dumbledore was still intimidating. The figure in the painting blinked a few times and smiled, bringing to life the brilliant blue orbs drawn into the canvas.
The calm yet imposing voice of Dumbledore spoke, “Ah, Mr Malfoy, I presume.”
Draco wanted nothing more than to crawl under the table and disappear. He was sixteen years old again and doing all he could to murder the legendary wizard. The memory of this time in his young life truly chilled him to the bone. He straightened, fixed his tie, and bowed respectfully, “Professor Dumbledore.”
Dumbledore scrutinised the tall wizard before him and nodded approvingly, “It is good to see you, my boy. I always worried for your safety.”
Now or never. Draco gathered his inner strength and said slowly, “Forgive me, sir.” Dumbledore kept aside the book on his lap and peered into the pained face of the young wizard.
He waved his jewelled hand casually and reassured, “Ah, it’s all water under the bridge now, son.”
Draco stared at his old Headmaster and declared what he had spent years pondering, “I should have come to you when Voldemort forced the mission on me.”
Dumbledore smiled in sadness but advised firmly, “Let the past go. Live your life.”
Draco saw the smartly dressed woman watch him suspiciously out of the corner of his eye. He must have looked like a complete nutter talking to a painting.
He bowed again respectfully, “It was good to see you, Professor.”
Dumbledore smiled fondly, “Same here, dear boy.”
Draco turned away and walked the short distance to the reception flanked by large potted plants.
The woman who sat behind the desk rose gracefully to her feet and questioned politely, “Good morning, how may I help you?”
Before he could help it, he asked, “Is Miss Hermione Granger in?”
He could see a large wooden door from where he stood with the words ‘HERMIONE GRANGER – UNDERSECRETARY’ sprawled across in solid gold lettering. Just outside was a flamboyantly dressed girl of possibly twenty-one sitting at what appeared to be a secretary’s desk, personalised with cute cacti plants and colourful framed photographs, giggling loudly. At the same time, her eyes scanned across the pages of a novel.
The receptionist cleared her throat, forcing Draco to look her way. She smiled sweetly, “She is. Do you have an appointment?”
Fuck no.
Draco grinned, displaying flawlessly white teeth, “No, I’m here to meet with the Minister.” The woman pointed to a large, luxurious white sofa, “Of course. Please have a seat.” He hurriedly rattled off his name, and she took it down.
His eye caught many pamphlets, and he eagerly took the one with Mad-Eye-Moody on the front.
He flinched. The crazy codger had turned him into a snowy white ferret in front of the student populace earning him the nickname ferret. Not remotely original, but he had endured the hushed tones behind his back for the remaining of his school days. The bold words on the front jumped out at him.
Right out of Hogwarts? Or a seasoned witch or wizard?
Serve your community and join the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Be part of something worthwhile. Help uphold justice and make the world a better place for our children and citizens.
It was the one thing he kept to himself. Not a soul knew what he truly intended.
Draco had long since decided to join the DMLE. It would be his way of giving back to a community he took much from. He was skilled enough to adorn the black robes and bear the seal of an Auror. Once he put this marriage law matter behind him, he knew he would have to reunite with his school rival about the job. It would be interesting to meet Potter and discuss the possibility of working together.
The woman’s eyes roved over the retreating handsome man, and she sighed. She picked up what looked like a modified version of a land phone and spoke into it, “Minister, there’s a gorgeo...I mean a Mr Draco Malfoy here to see you.”
Kingsley’s loud voice boomed. She held the receiver away from her ear and winced, “Send him in, Nora.”
Draco pocketed the piece of paper, got to his feet, and followed the woman the short way to the Minister’s office.
Hermione came out as he passed. She saw a hint of blonde hair from the corner of her eye but didn’t pay much attention.
She asked impatiently, “Brenda, can you fetch the file on the Livingston case.”
Brenda tossed the book aside and gave a military salute, “Sure, boss.”
Nora held the door open, and Draco bowed politely and walked in. Kingsley saw his receptionist glance eagerly at the bottom of the tall man coming towards him and stifled a laugh.
Draco got close, held out his hand and greeted enthusiastically, “Good morning.”
Kingsley got to his feet; his intricately embroidered ruby robes glistened in the bright light. He took the offered hand in a firm shake and pointed to a lavish velvet chair.
Draco sat down and looked around the impressive office. Shelves upon shelves held artfully arranged magical objects. A few liquid-filled jars sported sinister-looking bits and pieces. The row upon row of ancient manuscripts grabbed the young wizard’s fancy. He longed to pour hours over the ancient text and learn its hidden mysteries.
Shacklebolt politely injected and stopped Draco’s wandering eyes, “So, what can I do for you?
Hermione heard a knock on the door and saw Terry Boot smiling at her.
She fired off at once, “What do you want?”
He strode in without an invitation, threw a newspaper down in front of her and scolded, “Have you seen this?”
Fuck.
Hermione picked up the paper, her eyes widened to twice their standard size, and she physically shook in anger.
Seething with fury, she hissed, “What the hell is this?” Her eyes quickly scanned the printed words, and she cried in outrage, “LOVE TRIANGLE! Is this some sick joke?”
She sprang to her feet, went around her desk, and rounded on Terry, who had the good sense to back away. Reaching for her wand, she jabbed him squarely and yelled, “You absolute wanker. This is all your doing.”
Terry held up his hands in defeat and swallowed. The bob of his Adam’s apple indicated how nervous he seemed. He muttered weakly, “Calm down.”
Hermione threw her hands in the air and sneered, “I will kill Skeeter.”
Terry took the opportunity to ease his way into her good graces. He pulled at his small ponytail and smiled awkwardly, “So, am I off the hook?”
Hermione threw him a look of pure loathing, “Definitely not. I’m livid.” She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths to compose herself, “How could this happen?”
Her thoughts went to Malfoy. Had the incorrigible Kung fu practising sod seen it?
Terry closed the gap between them, pinned her bum to the table and mumbled, “I’m sorry.”
His manly scent invaded her space, and she took a quick sniff of the pleasing scent but shook her head, pushed him back and rolled her eyes, “You seem to be apologising a lot.”
Terry Boot was not discouraged easily. He requested boldly, “Can I make it up to you?”
He raised her chin with a long finger and winked playfully, “You know you want me too.”
Hermione leered, “Piss off, Boot.”
Terry cupped Hermione’s face lovingly and stole a quick kiss, leaving her completely stunned. He walked to the door, glanced over his shoulder, and said thoughtfully, “I’m not giving up on us, Granger.”
The firmness in his voice caused Hermione to stare at his retreating figure with slight panic. The man was usually pleasant, but the seriousness that laced his words was concerning. She went around her desk, plopped down unceremoniously on the chair and dragged the Prophet close. She turned it at every angle possible and viewed it through critical eyes.
Kingsley leaned back and inquired, “Now that we got the pleasantries out of the way. Shall we get down to why you are here?”
Draco nodded firmly and stated the obvious, “Kingsley, I don’t need to tell you how absurd this pairing is. What was the Ministry thinking passing this law?”
The Minister shrugged. He would be repeating himself, a rare occurrence. His face turned stern, “This isn’t a matter to be trifled with. Most importantly, the names and a sample of blood were fed into the system. We had to make sure the blood was compatible enough to pave the way for the next generation of wizards.”
Great.
Draco could see the reason behind it, and he was sure it worked fine for most witches and wizards, but this was Granger and him. There was nothing ordinary about them. He voiced his opinion bluntly, “I understand, but....”
Kingsley cut him off and added importantly, “You are an intelligent man, Malfoy. More so now than before, you seem well put together.”
Draco looked away and grumbled, “You haven’t seen the Prophet then.”
Kingsley laughed. His deep voice echoed through the large space, “Never read the garbage. There’s nothing but baseless gossip printed on those pages.” Of course, he had seen it and had a good laugh over it. Gossip could be helpful in moderation when running a community.
Draco tried again, hopefully. His plan to convince the Minister was failing miserably, “Kingsley, but this is Granger and me. It will never work. She hates me.”
The Minister quipped, “Rightly so.”
Draco sighed, “You think I don’t know that? I know it’s well deserved.”
Kingsley shook his head despairingly, “Unfortunately, I can’t help you.”
Draco could not believe his ears. He contemplated whether the Minister was purposely uncooperative. He demanded, “You’re the Minister of Magic. Of course, you can.”
Kingsley massaged the bridge of his nose exasperatedly. This was the only pairing since the law passed, which caused him immense grief and nightmares. He leaned forward and said firmly, “Do you think Granger hasn’t tried? Do you think I would do this for you rather than her? Unfortunately, my hands are tied, and there is nothing I can do to overturn this pairing.”
Draco clenched his teeth but kept his displeasure well hidden. He got to his feet and adjusted his suit. He mustered a polite smile, “I see. Thank you for your time.” He stood behind the chair, straightened and said in determination, “My way forward is clear. It wasn’t my first choice, but I must do what is right.”
Kingsley smiled in relief and agreed, “I’m glad to hear it. I trust you will carry forward with the marriage?”
Draco stared at the Minister, his stormy grey eyes clouded over, and he responded firmly, “No.” The smile vanished from Kingsley’s face. He repeated in panic, “No?”
Draco averted his gaze and offered an explanation, “I have read the extensive documentation on the law, and I am well aware of the exit clauses.”
The Malfoy brat wouldn’t.
Shacklebolt spoke slowly, “Malfoy...”
Draco held up his hand to silence the Minister of Magic.
Diplomatic words flew out of his mouth effortlessly, “I will hand over my wand and report to have my memory wiped clean.” He added with a small smile, “I, do, however, make one request. I would appreciate it if the memories of the last five years of my life could remain intact. I will live the rest of my days at the Shaolin Temple in China.”
Kingsley shot to his feet and asked in utter disbelief, “What?”
Draco smiled. His features relaxed, and peace descended upon him, “I’ve lived as a Muggle for years. It will be of little consequence to me to resort back to that lifestyle.”
Kingsley lost his patience, “No, think this through. I will not accept this.”
Draco shrugged and asked pointedly, “What is there to think about?”
The Minister implored, “You are the last remaining heir of the Malfoy name. You are part of the sacred twenty-eight. Your blood is of most importance to the magical community.”
They needed his bloodline to continue. It was a must. There was no compromising that. The young wizard laughed at first, but his smile waned, and a seriousness crept into his voice that had Kingsley reeling back, “You can bleed me dry, and it won’t measure up to a single drop of hers.”
His eyes hardened with purpose, “You need Granger far more than you will ever need me.”
Kingsley couldn’t believe the appalling turn of events, “Please, I implore you to think this through.”
Draco smiled genuinely, “I have, Minister. I owe her this, Kingsley.”
He straightened and retorted vehemently, “My decision is final.”
Kingsley watched in alarm as the last heir of the Malfoy house strode out of his office without a backward glance.
Chapter 13
Notes:
A bit of reciprocated hotness in the office. :)
Keep your friends close :)
A disturbing murder baffles the Aurors, and they must catch the culprit before another victim falls.
Draco comes to terms with the decision he's made with a little help from Hermione.
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE COMMENTS! :) It means the world. :)
Enjoy Chapter Thirteen!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
The Ministry Of Magic
The phone rang steadily, disrupting the sanctum of peace that Hermione somehow managed to attain even after the article in the Prophet.
She complained, adjusted her black-rimmed spectacles, and reached for the device hidden under the mountain of papers. The name made her smile. It always did. Ginny's name flashed across the screen. Without hesitation, she connected the call, held the phone to her ear and leaned back. Ginny was never one to mince words. Her irritated scowl was evident, and Hermione could picture her face scrunched up in annoyance.
The redhead wasted no time, "What the bloody hell happened last night?"
Hermione smirked, "Why, good morning, Mrs Potter, how lovely to hear your dulcet tones this fine morning."
Ginny came straight to the point. It was one of the perks of being best friends for over ten years. Besides, her curiosity was through the roof, and she felt she would combust from not knowing. Her life was dogged with mundane activities, and she relied on her best friend to share the juicy bits of her single life.
She cleared her throat, studied her painted nails, and asked casually, "First, tell me how it went with Malfoy."
Hermione did not bother hiding her displeasure, "That reminds me, is your dear husband around? I will personally strangle him."
Ginny chuckled, "Go easy on the man. He did what was best."
Hermione cried indignantly, "I highly doubt that. How is sending me home with the snake for the best?" It had been the catalyst for the events that followed.
Ginny asked questionably. Hermione's voice and tone were guarded, and there was a definite edge to it, "Granger, did something happen?"
Merlin, yes.
Hermione scoffed, “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous." But this was Ginny. She couldn’t lie to her. It felt horribly wrong to keep the actual events to herself.
Ginny grinned knowingly and probed impatiently, "Granger..."
Hermione stuttered. She bit on her bottom lip and struggled to find the right words, "Well, he, umm...flirted.”
Ginny squealed excitedly, “What?”
Hermione sighed. She had enjoyed every bit of his ministrations towards her, but she didn’t want even Ginny to know that. Keeping her tone casual, she clarified further, “At least, I think that’s what he was trying to do.”
Ginny was beside herself. She patted her knee and shrieked, “No bloody way! Head over after work, I'll pop open a bottle of wine, and you can fill me in on the details.” A mildly deep voice interrupted their lively conversation, “Good morning.”
Hermione looked up to find Harry smiling sheepishly and holding up what appeared to be a sizable brown paper bag. The smell of freshly baked goods tickled her nose pleasantly. She threw Harry a look of mock contempt and spoke into the phone, “Your stupid husband just walked in with a bribe.”
Ginny stifled a laugh and mused, “Take it easy. He’s a father, and we need him.” She hoped her beloved would tread carefully with his peeved-off best friend.
Hermione smiled sweetly, kept her eyes fixed on Harry and retorted, “Not a fucking chance.” She hung up and regarded her best mate in interest, "Well, well, if it isn't Harry "Traitor" Potter." Reaching for her wand, she pointed it at him and sneered, “You have some nerve.”
Harry raised his hands in defence and cautiously warned, “Please, put that wand away and let me explain.”
Hermione did not bother lowering the wand. Instead, she tossed it from one hand to another in contemplation, and red sparks flew off the end. She pointed to the chair and said warily, "Go on then, I'm listening."
Harry eyed the sparks guardedly, but still, he walked in, closed the door behind him and gingerly placed the bag of chocolate croissants on the table and slid it across to the woman staring at him through the slits in her eyes.
The smell of buttery pastry was heavenly. It reached the corners of the room, and Hermione inhaled the scent in satisfaction.
Harry plopped himself down easily and grinned, displaying his complete set of pearly whites. She grabbed the bag, carefully peered into it and licked her lips. Reaching in, she pulled out a flaky croissant. Bits of pastry stuck to her fingers, and she quickly lapped them up. Harry felt his stomach rumble with hunger. He went to grab one for himself, but Hermione swatted his hand away and pushed the bag out of his reach.
He grumbled, but Hermione was having none of it. She raised an amused brow and scolded, “Oh no, you get none after forsaking me and letting a bloody stranger take me home.”
Harry had the good grace to look mildly ashamed, “Well, he’s not a complete stranger, and he, umm…seemed decent.”
His demeanour changed, and he hissed darkly, “Why? Did he try something?”
Hermione bit into the flaky goodness but shook her head, “No, surprisingly, he was a perfect gentleman.”
If anything, she had hit on him and necked him without shame and, with surprisingly, no remorse.
Disgraceful harlot.
She munched on happily, and Harry felt his mouth water. With her mouth full, she managed to get out.
A few crumbs landed on her white shirt, and she hurriedly brushed them off before replying, “Although, it was a complete shock to wake up and find Draco Malfoy in my flat, but I must admit, he is a rather gifted cook.”
Harry’s eyes bugged out at the declaration, “Did the pale-faced tosser cook you breakfast? He looked at her in shock, “As in Draco fucking Malfoy? Slytherin fucktard?”
Hermione swallowed the last bit of gooey chocolate and nodded exasperatedly, “Shocking, isn't it?”
Harry leaned back and shook his head in disbelief, “I'm at a complete loss for words.” A silence followed, and Hermione reached for the bag once again. She was about to take out another plump treat when Harry interrupted her, “Hermione, I'm sorry. I honestly had my hands full, and the ferret was my absolute last resort.”
Hermione licked her fingers and replied truthfully, “Hmm, I know. Besides, it wasn't all bad. He was, umm, fairly tolerable.”
Harry grimaced, his face twisted in displeasure, “Your eyes are doing that weird sparkly thing.” He narrowed his eyes accusingly and fought the urge to vomit, “Argh, do you like Malfoy?” What was with everyone assuming the fucking worst? She did not like him. Tired of repeating herself, Hermione said for possibly the hundredth time, “No, I most definitely do not like the snake.”
Harry eyed her doubtfully but didn’t pursue, “If you say so, Hermione.” He gestured towards the Prophet hidden under a file and raised a brow, “Care to explain."
Hermione threw the paper a deep look of loathing and massaged the bridge of her nose in annoyance, “Boot didn't take kindly to learning Malfoy spent the night with me. He called him a bloody Death Eater for the whole pub to hear, and things went downhill from there.”
Harry ignored the first bit. His mouth dropped open, “Malfoy spent the night? What?”
Hermione regarded him in irritation. She furrowed her brows and said, “Er, I just told you he made breakfast. When did you think that happened?” She shook her head and rolled her eyes, “You’re getting senile in your old age, and I thought Ron was slow.”
Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, “Merlin, please tell me you didn’t sleep with the snake.”
Hermione pressed her lips down hard and murmured, “Will you calm yourself; I did not fuck Malfoy.”
Harry sighed in relief, opened his eyes and wagged a warning finger, “Also, you need to stop leading Boot on. I think he has strong feelings for you.”
Hermione busied herself, arranging the clutter on her desk and replied firmly, “Hmm, well, I got pretty shirty with him and put him in his place.”
Harry said thoughtfully, “I was under the impression Malfoy took you home, settled you in and left.”
Hermione averted her gaze, “Well, you were dead wrong. He, um, wanted to make sure I was okay.”
Harry was far from impressed, “How bloody sweet of him.” He watched his best friend fidget nervously, “Did something happen? Are you hiding something?”
Hermione pulled a file jammed with papers towards her and continued to avoid eye contact, “No, nothing happened.” It was partially the truth.
Harry frowned, “Then why are you acting dodgy.” Her patience snapped, and she hurled, “Come off it. What would possibly happen after a man sees a woman throwing up for half the night?”
Harry slapped his knee and burst out laughing, “Holy fuck. That must have been embarrassing.”
Hermione gritted her teeth and pointed to the door, “Now get out, Potter, before I shove you out.” He got to his feet, grabbed the bag with the last croissant and sprinted out of the room.
Glancing over his shoulder, he animatedly said, "I knew you would forgive me."
Hermione could not help but smile. She shook her head and gave her undivided attention to the papers in front.
Brenda poked her head in soon after, "Nora and I are grabbing an early lunch. Can I get you anything?
Hermione glanced at the large timepiece. The short and long wands that served as the hands of the clock were fixed at eleven AM. Especially after the croissants, black coffee would hit that sweet spot. She smiled in reply and requested humbly, “A cup of coffee would be divine.”
Brenda grinned and winked deliberately, “No worries. See you in a bit.”
Harry sat on top of a desk, stuffed his face with the last chocolate-filled croissant and spoke gravely to his team. His face was drawn and disturbed, “You all got the pictures. They are not a pretty sight. Four women have been abducted, and we are at a complete loss as to where they are.”
He swallowed the bitter truth of the statement. It left a disgusting taste of bile. There were a few angry scowls and gritting of teeth. The nature of the crimes was barbaric, and whoever was committing them was a cruel, unhinged, but intelligent man. He had covered his tracks well.
They concluded the culprit was a man due to the vicious blows on the victim and sexual assault. Whoever it was had left no fingerprints, DNA or a shred of evidence. The only thing left behind besides the blood was a silver chain with the pendant of a detailed owl clutching a wand, found neatly placed in the clutched hand of the dead young woman.
Though distraught and in disbelief that their beloved daughter had been murdered, her family assured the Aurors who questioned them that she was well-liked, had a close set of friends and that the chain was not hers. Nothing was as it seemed. People hid dark secrets from those they loved for fear of disappointing the ones closest to them. Harry brought his hand down hard on the table.
The deceased woman bore a solid resemblance to Ginny, and it sent shivers down his spine. The red hair sprawled across the floor, and the freckled face hit too close to home. He stared at the black-clad individuals, seething with rage at the injustice caused.
He held nothing back as he bared his teeth and spat, “We know of one who has already succumbed to her fate and an earlier abduction and murder with similar traits, but the others are still out there. I am adding more Aurors to the case, and we need to double our efforts to figure this out and catch this fucking bastard.” Hanging his head, Harry sighed, “The families are depending on us. This has been kept from prying eyes for the time being, and that’s exactly how I intend to keep it.”
Harry looked at the team assembled before him in pride, but loose tongues would not be tolerated. He demanded intimidatingly, “Do I make myself clear?” A collective but decisive murmur of “Yes, Harry” rang through the space. The crowd dispersed in high spirits, intent on catching the perpetrator before another victim suffered at his deranged hands.
Terry glanced at the horrific picture and pulled a face of disgust. The witch was lying face down, naked in a pool of her blood. It was clear she had been strangled, and what was most baffling was that there were no traces of magic.
Harry suspected the killer was a Muggle, which made their job nearly impossible. Without possible clues or witnesses, they were searching for a needle in a haystack.
An uneventful quarter of an hour passed. Hermione rested her head on her hands and read the pages-long boring document. She dozed off and clumsily knocked over the holder filled with quills and Muggle stationery.
She yawned and mumbled, “Bugger.” Another slew of curses left her lips when she looked down and found the contents had spread far and wide. Reluctantly getting to her feet, she went around the solid oak desk and bent to retrieve the fallen items. The small paper clips and staple pins had gotten everywhere and into the cracks of the carpet, and some were well out of her reach. Hermione cursed her stupidity, got on all fours and crawled under the desk to retrieve them.
Draco walked out of the Minister's office with intent and purpose. He knew his declaration had the desired effect on Kingsley, but it was no lie. He was deadly serious about it and had every intention of carrying forward on his promise. It had been most satisfying to catch the Minister off-guard. The man was always in control.
The look on Kingsley’s face had been priceless. It wasn’t the easiest decision, but he meant what he said. He owed it to Granger, and hopefully, his mother would understand why he did what he did, but somehow, he doubted that very much. Anyway, it hardly mattered anymore. The deed was done, and he needed to meet up with Bernard to discuss the family business's future and make doubly sure his mother would want nothing in the years to come.
He strode past Nora’s abandoned desk, braved a look towards Granger’s office, and instantly regretted it. The door was open wide, and he could clearly make out the ex-Gryffindor crawling about on her hands and knees. He raised a curious brow to hide the amused grin that rose. What in the name of Salazar was she doing?
Draco squinted his eyes in an effort to see better, and before he could stop himself, his feet worked of their own accord, and he walked towards the room, taking care to be as silent as possible. She was grumbling and wiggling her arse in a tight red skirt. Granger did have the most gorgeously shaped bottom. It was better covered than the last time he’d seen it, and the urge to smack it invaded his thoughts. Draco cleared his throat. His deep, naturally sensual voice filled the seemingly empty space, "Granger, can I be of some assistance?"
Fuck.
Hermione’s hand went to tug at her skirt at once. Please let her be covering her bits. In her haste to get to work on time, she had opted for plain cotton knickers that were not flattering in the least. Stop it, Granger. We do not want Malfoy to see your knickers. Yes, we want him to see them, rip them apart and have his way. She internally raged, “STOP IT!” The loud words bounced off the walls of her mind and pulsated within—that voice. The shock of hearing his seductive drawl caused her to forget what she was doing, and she hurriedly tried to get to her feet. The pain shot through her the instant her forehead collided with solid wood.
Fuck.
Her glasses fell to the floor, and she cried out in unimaginable pain. Her skull vibrated, and she was sure it had split in half. On thoroughly unsteady legs, she rose and touched the rising bump. Her eyes stung with unshed tears of agony and embarrassment. Even through the veil of tears, she could make out the white shirt outlining his body and the grey suit tailored to fit his physique. She swallowed and begged her cunt to give her a break.
Draco hurried to her side, caught her by the elbow and peered into her face in concern, "Bloody hell, you really are a menace."
Hermione felt tears streak her cheeks, but anger slowly took over. She bared her teeth, fought the excruciating pain and hissed, "Why the fuck did you sneak up on me? Do you make it a habit of entering rooms unannounced?" She mumbled, "Stupid idiot."
Draco cupped her face with his long fingers and surveyed the nasty cut. Hermione whimpered and tried to move away, but he pressed flush against her and overpowered her with his sound structure. He rasped sternly, "Shut it, and stand still, Granger."
She sniffled and tried to put on a brave face but failed miserably, “It hurts so much.”
Tears stained her face and covered the splattered freckles across her cute button nose. Draco brushed away the tears and gently touched the gash on her head, where blood rose to the surface through the prominent cut and filled the gaping hole. He got blood on his finger, and he stared at its richness for a fleeting second.
Hermione barely felt his touch. She squinted to see him better. Despite the pain, she questioned suspiciously, "What are you doing?"
Draco frowned and demanded in a deadly serious undertone, "Shut up, or I’ll make you."
Hermione scoffed, "I would love to see you try."
Bah, the insufferable woman.
Draco closed his eyes slowly and took a deep breath. Hermione watched his movements in stunned silence. A piece of ice-blonde hair fell across his forehead. It wasn't messy, and it suited him. A minor imperfection to his otherwise perfect face was satisfying. His lips were slightly apart and pinkish around the edges. She wondered what they would feel like beneath hers.
“Stop it,” she screamed within. Please.
Merlin, these thoughts would be the death of her. He was strong. She couldn't move a muscle but appreciated the firmness of his moulded body. He moved his index finger down the open cut. The skin effortlessly stitched itself up, and Hermione winced in discomfort, but a healed scar that looked days old was left in its wake. Towering over her easily, Draco scanned the damaged area on her head. Satisfied with his work, he smirked at the woman gawking at him intently with her mouth open.
He asked in genuine concern, "Feel better?"
Hermione nodded unsurely. The pain resided and disappeared completely, but a slight throbbing lingered. She couldn’t look away. Something about him kept her captive, “How did you do that?"
Draco touched the reddened scar and grinned, "I think you have a concussion, Granger." He quipped, "Might I suggest a trip to St Mungo’s?"
Hermione frowned, “Fine, keep whatever you’re doing a secret, but I will find out sooner or later.”
Draco nodded curtly, “Oh, I have no doubt you will.” He stepped back, and she momentarily missed the warmth of his body pressed against hers. She wanted to melt into his strong arms, but that was a hidden fantasy in the far reaches of her mind. Hermione hurried around the desk, sat down to fetch a small mirror from her bag and looked at her reflection. She eyed the cut critically and tried to comprehend what he had done.
It was so bizarre; there was barely a mark.
She turned on him and demanded again. Not knowing was eating away at her, and she simply had to know, "How did you do that?" He shook his head exasperatedly and mumbled a quick, “A thank you will suffice, Granger.”
Draco ignored her scowling face entirely and looked around the tastefully decorated office. He grabbed a sizeable snow globe off her desk and stared into it. The fake snow fell around a small village of sorts. It was a beautiful work of art. The tiny figures ice-skated in the middle of the town square without a care in the world.
He gravitated towards the large cabinet with artfully arranged books. Pulling one out, he read the title and mumbled, “Nice office."
Hermione eyed him sceptically and asked rudely, “What are you doing here?” She wasn’t about to waste her good manners on the arrogant former Slytherin Prince.
Draco read a few passages from the book, closed it shut, kept it back and replied politely, “It’s Monday, I ha….” It dawned on Hermione, and she interrupted, “Ah, you have a meeting with the Minister to discuss their horrible lack of judgement.”
She leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms over her chest and inquired, “So, how did it go?” Draco watched the headstrong woman for a few seconds, and in that time, he decided against telling her the actual outcome of the meeting. He thought of stringing her along for the time being and asking a few direct questions. There was a rather insatiable itch in the form of a slightly built, tawny-eyed woman he needed to soothe.
He shrugged nonchalantly, “I haven't met with him yet,” and added pointedly, “I wanted to see you first.”
Hermione quipped sarcastically, “I’m flattered. Why would you possibly want to see me, Malfoy?”
Draco went around the desk and leaned against it. His arse pressed into the edge of the desk, and Hermione swallowed at the closeness. She wheeled back, looked up from her position and squirmed in her seat. She truly wished he would go away. His smell tickled her senses in a way she would never dare to admit out loud.
Draco regarded her in interest and asked smugly, “Why does my presence make you uncomfortable?”
Subtlety was clearly wasted on him.
Hermione sprang to her feet and backed away. Her back touched the tall shelf of books, and she groaned. She had cornered herself, and the white wolf stalking towards her was going to pounce.
She gathered her composure, tugged at her blouse, and replied haughtily, “I don't know what you’re on about.”
Draco closed the gap between them with two long strides and pulled her close. It was a blur; she hardly saw it coming. His insistent fingers dug into her skin through the blouse. It hurt but in the most pleasurable erotic way, and a sultry moan escaped her mortified lips.
Moving close, he placed a soft kiss on the sensitive back of her ear and rasped, "Isn't it exhausting to keep lying to yourself?" His breath ghosted over her flustered skin; it was undeniably heavy with longing.
Hermione struggled in his strong arms and weakly protested, "Let me go." The door was open. Anybody could walk in on them and catch them in this compromising position.
She felt lightheaded, “Please....” He had nothing left to lose. She could reject him mostly harshly, and it would not matter. The decision to leave everything behind was already made.
Boldly, Draco cupped the back of Hermione’s head, and her unruly hair entangled itself around his long fingers. His lips were almost touching hers; she could smell the fresh mint of his toothpaste. He nuzzled his nose into her soft skin and asked in husky tones of pure lust, “If I kissed you, would you turn me away?”
When she leaned into his touch but remained quiet, he grabbed hold of her hair, yanked her head back, and demanded, “Answer me, Granger. I'm not used to repeating myself.” Keeping one arm firmly around her petite waist with the other hand, he brushed a rogue piece of hair that had dislodged itself from her perfect hairdo.
Draco took in the closed eyes, the heavy breathing and the possible wetness that lined her knickers. Goosebumps rose where his fingers lingered on her skin, and if she wasn’t the most enticing creature, he had the privilege to look upon. She brazenly let him caress, fondle and touch her to his heart's content. It was more a treat for her than him, but when he stared deep into her eyes and groaned almost in anguish, “Are you sure you don't want to marry me?” Her knees turned to jelly at the sight of his smoky swirls penetrating her soul and the smouldering intensity they held.
What was he doing? Did he want to marry her? Had he entertained the thought? She almost answered, but words deserted her. It was as if her ability to speak had been sucked right out of her. Her emotions bordered on insanity. If he could make her feel this much with a mere touch, she shuddered to think how it would be if they did the deed. That thought disappeared as soon as it came. Images of their younger years in Hogwarts played back, and she choked back a sob.
The first time he called her a Mudblood, the animosity and pure malice in his voice rang through her head as if it were yesterday. His blatant lies about Buckbeak and, the worst one of all, his mocking laughter as he wished death upon her because of her heritage. It never mattered to him to be cruel or think about how much his taunting words would be carved into her mind.
The air in the room shifted, Hermione stiffened in the arms of the man she loathed, and Draco felt the warmth she ardently offered a moment ago turn ice cold. Her body radiated hatred.
She narrowed her eyes and hissed in disgust, “Don’t fucking touch me.” Mustering all her physical strength, she pushed him away. Her eyes shone bright with the fire burning in the depths of her amber orbs. She spat without remorse, "I would rather die than be bound to you in matrimony." It made him yearn for her even more. He struggled to understand his newfound fascination with Granger. Her chest heaved with each breath, but there was a certain degree of hesitation in her tone.
Draco reeled back and cringed at the harshness of the words. He knew it was well deserved. She stared at him accusingly, though visibly angry; pain clouded her pretty eyes. The tension in them was evident. They were both fighting a losing battle. He gave her the space she demanded and moved further away from the enraged woman. Her words and her actions were the validation he needed.
He hadn't meant to push her, but he required some proof to soothe his soul that his decision to leave was justified.
Draco took a deep breath and straightened. He said in a strained yet sincere manner, "I apologise for the pain I've caused you, Granger.”
He genuinely wanted her to understand, “I know it doesn't mean a bloody thing now, but please know that I am sorry, and I wish things turned out differently.” Vastly different. He would’ve courted her like a proper gentleman if he had good sense.
Hermione wiped the tears that fell out of humiliation and conflict at responding to her former tormentor’s gentle caresses. What was wrong with her? What kind of a woman almost succumbs to the sexual advances of a man who considered her beneath him? She could never trust him. What was that famous Muggle saying? Ah, yes, a leopard never changes its spots. Regaining her composure, she pointed to the open door and said coldly, “Please leave.”
Draco wanted to hold her, brush away the salty tears and tell her he had changed, but he knew his honest declaration would fall on deaf ears. He declared the truth he always knew but never openly admitted, not even to himself, “You have always been a remarkable woman.”
Hermione stared at the striking man, whose presence was unprecedented. She felt the room grow small. She stared unashamedly because words deserted her. She was left utterly speechless. What do you say to a man who had made it his mission to be horrid to you? The damage he had done in his youth was irreparable, and in a twisted fate of circumstances, he would leave the magical world behind and live as a Muggle. It was ironic.
The thought made him chuckle and caused the woman in the room to widen her eyes and stare at him alarmingly. Obviously, he was not doing himself any favours, and she looked upon him in confusion. Deciding to throw caution to the wind, he went towards her again but with a hunger ignited in the pit of his being.
Come what may, if she refused him, his ego would take a beating, but by Salazar, he wanted to feel her. If this were the last time he saw Granger, he would take the memory of a gentle kiss until the Ministry wiped his memories. He thought she would hex him, curse him and send him to St Mungo’s in a bodybag or even flee, but no, she stood her ground and waited almost in anticipation. They both felt the tug at their navels and blood pumping through their veins.
Draco took hold of her wrists and pinned Hermione against the cramped shelf, the items placed on it rattled, and a book or two fell to the ground. Using the soft pad of his thumb, he ran it over her swollen lips. A gasp escaped from those very same lips, and she closed her eyes and gave in to what might follow. She mewled in want and threw her head back in anticipation. His touch was sending delirious sensations shooting through her sex-deprived body, but somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to touch him. She kept her arms pinned to her side stubbornly.
Draco whispered huskily, “I can make your fantasies a reality, Granger. Stop fighting the inevitable.”
His fingers brushed over her skin ever so gently, but when he reached the pulse of her neck, his hold tightened, and she moaned her delight. He put aside his ego and let the desire she evoked speak to him. His lips laid a path of feathery kisses on her neck.
His breath came out in jagged puffs, “I want you.”
Hermione felt her body quiver with the rush of feelings his three words aroused. She felt her defences weaken, but it was with smug satisfaction that she realised Malfoy wanted her body. The man who refused to touch her in their younger days wanted to bed her. The look of desire he bestowed upon her was not lost on her.
It felt grossly erotic to know she had a certain degree of control over the arrogant prick. Maybe she would lure him to bed and discard him before the act? But would she have the willpower to stop? Judging by how her body was betraying her at this very moment, she highly doubted she would be able to stop.
Draco bent his head to claim Hermione’s lips. Her lips parted, and she waited for the moment his luscious lips touched hers, but it never happened. Instead, a slight cough interrupted them.
They both turned to find a thoroughly flabbergasted Brenda standing at the threshold with a coffee in one hand, a packed sandwich dangling from the other, and her mouth hanging open. The young woman returned to her senses and took control of her actions, "I'm so sorry for interrupting." Yet, she remained frozen to the spot and refused to budge an inch.
Draco unwillingly let the woman in his arms go, and Hermione moved away from his empowering presence and offered a small smile and explanation, “Not at all. Mr Malfoy was just leaving.” He took the obvious hint, but disappointment washed over him.
Reluctantly, he walked past Brenda, glanced over his shoulder near the door, and flashed Hermione the smile he was famous for.
He said easily, “I will no longer be a hindrance in your life. Be happy, Granger." He added pointedly, "If you need anything in the future, my mother will always see to it."
His mother? Typical. His lordship couldn't possibly come down from his pedestal to mingle with the commoners. His face softened, and a sense of sadness clouded his handsome features, “Look after her.” Those departing words caught Hermione off-guard. They obviously had some hidden meaning in them.
Draco nodded curtly, turned on his heel and walked out. Hermione collapsed into her chair. Brenda kicked the door shut, placed the coffee in front of her flustered boss and grinned, "Nora said he was good looking, but Merlin, he is a sight for sore eyes."
Hermione wasn't listening. She was miles away. Her lips throbbed. She touched them while disturbing thoughts plagued her already fragile mind.
Draco sat on a bench in a nearby park. He was utterly out of place in his new suit and imported leather shoes. He was more convinced than ever that he had made the right decision. It was the least he could do to soothe his guilty conscience for treating Granger so poorly back at Hogwarts, but she crept under his weaknesses and caused a powerful stirring within. Goading her and forcing their clear physical attraction to the surface served its purpose. His mind was clear, and the way forward was the right one.
A school of pigeons landed a few feet from where he was sitting. The birds pecked at microscopic bits on the ground.
Draco turned to his side and saw a family of four having a picnic. The small boy laughed and jumped into his mother's awaiting arms. Her arms went around her son protectively, and a smile of pure love lit up her face. His thoughts went instantly to his mother. She would not take his decision lightly.
Sorrow engulfed him, but somehow, together, they would hatch a plan to stay in touch and ensure her memory of him could not be taken. It had been nearly two weeks since he returned after years of being away, and now, she was about to lose him for good.
He truly feared for his mother's health; she was strong, but would she understand his determination to do the right thing for a change?
Kingsley paced around his room in deep thought. He could not do much. Nobody could. The matches were binding and forged through complex math and ancient magic.
He contemplated asking the council their thoughts. He was reasonably sure they would share his mortification of the Malfoy line coming to an abrupt end. But it would have to wait. He had more pressing matters to deal with. Potter had shown him the shocking pictures of the raped and murdered witch.
In all his years as an Auror, never had he come across a case so horrifying. Over a bottle of scotch, they had discussed the topic in great detail, and for the first time since Potter took up the post of Department Head, the chosen one had asked for his help.
His mind whizzed with possible suspects. The Auror in him took over. He hung aside his Minister title and again flipped through the pictures, pouring over the details and hoping to find a single piece of evidence.
Chapter 14
Notes:
Slow burn :)
We get a clearer picture of Astoria's mental instability and whether it could spell disaster in the long run.
Draco faces a few personal demons in the form of his father.
Hermione finds out about Draco's decision, but she is trusted with changing his mind.
Personal conflicts and inner struggles.
I've also taken a few liberties ;)
Thank you so much for taking the time to leave such AMAZING comments :) It is truly appreciated. :)
Enjoy Chapter Fourteen!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Astoria came down the stairs in a long floral print summer dress. She radiated happiness and seemed much like her old self. She walked into the foyer in her small heels and looked around eagerly. The newspaper was always in its designated place on the ornately carved small glass table by the fireplace. In her sweet voice, she inquired courteously, "Mother, have you seen the Prophet?"
Victoria Greengrass looked up from the book she was reading and smiled fondly at her younger daughter, looking angelic with her long hair brushed back. It fell in soft waves down her slender back. She replied kindly, "No, I haven't seen it, dear."
Astoria continued to search through the pile of papers and a few files that were on the table.
Victoria glanced at the clock; it was past noon. She studied her daughter’s movements and asked enthusiastically, "Darling, would you like a spot of brunch?"
Astoria stopped mid-task and made eye contact with her loving mother. A happy smile spread across her pretty face; she did feel peckish, "Thank you, mother. That would be lovely."
Victoria summoned a smartly dressed tiny house elf to her side. The elf was dressed in a miniature tuxedo with a matching green bow and shoes that would fit a toddler. The older woman clicked her fingers and requested politely, "Georgie, please see to brunch for Miss Tori."
The elf gave a respectful bow and fondly gazed upon Astoria, "I will make ready Miss Astoria's favourite treats."
Astoria beamed, bent to the elf’s level and adjusted his bow, "Why, thank you, Georgie. By the way, have you seen the Daily Prophet?"
Georgie nodded vigorously, "The master had it in the morning. I saw him reading it and using very bad words." Mr Greengrass was a good but silent man who loved his daughters fiercely.
Victoria stifled a laugh and returned to reading her book. Armed with that information, Astoria went straight to her father's bundle of papers he carelessly kept on the ancient study table he maintained in the foyer.
Astoria held up the paper triumphantly, "Ah, here it is. Father has mixed it up with his silly work documents." She was in a good mood. Her life felt like it had regained the purpose long since denied. She had wished for Draco’s return for years, and when she had all but given up hope, he had returned, and she looked most forward to rekindling their past affair. He was the only man she had ever truly loved. She picked up the paper, saw the front page, and froze. Her eyes scanned over the printed words, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears. The hold on the paper tightened, and polished nails ripped through the flimsy pages.
No, it couldn't be. She took in the finer details of the article and picture, and a strangled sob broke free as she fell into the nearest chair with the gut-wrenching pain of losing the one she loved fervently. The words, love triangle, the hint of affection and King fu master swirled dangerously around her mind.
Astoria held onto her head, her nails dug into her scalp, and she let out a blood-curdling shriek. Victoria heard her daughter's cries of distress. Her book fell to the ground, and she asked at once, "What's the matter, darling?"
Getting to her feet, she hurriedly ran to her daughter’s side. Astoria gripped the paper until it crumpled and fell to the floor. Hot tears streamed down her face, "I won't let her have him."
She held onto her head, rocked back and forth, and repeated, "Draco is mine."
Her problematic behaviour sent chills down Victoria's spine. She picked up the nearly shredded newspaper and read the headline on the front page. She knew of her daughter’s unhealthy obsession with Draco Malfoy. Since she learnt of his return, he was all she spoke about. Initially, the family had tried to sway her feelings and divert her interests elsewhere, but it was a lost cause.
Victoria was well aware of the extreme measures that needed to be taken, or her daughter would resort to self-harm to cope with her anxieties. The youngest Greengrass girl was prone to taking matters into her own hands, yielding devastating results. She watched her loving child tremble with glazed-over eyes, muttering incoherently.
Astoria had been a remarkable woman once. She was beautiful, intelligent, and funny and all who knew her were pretty fond of her. It was by a cruel circumstance that a blood curse that had nothing to do with her skipped over a generation and found it fit to embrace her. Since learning of her intended fate, she had withdrawn from daily life and obsessed over ancient manuscripts in an effort to alter her condition.
Victoria had wept for days and lashed out at her husband for burdening their child with his family's past misdeeds. The man had broken down in sobs and vowed to find a way to save their daughter but to no avail. There was no escaping the blood malediction.
Astoria’s once intelligent mind turned on itself as time went by, and she fell into a deep depression that affected her sanity. Her sweet disposition vanished, and she displayed suicidal and violent tendencies at the most minor infraction. Victoria had become accustomed to predicting such outbursts after their fourth visit to St Mungo’s when Astoria slashed her arm in numerous places trying to extract the curse from her now frail body.
The memory of her child lying in a pool of blood would haunt her till her last day. The older woman kept sedatives and calming draughts nearby for emergencies, and judging by her daughter's unsettling behaviour, they were needed at this very instant. She quickly fetched the vial, uncorked it, rushed to her daughter's side and instructed as calmly as possible, "Please drink this, darling. It will make you feel better."
Astoria narrowed her eyes and regarded her mother suspiciously, "Get that away from me. I know you're trying to drug me."
Victoria soothingly reassured, "Of course not. I'm trying to help you."
Astoria seemed to believe her mother because she parted her lips and accepted the foul-tasting potion.
She grabbed her mother's wrist and yelled, "Why doesn't he love me?"
Victoria stroked her daughter’s hair in a desperate attempt to calm her down. She said softly, "Darling, I'm sure he feels nothing for Miss Granger. It's probably a horrible misunderstanding."
Astoria fetched the tattered paper, touched Draco’s now torn image with trembling fingers and wept, “He's supposed to marry me.”
Victoria tried to offer soothing words, “Draco just returned, darling. Let's give him some space to adjust.”
Astoria pulled at her mother’s dress and cried desperately, “She's trying to take him away from me.” She lost her composure, her hair flew about wildly, and she snarled, “I won't let her, mother. She can't have him.”
Victoria cradled her daughter to her chest and reassured, “Shh...calm yourself.” She closed her eyes and wished her husband were home. They would have to deal with this grave situation and come out unscathed. This new development was going to be the worst one yet.
After staring at the Muggle families engaging in their activities at the park, Draco yearned for the temple. He remembered playing the occasional football game with village children when time allowed and flying colourful kites with Jun’s younger sister.
The sound of their happy laughter and Jun's pretty face bubbled to the surface. His eyes went to the glistening sleek black beaded bracelet on his wrist, and a sense of sadness engulfed him. Before his thoughts got away from him, he got to his feet and made the short walk to a seemingly empty alley. Leaning against the dirty wall, he thought of the place he often visited with his father when he was being groomed to take over the vast family business.
Draco stood outside the four-story building. He woefully looked at the building his family built over centuries, and despite Lucius's many faults, he was an accomplished businessman, and the company flourished under his care.
The Malfoy Group were known in the wizarding world for undertaking unique yet challenging projects and building them to perfection. His feet stood planted firmly to the ground. They stubbornly refused to budge an inch. He remembered in avid detail his trips to the office with his father. Lucius would frog march him through the marbled corridors barking instructions at the staff whilst instructing his only child about the many workings of the company that supported their livelihood.
Draco recalled one unpleasant incident. Lucius banged his cane down on the floor and said in a meaningful tone, “This is our legacy, son. The main source of our vast wealth.” He pointed to a glistening makeshift map and added with immense pride, “We work with many countries, and we have a reputation to uphold.” The young boy ignored his father and stared at the passing glass-covered cubicles where terrified employees scurried to finish work.
Lucius grabbed Draco by the collar, turned him around, and demanded, “Do you understand, boy?”
Draco whimpered and answered at once in fear, “Yes, father.”
Lucius let go of his petrified son and retorted proudly, “It isn't an easy task being a Malfoy.” Indeed. His father was buried six feet under and would never be able to hurt or influence anyone ever again.
Draco took a deep breath, pushed open the large glass double doors and stepped inside. The area was pristine. Bernard had made some welcome changes. The floors were white marble instead of the dark grey his father opted for. Many lavish furnishings decorated the lobby, and a large translucent glass reception desk was situated in the middle.
Three lovely witches were busy talking to visitors and contractors and speaking into a cordless device. There were portraits of past Malfoy heads of the house going back to his great-great-grandfather hung artfully on the wall. At eight years old, Draco remembered how impressed he had been when Lucius introduced each character.
His feet took him down the familiar path, and he stood before the large paintings of sleeping men. Due to his father's disgraceful demise in Azkaban, he had been spared the honour of having his portrait hung next to his father's. It was somewhat ironic, Draco thought. Every man on the wall represented darkness and pureblood arrogance. Nobody paid him much attention except the vigilant security wizard, who eyed him sceptically. So caught up in his thoughts, Draco ignored the man standing to his right.
The burly security wizard cautiously approached him and asked, "Hello, can I help you, sir?"
Draco turned to face the man and smiled politely, "I am Draco Malfoy. I have an appointment with Mr Bernard Thompson." The wizard's face turned ashen as he took in the similarities between the man standing before him and the sleeping men in the portraits.
He returned and bowed in respect, "My apologies, sir."
Draco clamped the man on the shoulder and laughed, "Nothing to be sorry for. Now be a good man and show me to Bernard's office." He chatted with the security wizard and found out his name was Paul and that he had been working at the company for three years.
The man spoke almost reverently about Bernard. It was clear Bernard was doing a stellar job of running the company, and with Draco’s abrupt change in plans, it worked out nicely. They arrived at tall doors with solid brass handles. Draco knocked on the door, stood back and adjusted his jacket.
Bernard's commanding voice came from within, "Come in."
Paul nodded, "It was good to meet you, sir."
Draco glanced over his shoulder and said, “Please call me Draco." He opened the door and confidently strode inside. Bernard was deep in concentration; his eyes meticulously took in the papers he was going through. He looked up as Draco came close and a bright smile appeared on his tired face.
Bernard got his feet and spread his arms wide in greeting, “My boy.” He clamped Draco on the shoulder once he got close and said firmly, “Why didn't you tell me you were on the way? I would've sent a car for you.”
Draco smiled and replied, “That's quite all right. I finished my meeting with the Minister and came by.”
Bernard nodded in understanding and lifted a bushy brow curiously, “Ah, your mother did tell me about that. How did it go?”
The ice-blonde man sighed, his eyes lost their softness, and a hardness soon took its place, “It went as expected.”
Bernard laughed, nudged the man standing by his side and teased, “Wedding bells in the future then, eh?”
Draco thought of the early morning bells that chimed within the Shaolin temple. He looked forlorn, “Definitely some form of bells.” Looking around the large carpeted lavish room, Draco voiced his approval, “From a first look, everything seems to be running smoothly.”
The older man grinned, his eyes lit up pleasantly, but he replied in seriousness, “It is time for you to take up the reigns.”
Draco smiled warmly and tried to keep the edge out of his voice. Bernard was no fool, and it would not be easy to keep his plans hidden for long. He cleared his throat, “I would like you to continue running the company.” He saw the wise man’s blue eyes flicker with uncertainty.
Bernard eyed the young man suspiciously but held his tongue for the time being. He let the comment slide and perked up, “Come, let me show you to your office. It was your father's, of course, but it is only right that you occupy it going forth.” They walked the short distance, and Draco saw the curious faces of the employees openly gawk at him and hurriedly whisper among themselves. They would instantly know who he was. He was, after all, the spitting image of his father.
A tall black door greeted them, and sprawled across it in solid gold letters was the name of the patriarch of the Malfoy family – Lucius Malfoy. Bernard sensed Draco’s shift in mood and demeanour. He patted him on the back encouragingly and threw the door open.
Draco hesitated at the entrance and looked around the lavishly furnished office. It was left untouched. Everything was in its former place. Even the quills his father used were placed at the right angle. He gathered his courage, stepped onto the black and white carpet, and walked to the large desk. Once there, he picked up the framed photograph of his mother his father had placed in an ornate silver frame. This was when Lucious adored Narcissa and valued her above all else. She was younger and strikingly beautiful. She smiled happily, full of hope for the future.
Next, his feet carried him over to the black, bound books and manuscripts shelves. His father was precise about penning his memoirs. He kept vials filled with strands of silver memories to be referred back if needed. Bernard stood by an exquisite black wood mini bar that reeked of finery and money. He pointed to the bottles on display and inquired, “Would you like a drink?” It was early, but a drink sounded splendid with how the day was spanning out.
Draco touched the oversized black leather chair, and Lucius's image sitting at the desk with quill in hand came to mind. He couldn't possibly sit where his father sat. It felt oddly out of place, disrespectful and strange. Draco took the glass Bernard offered and joined the older man on the sofa.
Bernard took a gratifying sip and asked in concern, “Are you okay?”
Draco himself took a longer sip and savoured the rich scotch that made its way down his parched throat, “I'm fine. What makes you ask?”
Bernard pointed his drink at Draco’s face and explained earnestly, “You seem rather far away.”
Draco leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and stared into the amber liquid in his handmade crystal glass. He hung his head and sighed, “Being back here is pleasing but being surrounded by my father’s presence is unnerving.”
Bernard nodded in understanding. He knew all about the tumultuous relationship between father and son. He advised firmly, “I know there was no love lost between you two but let your anger fade. The man is dead and no longer accountable for the horrible deeds he committed.” He took in the body language of the young wizard beside him and asked calmly, “Hmm, is there more to this marriage law than what you’re letting on?”
Draco stiffened. His fingers tightened around the tumbler, and bringing it to his suddenly dry lips, he drained it dry.
Bernard probed curiously, “Is Miss Granger on board with this arrangement?”
Draco laughed and retorted sarcastically, “I might have to drag her lifeless body down the aisle.”
Bernard raised an amused brow and snorted into his drink.
Draco took in the older man's perplexed expression and explained further, “We have a rather unpleasant history. To say she hates my guts is putting it mildly.”
Bernard could agree. The boy in his youth had been an intolerable little cunt. He bit back a laugh at the thought and offered, “I see, perhaps, if she got to know you now?”
Draco walked to the bar and refilled his glass. He took another sip and stared into nothingness.
Granger responded to his gentle touches and tormenting slow kisses on her neck. The mere thought of her scent and small gasps had him well on his way to an impressive hard-on. He cleared his mind of thoughts of her. A task he managed with some level of difficulty and replied thoughtfully, “Perhaps, but I don't see that happening soon.” Returning to the sofa, Draco sat down and turned to face the jovial but regal man. He smiled and said, “Bernard...”
Bernard returned the warmness and questioned, “Yes?”
Draco came straight to the point. Since his unpredicted decision to leave behind the world, he knew, he wanted to ensure his mother would be well cared for. It gutted him to abandon the one person he could always count on. He asked sincerely, “Do you care about my mother?”
Bernard adopted the look of a teenage boy when asked about a crush. He grinned sheepishly, “I do. Am I that obvious?”
Draco chuckled and nodded. He was as obvious as Narcissa was. She blushed madly when Bernard’s name came up.
Bernard added affectionately, “I have loved her from afar for as long as I remember. That’s why I never married.” His voice dropped low, his tone laced with grief and perhaps regret, “Lucius was my friend even though we grew apart after his involvement with the Dark Lord. At Hogwarts, we were thick as thieves, and I suppose he saw me as someone he could trust. Narcissa and I kept in touch throughout the years, and she suggested that I run the company in your absence.”
Narcissa was an intelligent woman. She had made the right choice.
Draco smiled warmly and patted Bernard firmly on the back. It was his way of giving his approval, “I'm glad to hear it. She deserves happiness after all she has been through.” He swallowed hard and included in anguish. His voice broke on the last word, “Keep her happy.”
Bernard’s face contorted in concern. He inquired firmly, “What’s going on, Draco? Are you planning on leaving once again?” The older man shook his head and warned sternly, “It will crush Narcissa.” It was the one time Bernard put his foot down and sounded like he meant business.
Draco closed his eyes and sighed, “She will need you more than ever.”
Bernard looked closely at the man sitting by his side with his features pinched in deep thought. His distress radiated off him, but it was clear that his mind was made up from his tone.
Hermione spent most of the day thinking and letting her mind wander to the captivating yet despicable man who had graced her presence earlier. His caresses, the subtle stroke of his fingers moving over her heated skin, and the demanding words he uttered were causing her to have vivid fantasies of being overpowered by the hateful man.
She looked forward to kicking back and pouring out the past two days' events to Ginny. It became increasingly apparent that keeping these thoughts bottled up would do her some severe damage. Deciding to leave work early, Hermione arranged the papers on the table, slid her petite feet into her heels and got to her feet. She reached for her heavy bag, and it delicately hung from her tiny fingers. She stepped out of the room and almost collided with Brenda.
The younger witch put on the brakes, and she stopped an inch from Hermione’s body.
Brenda gasped, held onto her side, and took in huge gulps of air.
Hermione took the opportunity to raise her hand and stop her assistant from saying anything, “Do not say a word. I’m leaving. Ginny is expecting me.”
Brenda straightened and smiled apologetically, “I'm so sorry, but the Minister wants to see you at once.”
Hermione threw her head back and groaned in frustration, “Argh, what does he want?”
Brenda adjusted her luminous spectacles and shrugged. She looked around inconspicuously, dropped her voice and muttered, “He sounded rather desperate.”
Hermione smirked and tapped her chin in thought, “Oh? That is interesting.” Dropping her bag in its original place, she adjusted her blouse, tamed her hair with her fingers and strode purposely towards the Minister's office.
Hermione knocked twice. It seemed that she could hear the deep voice of Shacklebolt mumbling incoherently to himself. Without waiting for permission, she opened the door, poked her head in and asked, “Kingsley, you wanted to see me?”
The Minister paced around the room slowly. His eyelids fluttered rapidly as if he was trying to come to some conclusion. He caught sight of his Undersecretary and waved her in at once.
Hermione entered cautiously and eyed Kingsley questionably. She asked carefully, “Can this wait? I have plans.”
Kingsley snapped clear out of his current daze and narrowed his eyes instantly, “No, it bloody well can't. Shut the door and sit down.” The Minister was going to be difficult.
Hermione closed the gap between them and pulled back the chair roughly. It scrapped against the floor, and Kingsley ground his teeth and made his displeasure evident. She sat down in the most ladylike manner and said with enough annoyance for the Minister to notice, “Fine, I'm sitting.” She scrunched up her nose and grilled, “What's the matter? You’re acting rather odd.”
Kingsley massaged his temples and replied exhaustedly, “My mind is not at rest.” That bit piqued her interest. She leaned forward in her seat and probed impatiently, “What is going on?”
Kingsley dropped into his oversized chair unceremoniously and tossed the relatively thin file towards Hermione. Indeed, something this light could not be the cause of his disturbing behaviour. The second she flipped open the file, she understood why. The graphic pictures made the bile rise to the surface. She covered her mouth with her hand in shock and felt her body shudder unpleasantly. The poor woman. Oh, Merlin, who would be this vicious to butcher a living being in this brutal way?
Kingsley struggled to keep his rapidly rising temper in check. He hissed darkly, “We have a serial killer on the loose. It's doing my head in. I haven't wanted to catch a man so much since Voldemort.” In defeat, he hung his head and growled, “It's a challenging case. We have no leads, no witnesses, nothing. He seems to be targeting pretty, red-haired, fair-skinned women.”
Hermione closed the file shut, gingerly kept it back on the table with trembling hands and stared at it for a few seconds.
The torment the woman must have suffered in the last few minutes of her life must have been excruciating. She closed her eyes and tried to erase the mental image that formed. Finding her voice, she declared firmly, “We should notify the public and caution people to take care.” Pounding the table in irritation, she demanded, “Why was I not informed about this?”
Kingsley held up his to silence the irked woman, “Calm yourself. We will make an official announcement in a few days.”
Hermione widened her eyes in disbelief. Was he losing his mind? “A few days? That is not acceptable. The public needs to be alerted to this threat immediately.” She asked with an edge to her voice, “Is that why you wanted to see me?”
Kingsley slowly shook his head and replied, “No, it's about Malfoy.”
Fuck. She couldn’t take a piss without the blonde fucktards name popping up.
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and inquired in mock curiosity, “What about him?”
Kingsley cleared his throat, got to his feet, and crossed the room to fix himself a drink. He poured himself a hefty shot of the finest scotch. Bringing the glass to his nose, he inhaled deeply before taking a sip. Then he glanced over his shoulder and said, “He came by first thing in the morning to see me.”
The Minister offered Hermione a drink, but she politely declined. Her mind was buzzing with bits of information. The timeline made no sense. She was genuinely puzzled, “First thing?”
Kingsley nodded and pointedly looked at the clock on the wall, “Yes, at 9.30 am sharp, if I'm not mistaken.”
Hermione went rigid. She silently fumed. The fucking deceitful piece of worthless shite. He had met her after speaking with Kingsley. What kind of sick game was he playing? Of course, she had no clue what had transpired since the twat had kept it to himself and then tried to seduce her. Successfully she was shamefully forced to admit. She hid her inner feelings well and asked curiously, “And what happened?” The answer to that question kept her on the edge of her seat.
Kingsley replied stubbornly, “I told him exactly what I told you. None of you seems to comprehend that I am as helpless in this situation as the both of you.”
Hermione was in no mood to beat around the bush. She clenched her teeth and hissed, “What happened, Kingsley?”
Kingsley leaned back, finished his drink, and replied slowly, “He didn't react in the way I intended.”
Hermione was genuinely losing her patience. She wanted to scream, but instead, she regained her composure and asked directly, “And how did he react?”
Kingsley’s olive-skinned face contorted in pure disgust, “He's giving up his fucking wand and willing to live as a Muggle.”
Many things happened at once. Hermione shot to her feet and stared at the Minister, alertly looking at her. Her suddenly dry throat needed to be appeased. She hurriedly went to the minibar, poured herself a splash of whiskey and drained it in one go.
A dull throbbing pulsated within, which she couldn’t shake. One shot became two. She tossed it back, it burnt her throat, but it was nothing compared to the mix of raging emotions consuming her. She held onto the table to steady herself and her rapidly beating heart.
When she regained a smidge of control, she turned on the Minister and shouted, “WHAT?” Kingsley nodded in agreement, “Yeah, my reaction exactly.”
Hermione retook her seat, and new humiliating feelings arose and clouded her mind and thinking. She sneered, “So, the prick is willing to give up magic? Leave everything behind rather than marry me?” She scoffed and thought good riddance. He hadn't changed. But it stung and involuntarily and unnecessarily plagued her thoughts. Did the sodding wanker find her to be that undesirable?
Kingsley responded crossly, “You’re a daft bint at times, Hermione.” The sincerity in Malfoy’s actions was genuine.
The Minister explained further, “He doesn't want to force you into marriage with a man you loathe. He sees it as a great injustice and is willing to give up his inheritance, life, and beloved mother to save you from it.”
Hermione stiffened, she heard the words Kingsley uttered, but it was still a bitter pill to swallow.
Shacklebolt softened his tone, “He's doing it for you.”
Hermione felt hot around the collar. She struggled to string words together, "I, umm....”
Kingsley couldn’t be arsed to wait for her to gather her thoughts. He said with ardent purpose, “We can't allow him to do that.”
Hermione stared into the Minister's serious face, “Excuse me?”
Kingsley simply stated, “It is your duty to the magical community and this Ministry to convince him otherwise.”
Hermione let out a sarcastic laugh. She narrowed her eyes and fired, “I will do no such thing. If that is his decision, what right do I have to change his mind?”
Kingsley pointed to a sizeable leatherbound book encased in glass and said calmly, “You took an oath to uphold Ministry law.”
Hermione argued, “I did, but this was never part of the deal. I refuse to convince him when he has generously given me a clear out from this miserable pairing.”
The Minister retorted thoughtfully and hoped for the best, “Malfoy is a changed man. Give him a chance.” Big mistake. The demeanour of the woman before him changed from angry to murderous.
She leered, “Has anyone dared call you horrid names?” Leaning forward, she inquired with false sweetness, “Do you have an inkling of what it is like to be taunted by a vile word such as Mudblood for having no fucking control over the magic in your blood?”
She held the tears at bay and hissed through clenched teeth, “That vile bastard wanted me to die because I didn't belong in his perfect little world.” She made use of air quotes to emphasise her point. When Kingsley opened his mouth to offer a feeble apology, Hermione cut him off fiercely, “Don't tell me to give him a bloody chance because hell will fucking freeze over before I do.”
Kingsley looked truly uncomfortable, “I understand, Hermione.”
Hermione shook her head and replied openly, “No, Minister. You sadly do not.”
Kingsley knew without a doubt that Granger would never agree, but he had to try, “Please try to see reason. The Malfoys are an ancient family. Their bloodline is a pillar of the Magical community.”
Hermione laughed aloud, but her thoughts went to Narcissa and how she would take the news of her son’s departure. That would not go over well, of that, she was sure. It pained her to think of the suffering the older woman would endure. Pushing her feelings aside, she fired back, “Am I supposed to care? The Malfoys, with the exception of Narcissa, were a superficial bunch of bastards who valued pure blood above everything else and couldn't be fucked if they hurt or stepped on anyone to get their way.”
Kingsley tried to make her see reason, “There are things beyond our comprehension. We have a sacred twenty-eight for a reason. We need his bloodline to continue.”
Hermione answered with sarcasm dripping off each word, “That's rich. So, I'm supposed to bear his children to please the community?” She quipped in satisfaction, “I'm a Muggleborn witch. Won't slumming it with me knock him out of the twenty-eight?”
Kingsley visibly cringed at her choice of words. The woman had developed quite a potty mouth over the years. He added hesitantly but with resolve, “If you refuse, you can join him in the Muggle world and fend for yourselves.”
Hermione’s mouth dropped open. A dull thud sounded in her ears. She could not believe the words she heard. Surely, it was a mistake. A life without magic? It was hard to imagine an existence without her extended family. It was her breaking point, but she showed indifference and ignored the statement completely. Her body shuddered with desire or displeasure.
She wasn’t quite sure about sharing Malfoy’s bed, but she added deliberately, “Our children will be half-bloods.” Hermione mused wide-eyed, “Imagine that? The bloody horror.”
Kingsley warned, “This is no laughing matter, Granger.”
Hermione was evident in her way forward. She offered, “He might meet some stupid Muggle woman, fall in love and have children, thus continuing the Malfoy name.”
Kingsley sighed exasperatedly, “You think we only swipe the memories and snap the wand in half? There are powerful charms to suppress a person’s magic from rising to the surface or being passed along.” She was a Ministry employee; how did she not know this?
Hermione looked repulsed, “That's barbaric.”
Kingsley decided he had played along long enough. He rose to his feet, placed his large hands on the desk and leaned forward. He loomed over her petite figure and said harshly, “I'm no longer asking. You were bound by an oath when you took this job to uphold the traditions of our laws.”
Hermione shot to her feet and challenged, “Hang the job then. I'll hand over my resignation this instance.” Of all the stubborn women.
Kingsley rolled his eyes, “Don't be ridiculous and stop acting like an impudent child.”
Hermione felt the sudden sting of tears at the corner of her eyes, “I don't want to do this.”
The Minister went around the desk, pulled up a chair and sat down next to her, “But you must, for the good of the Magical community. If his line ends, the consequences might be dire.”
Hermione choked back a sob, “I will do as you ask, but I will never share Malfoy’s bed.” Famous last words. She had to get out of the suffocating office. Her mind was in absolute turmoil. Before Kingsley could reply or reach for her, Hermione stormed out. She flew out of the door wiping the tears that fell.
The life she had planned for herself was coming to a devasting standstill. She desperately wished she had married Ron when he offered. Anyone was better than the snake. She pushed open the door to her office, closed it and fell in a crumpled heap on the floor. Hugging herself, she wept fresh tears and tried to fight the despair that engulfed her. It wasn’t fair of anyone to ask this of her and what was most disturbing was Malfoy's seemingly unselfish decision.
Did he genuinely intend to carry forth with his decision? It was an enormous sacrifice on his part. He, like her, would have to leave everyone he grew up with behind, but unlike her, this was the life he was born to lead. How had he come to such a decision without a single shred of thought about the pain he would cause his loved ones? Did righting wrongs mean that much to him?
Hermione cried until there were possibly no tears left. She said a silent prayer, “Merlin, please give me the strength to do what’s right.”
Chapter 15
Notes:
Main focus on friendship :) Keep your friends close. :)
I know most think of Hermione as being whiny and dramatic but put yourself in her shoes. Would you be so quick to forgive your childhood bully? Even Draco isn't betting on her forgiving him because he knows what an unforgivable git he was.
To all the comments:- WOW! I'm blown away! I love the mix. All I ask is that you bear with me! :) :)
Enjoy Chapter Fifteen!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Ginny poked her head out of the kitchen at the sound of the front doorbell. The loud sound echoed through the house.
James came running in and said excitedly, "The door, mummy."
She handed him a bowl of cut fruit, the colourful bowl comprised of bite-sized pieces of red apple, orange wedges, and plump strawberries cut in half, "Your favourite cartoon is on, darling. Go into the living room and watch it."
He took the bowl in his tiny hands and ran the whole way with Ginny screaming after, "Don't run. Be careful, James."
The bell sounded again. Ginny wiped her hands, walked the short distance to the door, and threw it open. Hermione stood outside, looking distraught. Gone was the prim and proper exterior. She appeared dishevelled and thoroughly unkempt. Messy strands of hair stuck to her forehead, and it was clear from her swollen, reddened eyes that she had been crying. The auburn-haired spirited woman held the door open, and Hermione walked in and slammed the door shut, making Ginny wince.
She glanced over her shoulder and said deliberately, "Someone's in a vile mood."
Hermione kicked off her shoes inelegantly and asked urgently, "Where's the wine?"
Ginny coolly pointed to the kitchen and continued to walk in the same direction, "Where it always is." They entered the homely space, and at once, Hermione spied the bottle of red wine on the counter. Without a moment’s hesitation, she moved towards it, grabbed it by the neck, and pulled out a clear-cut wine glass from the top cupboard with her free hand. Ginny watched her best friend anxiously and asked in concern, "Is everything alright?"
Hermione held up her hand to stop Ginny from saying anything further. She proceeded to pour herself a glass full of wine and took a large gulp, not a sip but a sizeable gulp. She held the glass with both hands and squeezed it tight.
Ginny feared the glass would crack, but she hoped for the best and kept her mouth shut. Without looking up, Hermione cried hopelessly, "Why did he have to come back?" Fresh tears streaked her tired, drawn face.
She added furiously, "We were perfectly happy without his pretentious arse clouding our senses."
Ginny raised a brow and questioned, "Excuse me?"
Hermione groaned exasperatedly and spat most nastily, "He has ruined everything." She hated the way he affected her. She wasn't some simpering girl who would fall at his feet like he was something special.
Malfoy was good-looking, yes, true. There were plenty of men who were better looking, but it wasn’t just the chiselled chin and crisp black shirts. It had everything to do with the way his stormy grey swirls followed her and the intensity he bestowed upon her. His movements were graceful yet manly, he was a true enigma of man, and internally she fought a raging battle with her emotions.
Ginny took a deep breath and advised Hermione to follow suit, "Calm down, Granger. Tell me, what happened?"
Hermione choked back a sob and struggled to get the dreaded words out, "The snake has taken the exit clause."
Ginny was confused beyond reason, but she patiently asked, "Exit clause?"
Hermione emptied her glass of the red liquid sloshing around and refilled it before answering, "From the marriage law. He is willing to give up magic and live like a fucking Muggle."
She muttered angrily, "The self-righteous bastard."
Ginny could not believe it. It was impossible to fathom that Malfoy could be that selfless. She widened her eyes in shock, "What the hell? Are you serious?"
Hermione concurred and continued to gulp the wine like it offered her relief from her horrendous situation. It did somewhat, she supposed. Things had gone from bad to worse in a matter of hours.
Ginny joined Hermione at the spotless kitchen counter, poured herself a glass of wine, and shook her head, "He can't do that. He's the last Malfoy."
Hermione’s face twisted in annoyance, "Why does everyone keep saying that?"
Ginny snorted into her drink and quipped, "If Malfoy doesn't reproduce, the world as we know it will come to an end!"
Hermione looked genuinely appalled by the importance placed on him to spread his seed. She did not bother to keep the disgust from her tone, "What are you on about?"
Ginny being a pureblood witch, knew a thing or two about the sacred twenty-eight, old laws, and blood ties. She chuckled, "I'm messing with you, but yeah, he has to leave an heir."
Hermione argued, "Why? What makes the Malfoys so bloody important?"
Ginny could not find a suitable answer. It was a children's story told around a roaring fire to encourage pureblood pairings and discourage any intermingling of blood for all she knew.
She recited what her grandmother told them once about heirs, "He is the last remaining member of one of the founding families. His blood plays a vital role." That was beyond ridiculous. Hermione did not believe any of the hocus pocus regarding the pureblood families, and the most maddening fact was that no one seemed to know exactly why his blood was of such importance.
Ginny squeezed Hermione’s hand and comforted the distressed woman, "It will be alright." She looked over at her best friend and heard the soft rumble that came from within Hermione’s stomach. Ginny smiled kindly, "You look hungry."
Hermione patted her growling tummy and realised just how hungry she was. Lunch comprised a beef sandwich Brenda got her and a tall coffee grande. She nodded in agreement, "I'm fucking starving."
James whizzed past on a toy broom and almost fell off. Ginny adopted her motherly voice and yelled at him to be careful. Charlie was right. The once hot-tempered Chaser was turning more into Molly with each passing day. She turned to Hermione and wagged a warning finger, "Mind the language," and followed it with a mischievous grin, "I'm dying to know what’s happened in the past two days."
Ginny smiled sheepishly and started to slice a juicy red tomato, “Indulge me with your stories of heated passion.”
Hermione pulled apart chicken breast pieces with a fork to go inside the sandwich. Once the meat was shredded to her liking, she showed the bits to Ginny and chortled, “My love life at the moment resembles this.”
Ginny shoved Hermione playfully, and both women shared a laugh while buttering pieces of bread. They sat at the table with a new bottle of wine and chicken sandwiches, and the tension Hermione felt earlier melted away. She animatedly recited the hilarious yet surprising series of events that followed since the wedding.
Ginny oohed and ahhed at the right places, showing the proper amount of shock at the more intimate moments. When Hermione got to the bit about the fight, Ginny laughed aloud, "Terry is such a bloody moron."
Hermione felt the sudden urge to defend him, "I know, but he is sweet in a defective kind of way." She hadn’t seen him all day, and truth be told until Ginny mentioned him, she hadn’t given him a second thought. Poor bloke.
Ginny did not give a shite about boring Terry Boot; she was eager to hear the bits about Malfoy and his newfound change in personality. It truly intrigued her, and she was dying to know what could bring about such a drastic change in the once arrogant boy. She cleared her throat and probed excitedly, "Malfoy almost kissed you in your flat and again in your office?"
Hermione bit into her sandwich greedily and swallowed hard. She nodded slowly and unhappily. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but she confided with every ounce of honesty she could muster, "Yes, and I let him touch me intimately. I wanted him, Ginny." As pleasurable as it was, she was still mortified by how quickly Malfoy got under her defences and left her wanting.
She cradled her head in his hands and cried in disappointment, “What the hell is wrong with me?"
Ginny smirked devilishly, "There's nothing wrong with you. Going by just looks, he is quite fuckable."
Hermione frowned and stuffed her face with chips. Her mouth full, she replied hotly, "You are not helping, woman.”
Ginny winked playfully, delicately bit into her sandwich, and inquired casually, "When was the last time you had sex?" Never one to beat around the bush.
Hermione stared miserably at her half-eaten sandwich and mumbled in frustration, "I can honestly say I don't remember."
Ginny opened her mouth to retort, but Harry walked into the kitchen with a thick file under his arm and dark circles around his bespectacled eyes. He had heard bits of their conversation when he stopped right outside the kitchen to hug his son.
He dropped his heavy bag clumsily on the floor, grabbed a few chips off Ginny's plate, and popped them into his mouth before asking nosily, "Who's quite fuckable?"
Ginny didn't skip a beat. She said offhandedly, "Malfoy."
Harry dusted the last bits of Floo powder off his black Auror robes and frowned in disgust, “Ah, what's happened now?"
He further voiced his irritation, "I keep hearing his name, and I can't say I'm pleased."
Hermione replied, hoping to clear up any misunderstanding, "Nothing happened, Harry."
Ginny looked away purposely, hid the giggle that bubbled to the surface, and continued to munch on her sandwich. Hermione followed suit and grinned at Harry with her mouth full of chicken.
Harry narrowed his eyes in doubt and threw the women a look of suspicion, "Yeah, right, keep your little secrets, but for Merlin’s sake, be careful."
He pulled out a chair, sat next to Hermione at the small table, and asked seriously, "Did Malfoy really kick Terry's arse?"
Hermione’s eyes sparkled involuntarily as she recalled the smooth, agile movements of the ice-blonde man.
She bobbed her head excitedly and replied with a bit more enthusiasm than she hoped, "He did. Actually, it was quite bizarre to see Malfoy move with such ease." She sliced the air with her hand and accompanied it with a high-pitched Kung-fu hi-yah.
Harry said thoughtfully, "Interesting..."
Hermione thought of the file sitting on top of Kingsleg’s desk. The gruesome pictures made her heart palpitate in anticipation. She wiped her hands on the serviette and questioned gravely, "Any leads on the killer?"
Harry’s face contorted unpleasantly. It was plain to see the toll it was taking on the head of the DMLE. He hissed menacingly and did nothing to hide the contempt he felt, "None. I have been obsessing about it the whole day. One man can't be this detailed and elude capture." His fist connected with the table's wooden surface, causing utensils to scatter and Ginny to shudder in panic.
Harry glared and said in disappointment, "I'm sure we're missing something, but I can't put my finger on it." The desperation in his voice was evident. He wanted nothing more than to catch the raping bastard.
Ginny rubbed his back and encouraged, “You always get them, Harry.” His confidence hung by an invisible thread. He wasn’t sure they could catch the deranged lunatic before he killed again.
Draco pushed open the dark wood door and stepped into a Muggle club. The interior was tastefully decorated in tones of black and dark grey. Music blared from the DJ booth. The place was somewhat packed, and Draco looked around to locate his friends. Partying at a club was not his definition of fun, but Pansy and Theo would not take no for an answer.
He heard his unique name being called over the thumping music, "Draco, over here."
It was easy to spot Theo from a mile away. His lanky frame and wavy brown hair made him stand out like a sore thumb. Draco made his way through the crowd and thought back to the uncomfortable conversation with his mother before he departed for the night.
Narcissa kept aside her almost completed embroidery of an intricate bunch of red roses and inquired curiously but willed her rapidly beating heart to still, "How did it go with Kingsley?"
Max ran in circles around Draco and demanded his attention. He patted the eager dog's head and scratched it under the neck. When the dog tried to jump on him, Narcissa called the dog to heel, "Come here, Max."
Draco avoided eye contact with his mother and replied with next to no enthusiasm, "Not well. He insists on the marriage."
Narcissa’s face fell with sadness, but she probed impatiently, "I see, and how did you respond?"
He could not bring himself to tell her. Especially when he had just returned, it would be a devastating blow. Draco decided to resort to a little white lie until he plucked up the courage to tell his beloved mother his decision, "I, umm...told him I would think about it."
Narcissa knew at once something was wrong. A mother always knows. She studied her son's nervous body language and grilled, "What are you going to do, Draco?"
Draco cleared his throat and replied without hesitation, "All I know is that I won't force Granger to marry me and bear children. Just to say that aloud fills me with disgust."
Narcissa voiced her concern. It had been gnawing at her insides unpleasantly, "I don't want to lose you, son."
It was a double-edged dagger straight to his heart. He bent to kiss his mother's cheek and replied with weaning confidence, "You won't.”
Liar.
Narcissa eyed his smart casual attire, including his signature black shirt and pressed trousers, and raised a brow, "Are you going somewhere?"
Draco ran his fingers through his fine silky hair, grinned, and nodded lazily, "Yes, Theo and Blaise wanted to grab a pint at a new Muggle club of sorts."
Narcissa smiled warmly and encouraged, "Have fun, darling," She returned to her embroidery soon after with troubled thoughts clouding her mind. She could sense the unease radiate off him. He was getting ready to make a drastic move. She felt it in her bones, and an involuntary shudder shook her small frame.
Blaise clamped Draco on the shoulder when he sat down, "How's it going, brother?"
Draco scowled and blinked rapidly as a ray of luminous light hit him square in the face, "Could be better."
Pansy gave him a quick peck on the cheek and frowned, "What's the matter?" She adjusted her fashionable red dress, drummed her nails on the table, and waited impatiently for an answer.
Draco called over a server and murmured in annoyance, "This marriage law is a sodding pain in the arse."
Pansy sipped her drink delicately through a straw and grinned, "Oh, it's not so bad."
Draco rolled his eyes and shot back defensively, "For you."
Pansy shrugged and nodded in agreement, "Yeah, you and Granger are a disaster waiting to happen."
Blaise didn’t look entirely convinced. Instead, he looked sceptical but kept his thoughts to himself.
Draco sighed because there was no correct answer. For a good part of the day, he had thought of nothing else but her.
He had never given Granger any thought in the past, and now his mind was riddled with uncomfortable thoughts about her, and it was baffling, yet he enjoyed them enormously. After his lengthy meeting with Bernard ended, Draco fled to the comforts of the Manor and his room. He had sat cross-legged in his suit and fought to find the inner peace within. It evaded him with perverse purpose. His decision weighed heavily on his heart. To leave his mother filled him with a complete state of unrest.
Blaise's serious voice cut into his thoughts, "Did you meet with Kingsley?"
Draco responded grimly, "I did, and it did not end well. We are stuck in this predicament without a bloody saving grace."
Blaise looked utterly uncomfortable, "Ah, that doesn't sound good." His face fell, and he added cautiously, "Also, I hate to be the bearer of bad news." That bit piqued Draco's interest.
He sat up straight and inquired in concern, "What's happened now?"
Blaise sighed and solemnly recited the events Daphne told him, "Tori saw the Prophet and had one of her episodes."
Draco widened his eyes, lost his composure, and asked hurriedly, "Is she alright?"
Pansy seemed disturbed by the alarming event that occurred, "I hope she's okay."
Blaise nodded and stared into his drink in deep thought, "For the moment, but I think it's about to get a lot worse."
Draco grabbed hold of his tumbler and drained the amber liquid within. He slammed the glass down and hissed, "Fuck. I should have never returned." The music changed, and more people flocked to the floor. Couples and groups of friends moved enthusiastically in time to the music. Some threw their hands up in the air and thoroughly enjoyed themselves.
Pansy squeezed Draco's hand and scolded, "Don't you ever say that."
He shook his head exasperatedly, sipped his drink, and retorted in self-disgust, "I have disrupted two women's lives. One wants to marry me, and the other wants nothing to do with me, but we are pushed together because of some fucking ludicrous law."
Blaise chuckled and pointed to the bar, "And by the looks of it, the woman at the bar wants to take you home." A pretty woman wearing a tight black bodycon dress batted her long made-up eyelashes at him and brazenly bit her lip suggestively.
Draco gave her the one over, ran his fingers through his hair, and smirked. Theo, who had been uncharacteristically quiet until that moment, tossed back his drink and blurted out, "Luna wants to have kids."
Blaise burst out laughing, "Shouldn't you grow up first?"
Theo cooked his head to the side and quipped, "Funny arsehole. You did it. How hard can it be?"
Blaise put Theo in a headlock and ruffled his hair affectionately, “Daddy Nott. Bless that child.”
Pansy beamed, "Don’t listen to them, Theo. I think it’s wonderful."
Theo asked nervously, "Are you and Neville trying?"
Even though he was all for having many screaming, snotty monsters, a part held him back. His father had been a horrible excuse for a human being, and Theo vowed to shower his children with the affection and love he was denied.
Pansy choked on her drink and coughed. She shuddered and answered swiftly, "God no, well, not at this very moment. It is still the honeymoon phase for us. I'm getting to know him. Unlike you guys, we didn't have a conventional start, and I want to enjoy a few years with him before we start a family." His problems were momentarily forgotten.
Draco eyed Pansy, pinched her cheek, and mused, "You sound so....mature."
Pansy laughed, crossed her arms over her bosom, and grinned, "Shut it. You've been back what? Two weeks and you've already made the front page."
Draco’s luscious mouth twisted unpleasantly, and he bit back a nasty retort, "Hilarious."
Theo chimed in, "Boot is a fucking prick. He deserved that beat down."
Draco said wisely with resolve, "Violence doesn't solve problems."
Theo closed his eyes, brought his hands together in a worshipping manner, and adopted a respectful tone, "Yes, master, you speak words of wisdom."
Draco pushed Theo, and the tall man lost his balance and toppled off the high stool. He adjusted his crisp dress shirt and hissed in annoyance, "Will you nutters stop manhandling me?"
A scowl and a look of deep loathing twisted Draco's appealing features. He shook his head in disbelief and said to the group, "I can't imagine why Granger is with a tosser like him, though."
Blaise openly teased, "Are you jealous?”
Draco brushed it off and retorted confidently, "Don't be fucking ridiculous."
Pansy tapped her chin in thought and grinned knowingly, "I don't know. You do sound a bit green with envy."
Theo signalled for another round of drinks and voiced his opinion, "Granger is a sexy witch. I'd fucking judge you if you didn't have a hard-on for her."
He admitted blushingly, “I had the biggest crush on her back at Hogwarts.” Three pairs of eyes stared at him unblinkingly. They stopped what they were doing and let Theo’s bold reveal sink in.
After seeing the utter shock on his closest friends' faces, Theo defended himself fiercely, “What? It was nothing romantic. I just wanted to shag her.” He added with a slight smirk, “My attentions were not well received. She almost hexed my balls off.”
Pansy glanced at the partially fuming man next to her and literally felt the shift in his sweet disposition. She grimaced, “For Salazar’s sake, stop talking.”
Eager to stir the conversation well away from Theo’s remarkable confession, Blaise leaned forward inconspicuously and asked Draco curiously, "When was the last time you had a good roll in the hay?"
Draco stared at Theo with mixed feelings. He felt the sudden confusing urge to thump his best friend into the ground.
Completely taken aback by Blaise’s inappropriate probing, he snapped to attention, glared sternly, and refused outright to give a helpful answer, "I'm not telling you buggers that."
Theo whistled. The loud music drowned it out. He grabbed a bunch of stale peanuts, tossed them into his mouth, and mused, "That long, huh?" He snickered and sneaked a peek at Draco's covered cock, "Well, you better check to see if your bits are functioning."
Draco moved further away from Theo and warned, "My bits are functioning just fine, you git."
In a secluded part of London, a kidnapped twenty-one-year-old pleaded frantically for her life, "Please don't hurt me. I've done all you asked." The demented man had held her captive for days and used her in every way possible.
The thought of his disgusting actions made the bile rise to the surface, and she threw up whatever little food she managed to keep in. His disfigured face twisted in disgust. He didn’t show any form of empathy or a smidge of compassion. His mind was utterly shrouded in darkness. That same darkness descended over his once nice features, but the horrible scar that adorned half his face made the people he passed on the street cringe and move away. He hid it under the strands of dirty long hair that fell over his face.
He stared at the woman cowering at his feet and sneered, "You remind me of her. That filthy bitch. I was never good enough for her."
He stroked the petrified woman’s hair and let the long strands slip through his thin fingers, "She had long red hair, you know? Just like yours."
The woman sobbed uncontrollably and begged, "Please....."
The maniac leered, showing a complete set of sparkly white teeth, and shuddered in ecstasy, "Beg me, I love the fear in your voice." She knew death was near, and if it was so, she gathered her strength, got to her feet, and hissed, “Damn you to hell, you sick fuck.” A blood-curdling scream filled the space as the first blow from the hammer connected with the back of her head.
Blood splattered across the white walls, and the woman fell dead to the floor, but it did not stop the vicious attacks that followed. He continued to strike the lifeless body until his arm gave out, and he fell to the floor and sobbed, “I'm sorry, Mother. Please forgive me.”
Once done, he cleaned her body of any trace of blood, and she looked almost asleep. He returned to her house on the city's outskirts and lay her naked on the floor. He pulled out one of three remaining silver chains with an owl and wand pendant from his pocket and placed it near the now angelic face. The silvery beams of the moon fell over her body. With a gloved hand, he tenderly caressed her porcelain white cheek.
She was beautiful, they all were, but none compared to the beauty of his abusive witch mother. No matter how much he tried to replicate her murder, it was never quite the same. It lacked the satisfaction and exhilaration he felt as he struck her from behind and strangled her to death. His bitch of a mother had stared with haunted eyes as he repeatedly struck her. She taunted him with the look of utter disappointment that she bestowed upon him for twenty-eight long years of his life while he snuffed the life out of the woman who birthed him.
The man surveyed the scene, and a satisfied smile curved his lips. The young woman had been adequate and an easy target. She was too trusting for her own good. Sexually she fulfilled his dark yearnings and completed the tasks set to her with tears in her eyes. He did thirst to see them suffer as he had. He realised he would miss her, but the thought left him as it came. There were others to play with. Bound, gagged and patiently waiting for him.
Two down, two to go. He felt a sexual stirring as he thought of the women waiting for him and the many games he would play until he lost interest, and they fell victim to the ultimate aphrodisiac of death.
Draco drunkenly swayed and walked up the stairs, careful not to awaken his mother. He plopped down on his comfortable bed and stared at the ceiling.
He had a pleasant conversation with the Muggle woman who eyed him from the bar but after a few drinks together, and when she suggested they head back to her place, he bowed out graciously.
The disappointment on her face was evident, but she scribbled her number and shoved it into his hand, kissed the shell of his ear, and drawled seductively, "If you change your mind, give me a call." He had no interest in contacting her.
Yes, it was nice to know that he was still desirable, but a tawny mane of untidy hair kept invading his thoughts. Perhaps, one night with her would erase this intense longing his loins suffered. Fully clothed, with his arm resting behind his head, he stared at the crystal chandelier that hung from the high ceiling in his room until the comforting embrace of sleep whisked him away.
Harry side along apparated with Hermione. She opened the door, tossed her bag aside clumsily, and fell onto the couch. He looked over his friend sympathetically, "Do you want me to stay over? We can chat for hours like the good old days."
Hermione cradled her head in her hands and asked in frustration, "Why is this happening to me, Harry?" Never had she felt this defeated.
Harry walked over, sat down next to his best friend, put a comforting arm around her shoulder, and gave it a tight squeeze, "I don't really have an answer." They sat next to each other in companionable silence.
Hermione looked at her watch and sighed, "You best get back. Ginny will be worried."
Harry nodded in agreement and reluctantly got to his feet, "Yeah." He pulled out his wand, slapped his forehead, and smirked, "Oh, by the way, Ron says hi."
He fought the need to break down in laughter but instead added cheerfully, "He's having a jolly time in America. He mailed some pictures to Ginny. He looks like a rather ripe tomato. Clearly, the weather does not agree with him."
Hermione stifled a laugh and retorted to smiling warmly instead, "I’m glad he's happy." She truly was happy for her ex-boyfriend, but a smidge of resentment lingered around the corners of her heart.
Harry returned the smile and offered reassuringly, "What I'm trying to say is, Hermione. Life doesn't always deal you the deck you want, but somehow it works out."
Hermione purposely looked away and fought the tears that clawed to the surface. She replied miserably, "This is Malfoy, Harry. I cannot look past all he has done to me. I have cried endless nights because of his taunting." She stared at her trembling hands and said desperately, "I am not being unreasonable or dramatic. Even you didn't know how much his cruel words affected me. I always put on a brave face but inside, I was battling a lot of insecurities, and I think on some level, I still am."
Malfoy brought to life everything she doubted about herself.
Harry did understand what she felt but never to the full extent. He felt a deep sense of loathing towards Malfoy, but he swallowed the anger and comforted his best friend, "You are a remarkable woman, and you shouldn't let the childish ramblings of a pampered prat affect you."
He closed the gap between them, bent to her level, took Hermione’s hands in his, and said firmly, "I wish you told me. Anyway, try to drink some coffee and get to bed. Do not answer the door unless you are absolutely sure of the person on the other side."
Her sour mood resumed, and she felt anger at someone besides Malfoy, "I hope you catch him soon. He seems like a real sick bastard."
Harry spat through clenched teeth with purpose, "I hope so too. I won't get a good night's sleep until I do."
Hermione offered a half-hearted smile and said gratefully, "Thank you for bringing me home."
Harry returned the warmth wholeheartedly. It truly gutted him to see her suffer when he and Ron were doing well. He mustered a bright smile and said truthfully, "You're the sister I never had. I love you, Granger."
Hermione mustered a happy smile, "I love you too, Potter." She watched him pull out his wand and disappear with the flick of his wrist.
Chapter 16
Notes:
Building up their story! Sexual tension and important decisions.
To all the comments:- Thank you so much for the delightful feedback! :)
I know the slow burn is gutting, but I do have to bring in that tension. Please do bear with me :)
Enjoy Chapter Sixteen!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
The next morning, Hermione was up at dawn. She managed a few hours of sleep despite her frazzled nerves. In deep thought, she stared at the ceiling and thought about how best to approach the situation at hand. Her head throbbed mildly due to her vanishing inside a bottle of red wine the previous night, but it wasn't too bad, and nothing a quick potion couldn't fix.
She needed, not wanted to see Malfoy. They had to speak about their situation and his drastic mind-altering pronouncement. It was a conversation she dreaded, but someone had to do the dirty work. After a quick hot cleansing shower, she stepped into the coolness of her bedroom, smelling of lavender and roses. While still wrapped in a towel, she dried her hair and let the semi-wet tussles fall wildly around her shoulders. She threw open the doors to her white-painted cupboard and stood with her legs apart, hands on her hip, and contemplated what the most appropriate attire would be.
A pretty new light blue shirt caught her eye. She fetched it along with a matching black pencil skirt and unconsciously wore a matching set of flattering black undergarments. The choice was maddening. Either spread her legs for her childhood tormentor or have her magic taken away. She felt any respect for Kingsley slip away with every abhorrent thought.
Satisfied by her appearance, she took a deep breath, waved her wand and disapparated to Malfoy Manor. She appeared a little way from the entrance. The surrounding gardens were truly exquisite, and minuscule dewdrops clung to the petals of roses that led the way to the ancestral home. The fresh morning air was so breathtaking that Hermione found herself bending over to inhale the rich fragrance of the flowers she passed.
Standing at the bottom of the marble stairs, she stared at the imposing Manor and gathered the courage she would need. “You can do this,” Hermione said to herself and quickly jogged up the stairs. Her heels clicked stridently against the polished floor. Once at the top, she fixed herself up, took a deep breath and used the ancient knocker with a snake entwined around it to make her presence known. She could hear metal colliding with a thick wood echo through the empty halls of the Manor.
Hermione did not have to wait long. The door opened at once, and a very taken-back house-elf stared at her wide-eyed and unblinking. She smiled warmly, "Good morning, Dotty."
The tiny elf shifted her feet nervously, "Miss is here early. The mistress is still asleep." She unsurely looked at the top floors, "Shall I wake her?"
Hermione interrupted and reluctantly mentioned the person she was eager to meet, "No, I'm not here to meet Narcissa. Is Mal... Master Draco awake?" She hoped he wasn't. It would give her immense pleasure to wake him up.
Dotty beamed and nodded enthusiastically, "Yes, Miss. Master gets up at five am to do his exercises and meditate under the big oak tree."
Hermione could not help the surprise that twisted her face. Seriously, who was this man?
She regained her former composure and requested politely, "Can you take me to him?"
Dotty grinned, displaying a few missing teeth, "It would be my pleasure."
Hermione followed the bouncing elf up the stairs along white-marbled corridors until they came to a halt in front of a translucent glass door. She could see a figure moving within the space and hear the muffled grunts and odd groans that came out of the same person. The distressing noises alarmed her, but she said nothing to alert the elf to her thoughts.
Dotty knocked to make her presence known and timidly stepped inside what appeared to be an exercise and training room. Hermione stood out of sight and peered into the room to get a better look. It was entirely covered with black-coloured padded mats and empty for the most part. She saw him engaging with an odd-looking device made of wood. There was a neat shrine of sorts to the far left, and a sizeable bell hung from the ceiling. Every inch of the space baffled her, and she made a mental note to read up on Muggle self-defence.
Dotty cleared her throat and bowed, "Master Draco.”
Draco glanced at the elf but continued with his intense workout. The elf never interrupted him, and her intrusion piqued his interest, "Dotty? What can I do for you? He added with a bright smile, "Might I add what a lovely dress you have on."
Hermione stiffened. The blonde arsehole was being nice to a being he had once considered beneath him and treated poorly.
Dotty beamed, blushed, and hugged herself tightly, "Thank you, sir." Due to her master’s flattering comment, the tiny elf almost forgot why she was there until Hermione cleared her throat pointedly and made a stern face.
Dotty looked at her tiny feet embarrassedly. She wasted no time and quickly announced, "You have a visitor."
Draco was taken aback. His friends slept in until the sun bounced off their arse and more so after a night of heavy drinking, "At this ungodly hour? Who is it?" They had indulged far more than usual.
Hermione thought it best to step forward and make her presence known, "The sun is shining brightly. It can hardly be considered ungodly, Malfoy."
Draco grinned. She had come to him. Most interesting. Well, it was an unprecedented turn of events. It actually might turn out to be a good day indeed, but he kept that thought to himself, and instead, he greeted warmly, "Ah, Granger. This is a pleasant surprise."
He threw her an amused expression and mocked, "Didn't know you were a morning person." Without so much as a second glance, he sped up his movements and strong arms collided with wood noisily.
Hermione looked closer at the space and replied coolly, "I'm not normally up this early." Good manners kicked in even if it was Malfoy she was speaking with. Still, it was hard not to add a bit of sarcasm to her tone, but she straightened and said much too sweetly, "Good morning."
Draco inhaled deeply, and the insistent rays of the sun coated his face in a golden hue. He responded happily, "It is, isn't it?" She could not take her eyes off the sweat dripping down his toned body and the black gloves that fit snugly around his hand and long fingers. Her eyes moved over him and came to rest on the shiny beaded black bracelet he wore in keen interest. Each bead of sweat chased the other down his sculptured abdominal muscles and was absorbed by the black pants he wore.
Scars from the past wove intricate patterns across his pale chest. The rose-tinged healed marks made him appear flawed and normal but added to his appeal if anything.
Draco looked her over and taunted mockingly, "Are you here to continue from where we left off yesterday?" He was clearly referring to their heated moment of passion in her office—a moment she wanted to forget about.
Hermione blushed but hid it well enough to gather her scattered wits and fire back, "You wish. Do not flatter yourself. It was a complete misjudgment on my part and will never happen again."
Draco smirked, refused to break eye contact, and called her out without a shred of remorse, “You would sound more convincing if you stopped staring at me.” He flexed his prominent muscles and pulled at the drawstring of his loose bottoms.
Hermione squirmed uncomfortably and tried to avert her gaze, but Draco stared deep into her eyes from where he stood and quipped, “Am I turning you on?” She gathered some self-control and scoffed, “Not in the least. You repulse me.” Her body disagreed. She unconsciously bit the inside of her cheek, so she didn’t say something utterly inappropriate.
Draco smirked in reply, "Do I? Pity." He dropped his voice so only she would have the gratification of the words he uttered.
His tone turned husky with desire, "I can take you right here and now, and I promise you will be a willing participant." She pictured his tongue at her core and shuddered before swallowing hard. He did seem like the type who would be good at that sort of thing. She would sit on his face with ardent pleasure, which was a fact.
Hermione groaned internally at the appalling thoughts that bounced around her mind. With some degree of control, she pushed aside her sinful thoughts and walked into the padded room without invitation. The tip of her heel dug into the spongey mattress, and she wobbled unsteadily.
Draco raised a gloved hand, narrowed his eyes, and stopped her from taking a step further. He sounded far from pleased. On the contrary, he seemed rather peeved, “This is my place of solitude and peace. I will not have you walking about in those ridiculous shoes. I must insist you show some respect.” He then pointed to his bare feet to further solidify his point.
A seemingly deadly smile curved his lips, and he said with more satisfaction than necessary, “Get rid of them.”
Hermione was not about to give in so easily. She asked in outrage, “What?”
Draco cocked his head to the side and let his eyes rove over her slender legs. His misty grey orbs settled on her stylish Italian black high heels. He watched her struggle to hold onto her bearings and mused, “You look like a baby taking his or her first steps.”
Hermione placed her hands on her hips, regarded the ice-blonde man with some newfound hostility, and scowled, “You are such a git.”
Draco ignored her ramblings, pointed to where she continued to falter, and advised sternly, “If you want to come in here, then do as you are told.”
Hermione stood with her legs apart to balance herself evenly without toppling uncourteously to the ground. She scrunched up her nose and spat, “I don't take orders from the likes of you, Malfoy.”
He pointed to the exit, returned to his routine, and countered coolly, “Then leave. We can pick this up some other time.” She stood staring at him with her mouth hanging open from being dismissed so quickly and unable to find a suitable retort.
Draco took the upper hand and demanded, "Now, Granger!" He pointed to an area in the corner which occupied a single of pair odd-looking cloth shoes.
She reluctantly conceded defeat, "Fine!"
Hermione wobbled over to the area, slipped out of the four-inch heels, kept them neatly in the designated area for shoes, and placed a pedicured, dainty foot onto the soft but sturdy surface.
Without her heels, she was over a foot shorter than him, and he threw her a thoroughly appeased look and teased boldly, “You like being controlled, don't you?” Of all the bloody brazen, inappropriate comments to make.
Her blood boiled, "Piss off." He wasn’t wrong, though.
Draco laughed aloud and continued to practice his defensive moves on the wooden dummy. His arms and hands moved with practised ease. Over and over, he repeated the action and finished with a hard kick to the side of the device, making it tremble and almost come apart.
She watched his movements in fascination, and when he bent down to touch his toes without bending his knees and went into a full split, Hermione widened her eyes and said before she could help herself, “That looks painful.” His family jewels were undoubtedly taking a severe beating.
Draco supposed he was showing off a tab bit and replied sarcastically, “You have no idea. He got to his feet, did a few stretches, and punched the air.
Hermione watched him intently and asked intriguingly, “Is it fun?”
Draco raised a brow and asked in interest, “Do you want to give it a go?” He could not recall her involvement in anything other than study. She was always the one with her nose buried in books.
Hermione pointed to her black skirt and light blue blouse and stated the obvious, “No, thank you. I rather not cover myself in sweat and muck before work.”
Draco shrugged, “Suit yourself.” He moved towards the giant punching bag that hung in the corner. He tightened his gloves and did a few roundhouse kicks. Hermione could not help but notice the specks of dust that flew off the bag whenever his well-timed kick connected with the heavy bag.
The sleek black leather of the gloves covered his fingers like a second skin. At first glance, it looked like an extension of himself. He really was all firm muscles and taut lines.
She was staring again, something she seemed to be doing a lot of when he was around. Then again, hatred aside, he was an impressive specimen. His kick connected hard with the bag, and it swayed dangerously. Draco steadied it with his hands and inquired with perverse satisfaction, “How's your boyfriend’s nose? I didn't get a chance to ask yesterday since you were on your knees and everything.”
Hermione frowned at the double innuendo but replied stubbornly, “Terry is doing very well, and he's not my boyfriend.”
Draco kept his eyes on the bag, took his stance, and laughed, “Someone ought to tell the bloke that. He's completely smitten with you.”
Hermione dreaded the direction their conversation was headed, “Well, that's not my concern.” He abandoned his assault on the bag and turned to face her slowly. He knew her to be the type of person to care about every insignificant thing.
It surprised him that she sounded oddly cold and indifferent towards a man she had been intimate with. He voiced his opinion without holding back, "Never had you pegged for a heartless bitch."
Hermione narrowed her eyes at the unfair remark. Terry wasn't a child, they were adults, and while he wanted more, she simply wasn't in the same mindset to accommodate, so why must she be insulted for that?
She hissed warningly, "You know nothing about me, Malfoy."
Draco locked eyes with the fuming woman. God's, she was an enticing sight when enraged. He wanted to fuck her with abandon. He licked his bottom lip and replied firmly, "I know my presence makes you uncomfortable." She shamelessly watched the faint outline of his soft cock, or did her eyes deceive her because a definite hardness pressed against the cotton material, and she didn't care to be blatantly obvious.
His steely toned voice cut into her thoughts. He wanted her to know that her wandering eyes were not lost by him, "My face is up here, Granger." The mocking tone vanished from his sultry drawl, and seriousness took its place, "Would you like a closer look?"
Hermione disengaged herself from the dangerous thoughts running rampant and muttered almost incoherently, "Hmm, what did you say?"
Draco pointed to a large fluffy towel on a makeshift bench next to a tall water bottle and requested civilly, "Hand me that towel."
Hermione threw the Egyptian cotton a look of contempt and retorted childishly, "Get it yourself." He slicked his hair back and grinned, "Come on, I did ask nicely. Be a good girl."
Hermione rolled her eyes, picked up the white towel, closed the distance between them, and held it out for him to take. She tutted to show her evident annoyance.
A fraction of a second was all it took. Draco grabbed her by the wrist, pulled her close, and trapped her to his body. The towel fell clumsily to the floor, but neither paid much attention to it. He put both arms around her and held on tight. Hermione squirmed and struggled in his hold.
She demanded in panic, "What are you doing?"
Draco buried his head in her messy tangle of hair and inhaled deeply, "Mm... that smell. I could drown in it. It's bewitched me, and I think of it often." His hand dropped to her rounded bottom to pull her close. It was a bold move, and he was fully prepared for her rebuttal that never came.
A gasp escaped her lips as his long fingers dug into her covered arse, and she pressed flush against his sweat-soaked chest. Her hands were palm down and pressed up against his glistening defined pecks. His manly smell invaded her space, and she took a deep breath of him in his rawness. She dug her nails into his flesh in a futile attempt to cause him some discomfort.
A low guttural groan escaped his mouth, and his eyes fluttered shut for a second. When he opened them, they were clouded by the obvious longing for her.
He saw the outline of the black lacy bra peeking out through the unbuttoned top part of her blouse. The smooth skin of her mounds was blemish-free, and he fought the urge to pull down a silky bra cup, take a tit in his mouth and twirl his tongue around what he assumed was a pert rosy nipple.
Draco placed a gloved finger under her chin and lifted her face to meet his. Hermione looked at him through hooded lids. Her fingers were sleek with his sweat, but she made no real effort to move away. Her hands stayed perfectly still. She feared moving them would exacerbate the situation, but by Merlin, she wanted to slide a hand inside his jogging bottoms and palm his cock.
She was mere seconds away from crushing his lips with hers and succumbing to his advances. In that moment of heated weakness, she almost forgot who she was toying with.
His lips almost touched hers, and he whispered, "You’re sweating." She tilted her head back, wiped her brow clean, and appeared puzzled, "No, I'm not."
A knowingly smug smirk curved his lips, "Not up here." His hypnotic eyes travelled down her body, and he expectedly glanced at her crotch.
Hermione balled her hands into fists and pushed against his chest but to no avail. He seemed to enjoy her mild resistance. She brought her head up and hurled, "You’re incorrigible."
His grip loosened, but she stayed firmly in his arms. He took in the wetness where his sweat had rubbed off on her and apologised half-heartedly, "I'm afraid my mucks rubbed off on you."
Hermione stared, mesmerised by the moisture that coated her fingers and nodded indecisively. Draco tucked a curly tendril of hair behind her ear and asked seriously, "Do you want to shower together?" She thought he was making a pass, but it was apparent from how he looked at her that he was serious. Hermione swallowed hard and inquired slowly but firmly, "Why are you doing this?" He was acting so far out of character that it was downright unnerving, and it threw her completely.
Draco moved his hand to the back of her neck and fisted the wild fibres of hair, "What am I doing, Granger?" Hermione felt the urgent tug of his fingers as they entwined themselves around strands of her thick hair.
A jolt of pleasure tore through her, but she refused to show any signs of weakness, "Flirting with me. You despise me."
He pulled her head back and ran hungry eyes over her glowing face. When she challenged him with the flame that burnt in the depths of her orbs, he placed a soft kiss on her cheek, then to the side of her mouth, and rasped, "Do I?"
Merlin, she was losing herself. A hole opened and threatened to swallow her whole and propel her into an area of pleasure unknown. Her breathing elevated, but she still managed to fire back in a sultry undertone, "Yes, you do. You think I'm disgusting."
He cupped her face with his free hand. The rough texture of the leather felt deliriously good against her skin. He used his thumb to caress her flushed cheek, "There's nothing remotely disgusting about you."
Hermione closed her eyes, leaned into his touch, and muttered, "You don't mean that." Salazar, she was so receptive to the attention he bestowed. A sudden possessiveness burst forth, and he bared his teeth in a futile attempt to control himself. These feelings went against his teachings, and they did not sit well with him.
Still, he owed her an honest answer. Brushing away the strands that fell on her face, he said truthfully, "All I see is an accomplished, stunning woman in my arms."
She was glad he was holding her up because had she been standing on her own, the words, he uttered made her knees buckle. He laid a trail of light but precise kisses down her neck and groaned against her skin, "I must say you look rather enticing surrounded by my morning filth. It's a sight one could get used to."
Hermione felt the slightest touch and probe of his tongue press into her heated skin. She threw her head back, "Malfoy...."
He said frankly, "I feel strangely drawn to you." His hold on her tightened, and he demanded, "Give in."
Hermione opened her eyes and replied in contempt. The conflict in her crackled, but she kept it at bay. She stared into his face and warned, "Don't say things like that to me."
Draco stared back, willed his rapidly beating heart to still, and insisted, "Why? It's the truth."
Conflict won over, and Hermione retaliated, "It fucks with my head, and you have done enough of that to last a lifetime."
Draco reluctantly relaxed his hold and offered the most genuine apology of his life, "I'm sorry, Granger."
Hermione was disturbed and troubled by her body's reaction to her former bully. She hissed, "I don't want your fucking apology." Without a shadow of a doubt, he offered, "Tell me what you want. Ask me for anything, and I'd gladly give it up."
Hermione stiffened, pressed her lips down for a quick moment, and replied with weaning confidence, "I want you to let me go." She should've asked for her weight in gold and donated it to her favourite charities.
Draco bent to her ear, kissed the earlobe, gently grazed it with his teeth, and said hoarsely, "As you wish." He let go, spread his arms wide, and offered himself whole, "I want to make amends for how I've treated you."
Hermione missed the warmth. It was the third time she would deny him because of their unsettling past. She accused, "And flirting with me and a possible night of sex is the way to do that?"
Draco chuckled, "No, but it is a rather pleasurable start, don't you agree?"
Hermione stomped her foot down and argued, "I most certainly disagree. You made me feel shite about myself. You have no right to make me feel this way, so please stop it. He softened his tone; regret laced his heavy words, "I know. Let me fix this, Hermione." Her name rolled off his tongue like it was meant to be, and she would not stand for it. She closed her eyes and let the overwhelming rush of emotions wash over her, "No, you don't know and don't you dare use my name."
Draco put up his hands in defeat, "Okay, I'm sorry." Hermione felt her patience snap, and she scolded severely, "And another thing, stop apologising."
She added viciously, "it sounds stupid coming out of your mouth, and it means nothing to me." He had his work cut out for him. Did he expect anything less? Not in a heartbeat. It was a minor miracle she tolerated being in the same room as him, but he couldn't help the fire she ignited every time they were alone.
Draco pointed to the area just above her shaped eyebrow and said with a smile, "It's healed nicely." She touched the barely visible mark. At home, she had scrutinised it and pondered over the ability he possessed when it dawned on her what it was.
Hermione fixed her now crumpled shirt and raised a curious brow, "How long have you been able to do wandless magic?"
Draco grinned and retorted sarcastically, "Ah, the smartest witch of our age has finally figured it out." He added mockingly, "Took you long enough."
Hermione reasoned, "It's not something you see every day." She was beyond impressed that he had mastered such a unique talent. Most tried but failed miserably in their attempt. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she inquired, "Where did you learn how to do that?"
Draco quipped playfully, "Careful you’re salivating, Granger." He trusted her and saw no misgivings about letting let her in on his secret, "It's not where but how. Once I perfected meditation and made peace with my past, I could perform wandless magic."
Hermione grew thoughtful, "I read about that somewhere."
Draco rolled his eyes, "Of course you did." She wandered over to the wooden dummy, ran her fingers along the smooth surface, and probed further, "Where have you been all these years?"
He ignored her question and came straight to the point, "Why are you here, Granger? It's obviously not to see how I am, and my mother's asleep." Despite the sexual tension, there were more pressing issues to address.
She only got the first word out before being rudely interrupted, "Kingsley..."
Draco snickered and offered smugly, "Ah, you’re playing messenger."
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and glared, "The Minister wants me to help overturn your decision."
Draco raised a curious brow and quipped knowingly, "But you have no intention of doing that." He couldn't help the laughter that rippled off him, "I had no idea my decision would merit a home visit."
Hermione rubbed her arms in an attempt to warm herself. She took a deep breath and told him sternly, "Well, Kingsley is quite displeased by your supercilious attitude, and as he eloquently put it, if I don't play along, I am to join you in the Muggle world."
Draco balled his hands into fists, and a bluish glow encased them. He glared, and anger radiated off him in waves, “What? He can't fucking do that. This is my choice. He can hardly penalise you for it."
Hermione was clearly taken aback by his outburst, but she shrugged and replied unsurely, "I doubt he meant it. It's just an empty threat from a desperate man." While she genuinely believed that to be the truth, there was a smidge of doubt that niggled at her.
Draco asked in keen interest, "Desperate, how so?" He found the Minister's behaviour rather bizarre.
Hermione couldn't be arsed to go into the details of pureblood nonsense, but she offered a summarised explanation, "Sacred twenty-eight and all that pureblood bullshite."
Draco was beside himself, "That's preposterous. There is no hard and fast rule that my line has to continue." If there was, his mother nor his father had informed him. It seemed like a thing Lucius Malfoy would proudly declare to the world.
Hermione shook her head exasperatedly, "Apparently, it's important that it does."
Draco looked worried. He stared into the distance in deep thought.
After a few minutes, Hermione gave him some space and gathered her courage to ask, "Umm, did you mean it?" He replied with a crisp, "What?" She exaggeratedly pointed to the finery that surrounded them within the room but mostly outside and asked in sincere interest, "Would you give all this up to keep from marrying me?"
Draco replied without a single second’s hesitation, "Of course. I won't force you into a marriage you don't want." Every word he said was the absolute truth. He emphasised the word you.
That baffled her, and she probed, "And you do? Do you even want to marry me?" It sounded like he would entertain the thought. Physically, she was appealing and intellectual, but when it came down to the bitter facts of building a life together, he knew they couldn't possibly live in joyful matrimony.
He threaded carefully. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he didn't want her and needlessly crush her feelings or ego.
With a small, understanding smile, Draco replied cautiously and hoped his choice of words was for the best, "I never said that, but it is worse for you than it will ever be for me. Besides, I owe you for the horrid way I treated you in the past."
Hermione felt his sincerity, even though it was a bitter pill to swallow that the imposing man before her could be a changed man. But old habits die hard, and she demanded sarcastically, "Do you honestly feel remorse for your actions, or is all this a cleverly devised plan to throw people off?"
Draco felt his temper slip. He understood her anger, but he had been nothing but a complete gentleman towards her. Narrowing his eyes to mere slits, he hissed, "If you're here to convince me, you’re doing a piss poor job of it."
He added in obvious annoyance, "Let us drop the pretences, shall we?"
Hermione concurred. This was the Malfoy she could relate to. A smirk curved her red lips, and she fawned mockingly, "I have no bloody intention of convincing you of anything. If you intend to leave all this behind, I'm not going to stop you." She stared directly at him and hurled without a single thread of guilt, "I can honestly say, I don't give a rat's arse if the Malfoy line dies with you."
Draco retaliated and shot back fiercely, "I doubt you can even if you tried. I have already made up my mind." His face twisted in sadness, and he said in remorse, "My only regret is leaving my mother.” He studied her sudden change in body language at the mere mention of Narcissa and asked expectantly, "Will you continue to be there for her as you have in the past?" There was no doubt his mother and Granger were close. They had come together and bonded in an unparalleled way.
Hermione watched him intently, and for a fraction of a second, her heart broke at his honest declaration. She nodded without hesitation, "You have my word. It might be hard for you to comprehend, but I am very fond of your mother." She added for good measure, "It’s shocking that you came out of her."
Draco couldn't help but smile at the childish banter. He nodded decisively, "It's settled then."
Hermione nodded in reply and smirked, "But it'll be our little secret. No telling on me to Kingsley." He was impressed by her innate Slytheriness.
Draco gave a gentlemanly nod and grinned, "I will be sure to tell the Minister that you tried your utmost to convince me."
He took off his gloves, moved his fingers about to generate better blood circulation, and asked haughtily, "Besides, do I look like a rat to you?"
She poked fun at his expense, "Hmm, a rat, no. Definitely a ferret."
He had walked right into that one, but it allowed him to add a snide remark, "Even as a ferret, I'm still better looking than most, including your rather plain boyfriend."
Hermione was getting thoroughly annoyed, "He is not my boyfriend." Was he deaf that she had to keep repeating the same thing? It was a thought that constantly plagued his mind. He decided to put caution to the wind and ask the spirited woman, "Have you slept with him?"
Hermione was appalled by the question. She gritted her teeth but managed to hiss an eligible, "That's none of your business, Malfoy."
Draco grinned triumphantly, "So, that's a firm no." He enjoyed her discomfort immensely. If she had slept with the mediocre wizard, it would make breaking his nose worthwhile, but that wasn't the case.
A satisfied smirk tugged at his lips, and he said, "Shocking since ponytail boy wants nothing more than to get into your pretty little knickers."
Hermione frowned and made her displeasure evident, "That is a vulgar way of pointing it out."
She lied unconvincingly, "Well, for your information, we have."
Draco looked thoughtful, "Hmm, I'm quite gifted at knowing when people lie."
Hermione defended weakly, "I am not lying."
Draco laughed aloud and pointed to an area on her face, "Yes, you are. The twitch on the side of your right eye increases when you fib.” Her fingers went to the spot. What bloody twitch was he on about?
He might have sounded hopeful, maybe even a bit desperate, but he warned, "Don't sleep with him, Granger. You can do better than Belt."
Hermione stifled the giggle that rose, "Boot, his name is Boot."
Draco rolled his eyes, "Whatever."
Hermione snorted and cynically pointed out, "I suppose you think you're better?"
Draco puffed his chest out importantly. He hardly needed reassurance that he was indeed better than Boot.
He ran his fingers through his knotted hair strands and replied smugly, "There's a distinct difference between thinking and knowing."
His confidence was staggering. Hermione shook her head and frowned, "You are unbelievable."
Draco fiddled with the drawstring on his bottoms. He looked up, stared into Hermione’s dark chocolate spheres, and requested politely, "Join us for breakfast. Mother will enjoy your company. "
He looked out of the window and concluded that it was late enough for the rest of the Manor to be awake. Draco added fondly, "She should be up by now."
Hermione was surprised by the invitation. She hadn't expected it, which threw her off. She fumbled with her words, "What? I er.."
Draco sensed her unease and added a joke into the mix to lighten the mood, "I promise, I won't bite. Well, not hard, at least, and not unless you ask me to."
Hermione regarded the tall, pale-skinned man. She flashed a devilish grin, cocked her head to the side, and replied kindly, "I think we can share a meal and be civil to each other."
Draco smirked and said good-naturedly, "That's the spirit. I'll meet you downstairs." She stood rooted to the spot, entranced by his movements and how his fingers pulled at the drawstring.
His amused voice bore into her thoughts. She was shamelessly staring again. Close up. His body was even more impressive, "Granger, are you going to stand there staring at me while I undress?" She snapped clear out of her daze, stepped back, and almost fell, "What? No."
Draco let out a laugh and said confidently, "I have no qualms about it, but there are more comfortable places in the Manor where you can rip the clothes off me."
Hermione’s mouth fell open in shock. She couldn't help but stare at the bare-bodied ex-Slytherin smirking at her. He closed the gap between them and drawled, "Morning sex has a rather desirable quality, don't you agree?"
Hermione took a further step back, away from his prying hands, and retorted sarcastically, "I know you’re probably used to bloody brainless women falling at your feet but let me assure you, I am not one of them." Sure you aren't, Granger. Then stop staring at the man's body.
Draco bowed in respect but teased, "Oh, of course not, Madam Undersecretary."
Hermione frowned at the realisation that he was trying to rile her up, "You're making fun of me, aren't you?"
Draco looked offended, "I wouldn't dare." He strode towards an open door. She could make out white bathroom tiles and a sizeable glass-encased cubicle from where she stood. He glanced over his shoulder and brazenly said, "The offer to join me in the shower is still open."
Hermione turned on her heel, gathered her shoes and quite literally fled the room with Draco's laughter bellowing in her wake. She was sorely tempted to call his bluff and take him up on the offer, but somehow, she knew it was no trick.
The way his eyes ran over her body was enough to tell her that. He had this intensity about him that made her shudder in anticipation. It was pretty hard to put into words, only to feel his smouldering gaze devour her whole. No, Hermione, this is Malfoy. Comments from their past tormented her –
"Granger, they're after Muggles. D'you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around.…they're moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh."
She remembered how angry Ron and Harry had been at the cruel words spewing out of Malfoy's mouth. Caught up in her thoughts and struggling with the task of putting her shoes back on, she overlooked a door closing and an aristocratic voice calling out her name in surprise, "Hermione?"
It took Narcissa two attempts to get the attention of the distracted witch who was in her own world. The regal woman dressed in shimmering grey robes tried again, more loudly this time, "Hermione?" Finally, she managed to get through.
Oh, hell.
Hermione smiled warmly and greeted, "Good morning, Narcissa." A surge of guilt swept over her, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at the older woman.
Narcissa waved aside the greeting and got straight to the point, "When did you arrive?"
Hermione cleared her throat and replied sheepishly, "A little after seven."
Narcissa raised a perfectly shaped brow and questioned suspiciously, "Should I ask why you're here this early and coming out of my son's training room?"
She grinned uncharacteristically and quipped, "I'm assuming you didn't spend the night."
Hermione blushed crimson at the meaning, "Oh, Merlin, no." She hurriedly explained, "I had some things to discuss with Malfoy."
Narcissa eyed the young witch sceptically, "No doubt you did. Am I allowed to know what these things are?"
Hermione averted her gaze nervously, tried to gather her wits, and said diplomatically, "I think he should tell you when the time is right." Narcissa narrowed her eyes and probed impatiently, "What are you two planning? Whatever it is, I doubt I will like it." Both were headstrong individuals and stubborn as mules.
Hermione spotted a glass cabinet she had not seen before. Eager to stir the conversation towards more positive things, she asked in interest, "That's gorgeous. Is it new?"
Narcissa followed her gaze, nodded, and replied sternly, "Yes, it is, and stop trying to change the topic."
Hermione shifted her feet and responded, "I'm not. There's really nothing to tell."
Narcissa threw the young witch a look of apprehension. Her long robes trailed behind her, and Hermione sidestepped the material that got under her foot. The regal woman glanced over her shoulder and saw Hermione following her. She asked in surprise, "Are you joining us for breakfast?"
Hermione nodded meekly and explained in a hurry, "Your son invited me, and I graciously accepted because I wanted to see you." They entered the lavish area and sat down at the long table.
Narcissa looked perplexed and anything but convinced by Hermione’s lie. Instead, she offered a motherly smile, "Indeed, but I am pleased to see you. I miss our chats." A voice from the entrance injected, "Well, there's no reason why they can't continue." He ran his long fingers through his slightly wet wild hair and grinned, "Don't let my return stop your weekly meetings."
They turned towards the voice, and Hermione’s breathing hitched. She brought her thighs together, clamped them shut, and willed the moisture lining her silk knickers to drift away. He was wearing a white turtleneck and blue jeans. She wanted nothing more than to run her fingers through his incredibly soft hair.
Draco gave his mother a quick peck on the cheek, "Morning, Mother."
Narcissa smiled fondly, "Good morning, my son."Hermione thought he would bend to kiss her cheek too, but Draco took his place at the head of the table, reached for the white napkin, and placed it on his lap.
He turned to face her and flashed her his most flawless smile, "Thank you for accepting my invitation, Granger." The pungent smell of his cologne filled the space. It was such an intoxicating fragrance. She felt herself lean towards it involuntarily.
So caught up in her thoughts, Hermione mumbled incoherently, "Hmpugh..."
Narcissa looked at her in concern, but Draco mused, "What? I didn't quite catch that."
Hermione covered her mouth, coughed politely, and straightened, "I'm sorry, you’re welcome." Idiot. Get a bloody hold of yourself, woman. Malfoy is an evil sodding git. She was completely aware of his presence and how he kept undressing her with his clear grey eyes.
Narcissa was oblivious to sexual tension steaming up the room, or she was but chose to ignore it. She clicked her fingers, and Dotty appeared out of thin air. Narcissa smiled affectionately at the tiny elf and requested politely, "Dotty be a dear and serve breakfast." Within seconds the table was laden with cut fruit, platters of cold cut meats, fresh bread, plump juicy sausages, buttery scrambled eggs, sizzling bacon, and a variety of jams and marmalade. The area filled with a mouthwatering aroma, and Hermione felt her stomach churn in hunger.
She waited for everyone else to serve themselves before she helped herself, but Draco shot her an amused look and offered, "After you, Granger." She helped herself to a spoonful of scrambled eggs, a few strips of bacon, and two slices of toast smothered in butter. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man at the table eat a few pieces of fruit.
The unkind words left her mouth before she could heed them, "How frugal of you."
Narcissa nodded in agreement and cut up a fat sausage, "I always tell him to eat more."
Draco shrugged and bit into a ripe peach. A tiny trickle of juice dripped down his chin, and he lapped at the sweet nectar with his tongue.
He smiled at the ladies and argued fondly, "I'm just getting started. Besides, I can't afford to pack my body with calories. It makes my body lethargic and interferes with meditation." Suddenly conscious of her eating habits, Hermione stared at her plate packed with greasy food.
Fuck it. It was delicious, and she hardly ever got home-cooked breakfast. Her meals usually came in plastic containers. They stole meaningful glances as they continued with the hearty meal. He bit into fruit suggestively and glimpsed her way to catch her reaction. She purposely ignored him and ate with gusto. An uncomfortable silence followed, pierced only by the sounds of knives and forks scraping against China plates.
Hermione felt the rough sole of a shoe rub up against her exposed calf. She stiffened and dropped her knife clumsily. Narcissa raised a brow and inquired, "Are you alright, Hermione?"
Words deserted her, Hermione nodded to appease Narcissa, and when the older woman turned away, she threw the grinning platinum blonde a look of deep loathing, but she didn't attempt to thwart his advances or move her chair away. Her thoughts from the previous day crept into her mind.
She did perversely enjoy Malfoy lusting after her. It was the bitter truth. It gave her immense satisfaction that a man who considered her beneath him was willing to be touched by her most intimately, and that little fact was sending her hormones all the wrong signals.
Draco withdrew his leg and bit into a piece of marmalade and toast as if nothing transpired. He dabbed the corners of his mouth to get rid of excess crumbs and asked sincerely, "Granger, would you do us the honour of joining us for dinner? I have some news to share that involves you."
Narcissa sat up straight. Her son's invitation to have Hermione over for dinner piqued her interest and sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. She asked him impatiently, "What news might that be?"
Draco reached over, covered his mother's hand with his, and replied tactfully, "Patience, mother."
Narcissa did not care for their carefree attitude nor to be handled with kids gloves. It was unnerving, and she felt a deep sense of unease in her gut.
Never one to hold back, she voiced her thoughts harshly, "The both of you are acting rather strange, and I can't say that I care for it."
Hermione interrupted. She mustered a smile and hoped to neutralise the situation, “Oh...yes, that would be lovely, Malfoy."
Draco perked up and smiled gratefully, "Splendid."
Narcissa threw them looks of suspicion but kept mum for the time being. Dotty served cups of steaming tea. Everyone held a cup and sipped the hot soothing liquid.
Hermione spied the latest edition of the Daily Prophet and asked Draco curiously, "Did you see the article in the Prophet?"
Draco chuckled, "I did. I am quite fond of that picture. They captured my good side."
Hermione stomped on his foot under the table and clenched her teeth, "Malfoy, you arrogant pri..."
Narcissa reprimanded sternly, "Draco!" The blonde continued to laugh. He found it quite hilarious, in fact, "Relax, mother. I'm only teasing Granger."
He winked at Hermione and joked, "Her boyfriend is in one piece."
Narcissa said in realisation, "Oh, he's the gentleman you were with at the Leaky Cauldron." After a moment’s thought, she added, "It never dawned on me."
Draco frowned and wondered what circumstances led to his mother meeting with Granger’s plaything. He inquired at once, "You've met him?"
Narcissa sipped her tea and offered offhandedly, "Not really. I ran into Hermione as they were...Well, you know." She trailed off, leaving the rest to their avid imaginations.
Hermione blushed, hurriedly gulped the scalding liquid, and burnt her tongue in the process.
Narcissa advised firmly, "You two must be careful. The vultures at the Daily Prophet are always looking to stir up trouble. Be mindful of your actions.”
Draco’s face fell, but yet, Hermione caught him staring at her intently. Both shared a grave look of uncertainty, but none dared to utter a word.
Their next story would knock everyone's bloody socks off.
Chapter 17
Notes:
Slow burn! :)
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Enjoy Chapter Seventeen!
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HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
The Burrow
"Would you like one lump or two, dear?" Molly asked from the kitchen.
Andromeda sat at the table and smiled pleasantly, "Two, please."
Molly added the sugar cubes to the mug and stirred the contents well until they dissolved into the milky goodness. She brought the hot mugs over and joined Andromeda at the table. An energetic Teddy Lupin sat cross-legged on the hand-woven carpet and stroked the tabby cat, who purred in satisfaction.
Molly threw the small boy a look of pure adoration and said brightly, "It is lovely to see you both."
Andromeda took a chocolate biscuit out of the tin and bit into it gingerly before replying cheerfully, "I thought of popping in since we haven't been by since the wedding." She continued to munch on the biscuit and added in admiration, "Such a lovely affair, by the way. It was very well planned."
Molly managed a smile and sipped her tea. Her reply was controlled yet happy, "Tracey does seem to have things well under control."
Andromeda asked curiously, "Speaking of such things. How is Ron?"
Molly laughed good-heartedly, "He's having a ball in America. They seem to have bonded quite nicely in their short time together."
Andromeda smiled politely, "That Is pleasing to hear."
Molly added cheerfully, "Although I wish he would stop sending me pictures." She fetched a few photographs, and the latest one included a happy picture of the couple at Disneyland with Ron sporting massive Mickey Mouse ears.
Teddy rushed over. He looked at the pictures, and his infectious laughter filled the space, "Uncle Ron looks like a giant mouse."
His young face looked thoughtful, "Disneyland sure looks like fun." He asked his grandmother excitedly, "Can we go someday, Gran?"
Andromeda patted his full head of blue hair lovingly, "We can try, my darling."
Molly pulled Teddy close and hugged him, "You're growing like a weed."
Teddy grinned, "I've seen pictures of dad and Uncle Harry told me he was really tall. I hope I grow to be as tall as him."
Molly choked back a sob, and her lips quivered, "I'm sure you will."
Andromeda stared into her coffee, lost in deep thought.
Molly asked in interest, "Did you speak to Narcissa at the wedding?"
Andromeda sipped her tea and shook her head, "No, but we did acknowledge each other's presence."
Molly looked hopeful, "It might be time to mend broken bridges," she said thoughtfully, "Draco seems to be a changed man. I saw him dancing with our Hermione."
Andromeda pressed her lips down to form a thin, stern line and muttered, "Hmm, well, whether he's changed or not remains to be seen." The boy looked too much like Lucius. She hoped the uncanny resemblance would be the only quality he inherited from his ignorant father.
They chatted about the other Weasley children, and Molly excitedly told Andromeda about Charlie, Percy, and young James. Teddy stared as he often did at the happy family photographs of Molly and Arthur hugging their children. He wished for warmth like that, and he did have great uncles and aunties and a loving grandmother, but it simply wasn't the same thing. He concentrated so hard on the pictures that one of the frames cracked and fell to the floor in pieces.
Teddy backed away and apologised profusely, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it."
Molly was at his side in an instant to cradle him. He buried his head in the warmth she offered and sobbed, "I didn't mean it." She hugged him and cooed, "Of course you didn't, darling. It's quite all right." The picture of Molly hugging Ginny lay face up. Andromeda picked it up, brushed away the broken bits of glass and waved her wand over it. Once the glass was replaced, she put it back in its original place and pulled her beloved grandson into a tight hug.
Andromeda patted his back and reassured him, "I know you didn't...calm yourself. Accidents happen."
She and Molly exchanged a grave look of concern over the tuft of bright green hair and shaking child.
No 12 Grimmauld Place
Harry's snowy white owl landed on its perch inside their bedroom and ruffled its wings noisily to get her master's attention. She bore a strong resemblance to Hedwig and Harry bought her on impulse when shopping in Diagon Alley. Like Hermione and Ginny, he had overindulged to ease the tension of the new case. He had solved many crimes, but this particular one evaded him with purpose, and it riled him up to the point of near insanity. He cracked open an eye, and the impatient owl took it as a sign to approach him. She landed on the bedside cupboard and hooted with importance.
Ginny rolled away from her husband, covered her head with a fluffy pillow, and groaned. She glanced at the clock from underneath the pillow and frowned. It was half-past eight, and James would be up soon.
Harry flung his legs off the bed, scratched his head, and yawned. He said groggily, "I'm up." He affectionately stroked the bird's pure white feathers and smiled sleepily. The owl, in turn, closed its eyes and gave a low hoot of content.
Even without his glasses, his eyes went straight to the bright red envelope clutched in the owl's talons. A red envelope spelt disaster. He quickly fetched his glasses, slipped them on, grabbed the letter, tore it open and read the contents. His eyes scanned over the details urgently. Once done, he crumpled the paper and flung it across the room in anger. Not another one. Head in his hands, he apologised to the woman whose life he couldn't save, "I'm sorry. Forgive me."
Ginny sat up at once and hugged her distraught husband from behind, "Calm down, Harry. You will catch the bastard."
Harry let himself be held as disappointment embodied him. He dreaded facing the woman's family. That was the most challenging part. Sharing the gruesome details of a loved one's demise was what he hated about the job.
James came running in on cue, jumped on the bed, and tried to climb on Harry's back, but Ginny caught their son midair, smothered him with kisses, and said gently, "Daddy needs to go to work love. How about you help mummy make breakfast?" The happy toddler bounced off the bed and waited patiently for his mother to join him by the door.
Ginny placed a comforting kiss on Harry's bareback, got to her feet, tied her hair up in a messy bun and grinned at her son jumping up and down impatiently. She mumbled affectionately, "Little rascal." Taking his small hand in hers, she threw her hunched-over husband a look of concern and led the boy out.
Harry grabbed the edge of the bed in frustration, his fingers dug deep into the bedding, and he fought to control his temper. He hoisted himself up and headed straight for the bathroom. Harry buttoned his sleek black Auror robes when Ginny returned with a steaming mug of coffee in his signature Gryffindor cup. He took the cup with a small forced smile and took a gratifying sip.
Ginny looked sympathetic, "I know how important it is for you to catch him, but you can't let the case consume you."
Harry frowned. It was unlike Ginny to lecture him this way, "It's my job."
Ginny stared into her husband's green eyes and said firmly, "I understand, but you're hardly around except for the odd day you turn up at a decent time like yesterday ."
Harry felt his annoyance grow. He opened his mouth to reply, "Ginny...." She interrupted him and answered truthfully, "Your son misses you."
After a second, her gaze softened, and she stroked his cheek lovingly, "I miss you."
Harry kept his temper at bay and responded, "I know, but I have a community depending on me. I owe them a safe world to raise their families."
"Always thinking of others," Ginny said with a sigh and turned to leave, but Harry pulled her back and hugged her around the waist, "I love you and James more than my life."
She turned in his arms, kissed the tip of his nose, and smiled, "Go save the world, Potter."
Malfoy Manor
After Granger took her leave, Draco had a hankering to take a stroll under the warm sun. He looked around, realised something was amiss, and voiced his concern, "Where's Max?" A fond smile lit up Narcissa's face. She was getting quite attached to their canine companion, "Ah, he should be in the shed. I had him sent to a Muggle vet for grooming and trimming of nails." She hid an amused expression and confided, "I have three dresses riddled with various claw marks and holes."
Draco laughed aloud and made his way over to the large kennel that housed the white German Shepherd. He thought of his lips ghosting over Granger's skin and decided he hadn't wanted a woman in a long time. The fact that she was such a forbidden fruit made her all the more desirable, and he craved to gorge on her hidden sweetness.
Max's unmistakable whimper could be heard loud and clear. The growing dog longed to leave the confinement of his cage and run through the open space of the gardens. Draco sensed the puppy's distress as he got closer.
He flicked his wrist, and the lock came undone. Max ran towards him at breakneck speed, jumping into his waiting arms. He buckled under the dog's weight, fell to his knees, and ruffled Max's head and underbelly. A melodiously sweet voice made it to Draco's ears, "He's beautiful." He petted Max, rose to his feet, dusted the stubborn long white fur that clung to his clothes, and smiled, "Tori, I wasn't expecting you."
The surprise he felt was evident in the tone of his voice. He silently thanked Merlin she had arrived when she did and not when Granger was around. Astoria returned the smile he bestowed upon her tenfold and said happily, "I wanted to see you. I hope it's alright that I came by unannounced."
Max sniffed Astoria's hem and familiarised himself with her scent. She affectionately followed the dog's movements and asked eagerly, "Can I pet him?"
Draco responded, "Of course," and firmly instructed the dog, "Max, stay." Max obeyed his master's command, cocked his head to the side, and keenly awaited instructions. His long tongue fell out, and thick strands of drool fell at its paws. The dog took kindly to Astoria's soft fingers running through its long strands of fur.
She said fondly, "He's so precious. I've always wanted one, but mother never allowed it."
Astoria was beautiful. Her cheeks were rosy and sun-kissed, and her long black hair blew lightly in the wind.
Draco cleared his throat and addressed a more pressing issue, "What can I do for you?"
She looked around the surrounding area, and a warmness spread across her face, "Can we take a stroll around the gardens?"
Draco hesitated, but there was no real cause for him to decline an innocent walk around the estate. "Of course," he said with a rather toothy grin and offered his arm, which she enthusiastically accepted. Astoria leaned in and took a deep breath of his cologne. They passed a row of blossoming white and yellow roses in perfect rows.
Astoria gushed, "Your mother's roses are flourishing."
Draco gazed at the flowers lazily and nodded in reply, "Yes, they are. She tends to them as if they were her children." Max chased after a butterfly and disappeared from sight. Draco grew impatient and called after him, "Max, come here, boy." He wanted the dog by his side. It served as an invisible barrier between him and the woman holding onto him possessively.
Astoria swallowed to clear the lump that formed in her throat, asking bluntly, "Are you and Granger an item?" Straight to the point then, he would be forced to humour her.
Draco stiffened but stared straight ahead and queried, "What gave you the idea we were?"
Astoria brushed her fingers on the petals of a large flower and hesitated, "The article in the Prophet, of course."
Draco chuckled, "Ah, and has the Prophet ever been known to print the truth?"
Astoria stopped dead in her tracks forcing Draco to follow her lead. She turned him, forcing him to look directly at her, and probed impatiently, "Are you saying it's not true?"
He didn't particularly enjoy the line of questioning, but he grudgingly answered, "I did break the man's nose, that part was true, but the mention of a love triangle is bollocks. Granger and I are involved in no such way."
Contentment radiated off Astoria's small frame, "You don't know how happy it makes me to hear you say that."
She lowered her head as another harsh realisation sunk in, "What about the law?"
His voice hardened, "I have dealt with it." Bringing his head up from staring at his shoes, he tried to keep his following words straightforward yet practical enough for her to see reason, "Tori, please listen…." He needed her to understand.
Astoria closed the gap between them, placed a finger on his lips to stop him from saying anything else, and shook her head slowly, "Please don't deny me, Draco." He didn't deny her per se, but a relationship between them was just not on the cards. He felt no stirring of any sort towards her except in appreciation of her beauty.
Draco mumbled unconvincingly, "I'm not, but...."
Astoria felt her breathing hasten and her heart fill with joy. She said boldly, "Then kiss me." She moved closer to his body, went on tiptoes, and placed a gentle but enduring kiss on his lips. He stood unmoving. Blaise's words from the night before rang steadily in his head about her having another episode. It was harmless enough, so he let himself be kissed for the second time. He should have known better than to fuel the infatuation of a disturbed woman, even though he offered no enthusiasm or enjoyment and just let her do as she wished.
A seemingly irritated cough interrupted them. Astoria saw no cause for alarm and stood firmly by Draco's side. On the other hand, the sound made him tense, and beads of sweat gathered above his top lip. He turned around in time to catch Granger shooting metaphorical daggers at him.
She said sweetly, "I'm sorry, but I left my ledger in the foyer." Her haste to confront him and the events that followed caused her to leave her bulky journal behind. She would've let it rot rather than return to claim it, but unfortunately, the book held important dates, documents, notes, and doodles depicting her feelings towards wizards who wove in and out of her life. Namely, Ron, Terry, Viktor, and a detailed sketch of Malfoy drowning. It was the equivalent of a diary.
Draco cleared his throat and took a step closer, "Granger..."
Hermione stood her ground and cut him off mid-sentence, "I'll pop in, grab it, and be out of your hair in a jiffy."
He said firmly, "Stop." It fell on deaf ears.
Hermione hurriedly said, "I'm sorry for the intrusion," and turned to walk away when Astoria laughed and replied with false politeness, "That's quite all right, Granger."
She looked Hermione over and mocked, "Hurry along now. You mustn't be tardy. Good jobs are hard to find."
Draco stiffened at the rude remark and frowned at the petite brunette holding onto his arm jealously as if to stake her claim.
He heard the screech of protesting heels as Granger came to an abrupt halt, turned around, and fixed Astoria with a look of complete disgust. She cocked her head to the side and quipped sarcastically, "Have you ever worked a day in your life, Greengrass?"
Astoria avoided eye contact, studied her perfectly manicured nails, and replied snobbishly, "Can't say that I have. I have always been well provided for." It was the answer Hermione was hoping for.
She didn't skip a beat with her razor-sharp but witty reply, "Not all of us are born with a silver spoon up our arse."
Astoria grinned and mused, "How ladylike of you."
Draco wondered whether he should step in before Granger pulverised Astoria where she stood. He decided it was for the best and got but a word out, "Ladies..."
Hermione turned to him and said in such false sweetness. It would've made your teeth rot instantly, "She's the best match for a pampered prat like you, Malfoy." He reeled back from the insult. So much for being the nice guy. Granger shot him down at every opportunity.
Astoria did not kindly take her beloved being insulted by a little know-it-all nobody. She narrowed her eyes angrily, "How dare you insult us!"
Hermione scoffed, "Quite easily, apparently." She turned her back on the pair, glanced over her shoulder, and shot Draco a frosty glare, "Good day to you both." He made to follow her, but Astoria held him back.
Once Hermione disappeared from their sight, Astoria made her disapproval clear, "She's so rude."
Draco stepped away from her grasp and scolded, "You started it, Tori. You had no justifiable reason to be unkind to her."
Astoria brushed his berating aside and asked curiously, "Why was she here in the first place?"
Draco gave his answer a bit of thought and retorted, "Granger and my mother have grown close."
Astoria disapproved of their newfound friendship. What business did Granger have with Narcissa? Her startling eyes bore into his and said in stunned realisation, "That's impossible."
Draco felt disappointment stab his heart. He raised a brow and questioned, "And why is that?" Astoria struggled to find a suitable answer without sounding like a prejudged pureblood bitch.
Finally, it dawned on her, and she said with utmost importance, "She's Potter's best friend."
Draco was hardly convinced. He asked again sternly, "And?" With every word she uttered, he was losing the small amount of patience he managed to retain.
Astoria rattled off, "Your father..." She crossed a line, and she knew it at once. The blonde man's demeanour changed to icy cold, and he withdrew further away from her.
His voice was barely audible; he hissed, "Is dead."
Astoria cried in shock, "Draco!" Her emotions were getting the best of her, and she choked back a sob, "Why are you so cruel? I love you." And I don't, he wanted to holler, but Astoria needed to be treated gently.
Draco wanted to sprint after Granger and explain. He knew they were nothing, but he felt the need to set the record straight.
Astoria wiped tiny drops of tears that fell and muttered in unmistakable pain, "I think I should leave."
Fuck.
Draco swallowed his feelings and smiled half-heartedly, "Tori, I'm not trying to hurt you." Well, at least that was the truth. He let her touch him and kiss him because he had seen firsthand the mental trauma his earlier rejection had caused.
He would not be responsible for putting her in harm's way again. It was a subtle game he needed to play to keep her safe. She hugged him across the waist and laid her tear-stained cheek on his chest, "I have missed you so much." Draco looked to the heavens and begged for a solution.
Hermione fumed as she made her way up the stairs and called out to Dotty. She didn't want to step a toe inside the Manor for fear of running into more unpleasantness. While she waited, Max came bouncing up next to her and licked her hand. Her face twisted with pure love and warmth. She grinned and bent to touch the dog.
He was so lovable she put her arms around him and hugged him close, "I could do this forever."
Draco had been all over her a few minutes ago, and now the fickle prat was snogging another.
Dotty appeared and interrupted her rather disturbing thoughts. Hermione requested more firmly than she meant, "I've left my ledger."
The tiny elf looked thoroughly perplexed, but her memory for detail was a gift. She recalled precisely where it was, and without bothering with a reply, she vanished with the click of her fingers and returned with the black book jammed with papers. She beamed with pride at accomplishing the task and held the large book out for Hermione to take.
Hermione politely thanked Dotty, tucked it under her arm, and disappeared without a second thought.
DMLE
Michael and Terry entered the smoking area and found John smoking a cigarette from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, looking dazed and downhearted.
Terry kept a thin cigarette to his lips, lit it, and took a deep drag. He dropped his voice and asked seriously, "Did you hear?"
Michael nodded sadly, "Yeah, another one bites the dust. Potter is going to be in a foul fucking mood." John dusted bits of ash off his shirt and went to exit the area, but Terry put his leg out, and John tripped but held his ground.
The arrogant wizard leered, "Sorry, buddy. I didn't see you there."
John glared, turned on his heel, and muttered under his breath, "Fucking Aurors."
Michael blew smoke towards the ceiling and asked in interest, "What the fuck happened with Malfoy?"
Terry narrowed his eyes and spat, "That motherfucking Death Eater better watch his back. I'm going to repay him in kind.
Michael seemed impressed, "Kung fu? Seriously?"
Terry frowned, "It was fucking humiliating. Granger saw the whole thing."
Michael snorted and inquired, "How's it going with her?"
Terry hung his head and shook it unhappily, "Not great. I like her, man. I fucking like her a lot, but she won't give me the time of day."
Michael took in his friend's desperate tone of voice, "Is she looking for a good shag?"
Terry shrugged, "I don't have a fucking clue what she wants." He poked Michael in the chest and added urgently, "But I do know, I want her bad."
Michael shoved Terry and quipped, "Aww, are you in love?"
Boot threw his closest friend a look of loathing and punched him in the arm, "Fuck off."
Terry stubbed his cigarette in the nearby ashtray and grinned sheepishly, "I will pay her a little visit. You carry on."
Michael shook his head and let out an amused laugh. They fist-bumped and parted ways.
Hermione stewed in her frustration. She was in a foul mood and the reason why evaded her. So what if she caught Malfoy tongue wrestling with Greengrass? Good, great, they were much better suited. Besides, he was on his way out, but why in the name of Merlin was their lip lock causing anger to flow through her veins?
Jealousy? Fuck off, she screamed at her internal thoughts. She discarded her shoes and paced up and down irritably. The knock on the door barely registered with her, but the sound of its opening did.
Terry poked his head in and smirked, "Er, sorry...you didn't answer, and I've been standing outside for five minutes."
Hermione closed the gap between him, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him into her room. She crushed her lips with his fiercely, and though shocked at first, Terry closed his eyes and responded fervently, "I've missed you too."
"Shut up, Boot," she muttered between kisses and recalled how Malfoy had referred to him as belt earlier and hated that she thought of him at that moment. He backed up and settled her on top of her desk while his hands explored the softness of her skin under the blouse.
His fingers dug in, and she squirmed in pain. Hermione opened her eyes wide and watched Terry with his eyes closed, attempting to kiss her passionately. She felt a deep sense of self-loathing. Since when did she stoop so low to use Boot's affections towards her to soothe the roaring feelings pulsating around her? It felt all sorts of wrong, but she soldiered on.
He moved between her legs, and his hardness pressed into her thigh through his trousers. Lost in the moment, he rasped, "You feel amazing."
She managed a fake moan, "Mmhmm." They shared ill-timed kisses. The silence was pierced with the sound of Terry's low grunts and her feeble, forced mewls of want.
The clock chimed, signalling another hour had passed, and it might as well have been a sledgehammer to the side of her head. This was her office, and anybody could walk in without notice. With that thought, what little arousal Terry managed to evoke in her disappeared into nothingness.
She pushed him back and reprimanded him severely, "What are you doing? People surround us."
Terry looked utterly bewildered and cried in outrage, "Then why the fuck did you jump me?"
Just then, his Auror pin glowed. It could only mean one thing. He frowned, "Fuck, Potter's called a meeting. I have to go."
Hermione adjusted her top, went around her desk, and said pointedly, "Well, there's the door,"
Terry cupped his precious bits over the crotch of his trousers and adjusted himself. He blushed, "Oh, umm...I need a minute to…."
Hermione saw the tent in his trousers and stifled a laugh, "Sure. Take all the time you need." She sat down and tried her best to ignore the wizard In the corner muttering to himself.
Minutes passed, and Terry's deep voice cut into her thoughts, "I'll see you later, love."
Hermione kept her eyes on the parchment and dismissed him with a wave of her hand. Terry didn't take kindly to her blatantly dismissive attitude towards him, but he was needed elsewhere, leaving no time to argue. He would have the elusive Miss Granger on her back one way or another. He abandoned the lift and ran down the flight of stairs. Once he reached the department, he could see a sea of black robes listening intently to Potter's explanation.
Hoping not to be noticed, Terry snuck in the back and stood next to ex-Hufflepuff Hannah Abbot. He leaned in and asked in a low voice, "What did I miss?"
Hannah grinned, "You have lipstick smeared all over your fucking face. Wipe that shite off."
Terry smirked and rubbed his lips with more force than necessary to remove the colour imprinted on them, "Thanks. So, what did I miss?"
Hannah became serious. Her pleasant features contorted unattractively, "The second one has been found in her fucking home. We had Aurors patrolling the area. How did the slimy git slip through our fingers?"
Terry nodded in agreement and asked curiously, "Who was on watch?"
Hannah snorted, "Ferguson and Smith."
Terry rolled his eyes, "Figures. Those muttonheads couldn't find their arsehole from a hole in the ground."
Hannah giggled and regretted it at once. She stiffened and swore under her breath as Harry's green eyes turned their way slowly.
He narrowed them menacingly and hissed, "Find something amusing, do you?" The air around them changed as the anger he kept suppressed rose to the surface and emitted off him in waves.
He threw the pictures down and fumed, "What fucking bit of this do you find hilarious? Please, share with the group or shut the fuck up and show some professionalism."
Hannah cowered as many faces graced her with disapproving glances.
Harry's stern voice bellowed over the chatter and rustling of robes, "Hannah, Corner, Boot with me. Be ready to leave in ten minutes."
They replied with a quick and firm, "Yes, boss."
Hannah waited for Harry to turn away before she punched Terry in the arm, "Arse."
Terry rubbed the area and winked, "Sorry, love."
Hermione couldn't concentrate. Her thoughts were a chaotic mess. She didn't know what came over her to attack Terry the way she had.
Harry was right, she was mistreating him, and a smidge of regret bubbled to the surface. She would treat him to dinner and let him down easily. But there was plenty to deal with before that: Malfoy, the dreaded dinner. Narcissa would hate her forever, and that made her heart clench uncomfortably.
She was genuinely fond of the older witch and wanted nothing more to remain in her good graces, but it was her son's words that tormented her mind. "Give in," he growled, and she almost did.
God's, his fingers alone sent incredible sensations spreading through her body.
Argh, stop this. She would see him tonight, but for the moment, she pushed all thoughts of him aside and focused on what she did best, her job.
Crime Scene
Harry, Terry, Hannah, and Michael arrived at the crime scene. The place was enchanted to appear normal from the outside, and Muggles were none the wiser, but within, it was packed with a team of Aurors and Forensic personnel going over every inch for possible clues.
They walked up the narrow way, and their black robes billowed with each purposeful step. Senior Aurors on the case nodded in acknowledgement as they walked in and out of the small house. One seasoned, scarred Auror with a severe limp stopped to give Harry a summary of the grave situation, "It is identical to the one before. Except, he left the chain in plain sight instead of her hand. There is nothing, not a single strand of DNA under her fingernails which have been chopped off and the cause of death is blunt force trauma. There's nothing else we could find."
Harry refused to believe it; he was far from convinced. He shook his head, eyed the scene critically, and voiced his thoughts, "There's always something, Zack. I know there is. It's probably staring at us in the face, and we wouldn't know it."
Zack looked offended, "Potter, I've been doing this for a long fucking time. She's been wiped clean."
He glanced over his shoulder inconspicuously at a crying couple seated on the ground, "Her parents. They were the ones who found her. I can't imagine what it must be like to find your daughter naked and bled dry." Who they assumed to be the mother was an emotional wreck.
She clawed at her hair and cried aloud in despair. A Mediwitch hurried to the distraught woman's side and offered a calming potion which she knocked out of her hand and screamed, "My beautiful daughter is dead. Give me poison instead." They approached the body, and Harry went on one knee to raise the tarp that covered the woman. It wasn't a pretty sight, and Terry fought the bile that rose from his stomach. But in contrast, Hannah pulled out her notebook, moved closer to the corpse, and eagerly took notes.
Harry stared at the dead body for a few minutes, let out a frustrated groan, and rose to his feet. A forensic witch walked away with a plastic bag that held the pendant and chain. That grabbed his attention, and he stopped her from walking away to look at it. It was identical to the earlier one.
The detail was staggering and even more impressive since it was hand-carved using rather primitive methods. Teams of Aurors had combed every jeweller known to the wizarding world and come up empty. It was believed the man was making them in the comfort of his home. He saw the traumatised parents huddled together, weeping for their lost daughter. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to them to offer an explanation and some comfort.
Ministry Of Magic
Kingsley and Hermione avoided each other. They hurriedly avoided eye contact when they passed each other in the hallway. The duo was still recovering from their last conversation, and Hermione thanked Merlin. Their individual work meant they did not cross paths. She decided to shove off early when she heard the faintest knock on the door.
In a voice loud enough to be heard, she said, "Come in."
John walked in, clutching a bunch of files to his chest and looking somewhat troubled.
Hermione smiled at the nervous man, hoping to put him at ease. She asked politely, "Ah, are these the files I requested?"
John nodded timidly, "Yes, Miss Granger."
Hermione smiled again but this time with more warmth, "How many times have I told you to call me Hermione?" The man bobbed his head awkwardly but avoided eye contact. He looked around the office and took in the more minor details.
Hermione questioned in interest. His behaviour struck her as odd, "Are you alright?"
John smiled weakly, "Oh yes, I'm just tired, I guess."
Hermione asked pointedly, "Out on raids with Arthur Weasley?"
John yawned and covered his gaping mouth with the back of his hand and muttered, "A few. He's a good man."
Hermione beamed, "One of the best." She pulled a file towards her and inquired politely, "Do you like your job?"
John shifted his feet uncomfortably, rubbed the back of his neck, and answered somewhat reluctantly, "Yes, I umm, originally, I planned on applying at the DLME, but I'm a squib, so they stuck me in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office."
Hermione looked up from the scattered papers on her desk and offered a sympathetic smile, "Oh, it's not bad..."
John smiled again. His go-to reaction was, "No, working at the Ministry has its perks." He threw Brenda an appreciative look. The sun bounced off her auburn hair as she turned, and the rich redness gleamed in the shimmering light.
Hermione followed his gaze and raised a brow but kept her thoughts to herself. She pointed to the files and said gratefully, "Thank you for these, John. I needed them to finish the report."
John nodded curtly and took his leave but not before glancing at Brenda copying notes.
Hermione dedicated another hour to putting things in place, lazily glanced at the clock, and smacked her forehead, "Fuck." It was almost six. Where had the bloody time gone?
Surprisingly, Brenda was still at her seat reading a new novel with a fully dressed man in a suit and an alluring blonde draped around his body on the front. Hermione frowned to show her disappointment in her assistant's choice of reading matter.
She raised her voice enough to snap Brenda out of her world of fiction, "I'm off then."
Brenda pushed her glasses further up her nose and grinned, "See you tomorrow, Hermione."
Hermione pointedly looked at her watch and asked, much like an older sister, "Staying late?"
Brenda blushed madly, "Oh, my boyfriend's picking me up."
It dawned on Hermione that she had never met her so-called boyfriend. All she knew was the mysterious bloke worked alongside them at the Ministry.
Malfoy Manor
Draco threw a tennis ball and watched Max run after it energetically. He sat on a nearby bench and took in the sun's last dying rays. The closer he got to revealing his choice, the more it gutted him. His mother had sought him out randomly throughout the day, and he had made up various excuses to get out of any conversation. There was no denying his decision would not be taken lightly by their friends.
Draco ruffled Max's head and sighed miserably, "I'll miss you, boy." He got to his feet and walked inside, jogged up the stairs, and discarded his clothes on his way to the ensuite.
Hermione landed on her carpet, kicked aside her shoes, and stripped on the way to her place of sanctuary. The water felt luxurious as it fell over her body in a rain of minuscule droplets. Once done, she looked around and found she had forgotten to bring a towel or her wand. Cursing her stupidity, she stepped out of the tub and made a mad dash into the bedroom. She shivered as the cool air hit her more sensitive bits but quickly bundled herself up in a thick red fluffy towel.
Hermione chose her outfit with care. It was a simple dinner, but she was determined to look her best. She conveniently forgot why.
Yes, you are trying to impress a man you supposedly loathe.
She settled on an exquisite short boat neck black dress with long sleeves that hugged her body, leaving little to the imagination. Fetching a pair of blood-red heels, she stepped into them before fastening a pair of diamond studs to her ears that belonged to her mother. She finished the look with a shimmering coat of red lipstick.
Hermione stared at her reflection and took a deep breath. She truly wished for Narcissa not to take the news too harshly.
Who was she kidding? Her son, her blood, was about to leave for good. The regal woman would probably Avada them both for entertaining such a distressing thought.
Malfoy Manor
Draco slipped into the black dinner jacket and ran his fingers through his hair. The strands of platinum blonde fell over his forehead cheekily. His fingers ran over the jade pendant he had brought back from China. He pocketed it with the thought that it was high time for it to be given to its intended rightful owner.
He sighed, took a deep breath, and nodded at his reflection, "Showtime." The wards were altered to accommodate her for the night, and she was able to apparate right outside the imposing door of the Manor. Hermione hesitated for a minute and made her presence known the same way she had in the morning.
Dotty opened the door in an adorable light blue dress and curtsied, "Good evening, Miss. Please follow me."
Hermione hadn't been inside the Manor at night, except for when she had been tortured on their floor in the East Wing of the large house. Still, she rubbed her arms to generate heat as she followed Dotty through the illuminated, beautiful hallways.
Draco raised his head from the book he was reading and stared, enchanted by the woman who entered the living space. He snapped the book shut loudly. A satisfied grin raised his perfectly shaped lips, and he said fondly, "Mother, if you're wondering what that intoxicating aroma is, Granger just walked in."
Chapter 18
Notes:
A HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who posted a review and for everyone following! It means so much! :)
Well, this is an intense chapter and the turning point of many things.
I originally planned on 20 chapters, but, umm, it's going to go way over and please do bear with me :)
I love everyone's reaction to the mystery. It might not seem important at this point, but trust me, there is a reason, and it might not be the one you think.
Please read and review. I absolutely love reading reviews because it helps motivate my writing, while other reviews help me become a better writer.
Enjoy Chapter Eighteen!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Brenda's Flat
"Why did you dye your hair red?" Asked a stern voice in annoyance. Brenda shrugged and ate the spaghetti and meatballs her boyfriend had prepared with enthusiasm. The man was a talented chef, and it was a pity his job did not require any culinary expertise.
She managed between large mouthfuls, "I wanted to try something new." Her fork dropped. She fixed him with a panicked look and asked in slight alarm, "Why? Does it look awful?"
Michael's gaze softened. He reached over and let a few delicate strands of auburn slip through his long fingers, "Not at all." His voice became severe and agitated, "But there’s a fucking lunatic on the loose kidnapping and murdering red-haired women."
Brenda frowned and fired back, "Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that?"
Michael's annoyance grew, "Do you not listen to a word I say? I told you about the case."
Brenda forked a hefty portion of spaghetti and shoved it into her mouth to hide her embarrassment. She vaguely recalled him mentioning it. Having an Auror as a boyfriend had both its perks and severe downfalls. The downfalls included paranoia every time they were apart. He worried for her safety constantly and scolded her as if she were a child when she tried to do anything mildly adventurous.
Michael swallowed the lump that formed, took Brenda's hand, and kissed it, "I don't know what I would do if something happened to you, my darling."
Brenda, in turn, swallowed the pasta and grinned confidently, "Nothing is going to happen to me."
Michael got up and crossed the small distance to the kitchen and expertly uncorked a bottle of wine. He poured two glasses and brought them over.
He sat down to resume the meal he cooked and asked in interest, "Have you told Granger about us?"
Brenda took a sip of wine, shook her head vigorously, and questioned, "I thought we were keeping this a secret for a while longer." She and Hermione were close despite the age difference, and she wanted nothing more than to spill the beans on her affair with Michael Corner.
They hit it off at a Ministry get-together, and after a few drinks, Michael asked her out. Brenda had accepted without hesitation. It started casual, which escalated to something serious that neither expected. By a bizarre circumstance, the Algorithm saw fit to pair them up and further solidify the union. That was six months ago, and despite their mutual agreement to keep their blossoming love away from prying eyes, their relationship flourished behind closed doors.
Michael nodded in agreement, "Yes, we are. Just for a bit longer." He threw his head back and groaned, "Terry will kill me when I tell him. He's my best mate."
Brenda abandoned her plate of remaining pasta, plopped herself on Michael's lap, and cupped his face lovingly, "He will understand why darling. We just aren't ready to come out."
Michael brushed the red hair strands off her face and placed a tender kiss on her lips. She tasted of marinara sauce and wine, but he closed his eyes and enjoyed the tiny, soft fingers in his hair.
No 12 Grimmauld Place
Ginny looked up from the bubbling pot of hot soup, and her mouth fell open in surprise at the happy tall figure coming toward her, "My goodness." She playfully wagged a strict finger, "You better not have turned up without presents."
Ron closed the gap between them, picked his little sister off the ground as if she weighed nothing, and twirled her once before he set her back down.
Ginny hugged her brother tight, giggled, and asked at once, "When did you get back?"
Ron chuckled, "Two hours ago. I popped in to see Mum first, then George, before hurrying over to see my baby sister."
Ginny looked him over and doubled over with laughter, "Look at you. So tan, you look positively rouge."
Ron playfully shoved her, "Bugger off." He looked around eagerly, "Where's my nephew and best friend?"
Ginny smiled and took the pot off the cooker, "James is in bed, and umm, well, Harry...don't ask."
Ron's cheerful face contorted in concern, "What's the matter? Have you two had a row?"
Ginny realised how what she said might have sounded odd to an outside party, "Merlin, no. We are fine. He's on a high-profile case."
That piqued Ron's curiosity. He raised a brow and tapped his nose, "Top secret? Need to know basis?"
Ginny pointed a wooden spoon at him and nodded rather exhaustedly, "Exactly."
Ron inhaled the smell of fresh herbs and felt his mouth salivate, "I have missed Mum's cooking. America is all well and good, but the food is piss poor and soaked in grease."
Ginny snorted, "Let's not be dramatic. You were away for a grand total of what? A week."
Ron defended fiercely, “Hey! Having a bloody delicious meal is an absolute necessity.”
Ginny rolled her eyes, “With you, it’s everything.” She cut pieces of crispy bread, poured bowls of thick tomato and basil soup, balanced them on the tip of her wand, and walked over to the wooden table. Ron plopped himself down eagerly, reached for the butter, and applied a generous layer across the home-baked bread.
He took a bite and sighed in exhilaration, "Not bad, Gin. It's not mums, but it's damn near close enough."
Ginny smiled proudly. It was indeed a compliment to have her cooking compared to her mother's gourmet brilliance. She asked in interest, "So, how was the honeymoon and where's Tracey?"
Ron blushed at the mention of his wife. He was still getting used to the word. He had a wife and a good one. She was kind, pretty, and a fiery goddess in bed. They had done nothing but shag each other’s brains out for the first two days.
He ate a spoonful of soup and muttered, "She's at Daphne’s. The honeymoon was wicked. We had a bloody awesome time."
A familiar voice interrupted them, "Weasley, if you aren't a sight for sore eyes, son."
Ron pushed his chair back and rose to greet Harry. The two men hugged tightly while Ginny fetched another bowl full of soup.
They sat back down, chatted animatedly, and discussed Ron’s trip to America in great detail. Harry and Ginny covered their ears childishly and refused to listen when he got to the finer details about his romantic honeymoon. Ron’s deep laugh echoed through the kitchen, “Fine, you bloody idiots.” He looked thoughtful for a second and said wisely, “I was never one to agree with this mental marriage law, but there’s some truth and justification behind the math.”
Harry and Ginny shared an amused look and stared at the redheaded man sitting at their kitchen table. They had to agree that Ron seemed content and happy.
Andromeda gently pushed open the door to Teddy's room and caught him reading a Batman comic book. His room was typical for a child his age, and despite their struggle with finances, she always met his necessary requirements.
The money her husband Ted left behind was in a snug fixed deposit at Gringotts and provided a reasonable monthly income. Her daughter had barely been of age to have any substantial savings, and Remus was unemployed and struggled with poverty for most of his life due to his condition.
Andromeda had inherited nothing from her exceptionally wealthy family. It was the price she had paid for love and a choice she would make time and time again. Yes, times were tough, but they got by just fine with the occasional help from Harry and Hermione.
She smiled fondly at her handsome grandson, "I bought you a warm glass of milk."
Teddy kept aside the graphic novel and sat up straight, "Thank you, Gran." Andromeda sat down on the comfortable soft bedding printed with golden Snitches and handed him the tall glass. She watched him eagerly drink it all up. He barely touched his food at dinner, and he was clearly hungry.
She asked quietly, "Feeling better?" Teddy gulped down the milk, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and nodded meekly, "Yes. It's just that I miss them."
Andromeda smiled and nodded in understanding, "It's perfectly alright to miss them. They loved you very much. One day you will understand the reason behind their biggest sacrifice."
Teddy slid between the covers and smiled brightly. Andromeda placed a loving kiss on his forehead, “Goodnight.” Once his grandmother switched off the light in his room on her way out, he waited for a few minutes, pulled a framed photograph from under the pillow, and gazed at it longingly.
It was the only picture he had of his parents. Tonks sported bright pink locks and cradled her newborn son lovingly. She gazed upon his face in absolute joy. Remus towered over them and protectively surrounded them with his long arms. If you looked closer, you could see the unmistakable shimmer of unshed tears glistening in his eyes.
Teddy touched the moving images affectionately, as he did every night since he turned five, and whispered, "Goodnight, Mum, and Dad. I love you so much." He replaced the picture under his pillow, pulled a battered old Teddy bear that belonged to his mother to his side, and hugged it before sleep consumed him, and he drifted off into a dreamless slumber.
In another part of London.
A woman sobbed in the corner of the bleak house. Her anguished cries irritated the man zipping up his trousers.
He rubbed his temples and hissed, “Ssh, I have a headache.”
She pleaded for the hundredth time that day. “Please, let me go.”
The man laughed manically, “You know? Not all of you are bad.”
She brought her head up and shouted in desperation, “I've never done anything to you. I don't even know who you are.”
He wiped his face on a towel and sneered, “Think you’re so important, do you? Running that stupid little bookshop. I watched you for weeks before I made my move.” Despite all that happened to her after she was abducted, to find out that he had perversely previously stalked her made her want to vomit all over the hard floor.
Instead, she croaked, “No, I've done all you ask. Why do you keep doing this to me?” Her thighs were caked with dried muck, not his but hers. He always wore two condoms to keep his fluid off her body and barely touched her, opting to take her from behind to minimalise contact but now and then, he took great satisfaction in staring at her face contort in disgust and horror as he repeatedly took her in ways others had not.
After the third day, she stopped fighting and lay still. She zoned out as he grunted and groaned on top of her but spared her the merciless beatings. She dislodged herself from her body and thought of happier times in her life as her parents, the smell of pages on a new book, and a chocolate ice cream treat on a sweltering day. He did not take kindly to her dazed and detached look. He slapped her hard across the face and repeatedly forced her to look at him as he violated her body.
His tone turned dangerously sinister, “Because...I need to teach her a lesson.”
She brought her head up and questioned cautiously, “What? Who?”
His face twisted in anger, and he spat, “My mother. She wasn't one of the nice ones.” He pointed to his mutilated, scarred face, "See this? After she beat me raw with a belt, the woman who gave me life did this.” Unable to control the bubbling hot rage that shook him, he screamed, “Do you know why? Because I asked for an extra helping of soup. In her eyes, I didn't deserve more than the fucking scraps she gave me.”
The woman tried another tactic and sympathised, “I'm sorry you had to suffer. That must have been horrible.” He seemed to value kindness, probably since he was denied it for so long. He hung his head and muttered, “It was, it truly was...but, you know what really hurt?” It wasn't the beatings. It was the day she told me that she wished I had never been born.”
Confessing his past horrors to his prisoner felt oddly soothing. He confided, “Her own flesh and blood, and my bastard father cast her out for birthing me. I’m a squib, you see?” It was all starting to make sense. With some level of discomfort, the woman managed to sit up and hug her legs to his chest while she listened intently to his story.
He added in anguish, “I meant nothing, and for years, my mother made fucking sure I was nothing.” He picked up the lethal-looking belt with those final words and strode towards the chained, naked, petrified woman cowering on the floor. She shielded parts of her body, but it served no purpose. The deranged lunatic yanked her by the hair and pulled her head back. She whimpered in pain and begged, “Please, don’t…” while hot tears ran down her pretty face.
He licked a stripe down her neck and whispered darkly, "Scream, my pet, as my mother made me."
The young witch trembled and urinated in fear. Why was this happening to her? She should have never stopped to help a stranger. He had faked a limp and requested her help carrying some heavy packages.
At the time, he seemed so genuine and even extremely polite that she thought nothing of it. Without a shred of doubt clouding her mind, she helped him, but he overpowered her once they were alone. She regained consciousness in a dark room on a makeshift bed with a bucket to do her business. The sounds of ear-piercing screams from another woman filled the space as she struggled to gather her bearings, and now she was going to suffer a similar fate and die surrounded by her filth.
He read her mind and leered, "Don't worry, my sweet. I'm not done with you yet."
Somehow, this was of little comfort, and she wished for death.
Hermione smoothed her dress and felt uncharacteristically self-conscious as she stepped into the middle of the lavishly furnished living space of Malfoy Manor. She first kissed a seated Narcissa on the cheek, and Max reared his head in eagerness to be petted. Without holding back, she ruffled the fur and affectionately stroked his head. The puppy whined in delight.
Narcissa smiled pleasantly enough, but her mind was not at ease, "Good to see you, darling."
Bernard rose to his feet with a drink in hand and bowed with an air of politeness, "It is an honour to meet you finally."
Hermione beamed, “The pleasure is all mine. I am well aware of your tireless efforts to educate less fortunate witches and wizards.”
Bernard radiated happiness and kept his hand gently on Narcissa’s shoulder. He smiled down at her and said goodheartedly, "I have this wonderful woman helping me every step of the way."
Hermione could not help the grin that split her face in half at the blush that crept up Narcissa’s high cheekbones. She was glad the older lady had found a man who adored her.
Draco coughed to make his presence known. Hermione slowly, almost lazily, glanced his way to show her absolute lack of interest in him.
She held out her hand politely for him to shake but instead, he took it in his hand, clicked his heels together, and bowed to kiss it. His lips gently brushed over her knuckles sending an involuntary shudder through her body.
Draco straightened but did not let her hand go. Instead, he requested courteously, “Can I have a few moments of your time in private?'
Hermione barely had a chance to say a word in edgeways. He did not bother waiting for her response, but his urgent tug told her she had little choice in the matter. He led her out to the expansive marbled terrace with her hand firmly in his, purposely ignoring the curious looks the elders bestowed upon them.
She stared at the blinking sparkling dots and the clear night sky. It was a truly breathtaking sight. The sky was lit by a million stars scattered across the heavens, and a shooting star appeared and disappeared in the blink of an eye, briefly seeing fit to grace them with its unique presence.
Hermione widened her eyes and exclaimed in excitement, “Ooh, a shooting star. How rare....” They were on borrowed time. Draco interrupted without hesitation, "You look beautiful." It wasn't an empty compliment. Every word was accurate. Her cheeks turned strawberry red, but the darkness hid her blush well, "Thank you." She looked him over in appreciation and stated the obvious, "You don't look too shabby yourself."
Draco chuckled and replied modestly, "The dark helps."
She leaned against the white railing, raised a brow, and mused, "What’s the matter? Having a change of heart?"
He retorted with sadness and frustration, “I'm not overly fond of leaving my mother, Granger, but no, I wanted to explain."
She wondered what he was on about, "What did you want to explain?"
Draco stared into the grounds before him, bathed in the soft beams of moonlight, cleared his throat, and started to speak, "When you saw me with Astoria earlier today, I...."
Oblivious to the scrutiny Hermione bestowed upon his physique, he was rudely cut off from finishing the sentence.
Hermione leered most unpleasantly. She saw no cause for an explanation, and she told him so harshly, "Who you share your bed with is none of my business."
Draco sighed. He was trying to do the right thing, but she was not making it easy for him by Salazar. He nodded in agreement with her words but kept his eyes on the swaying branches of the oak tree, "I'm well aware it’s not, but I wanted you to know that I'm not the type of man to seduce one and then kiss another in the same day."
Hermione raised a brow, snorted, and couldn’t help the sarcastic retort that left her lips, “Aren't you? Because I recall you had a bit of a scoundrel reputation back at Hogwarts. Didn't every bint in Slytherin wet their knickers for you?"
She made air quotes, "The self-proclaimed Slytherin Prince."
Draco laughed at the recollection of the ridiculous nickname he carried during his earlier years at Hogwarts. However, he turned slowly and fixed her with a look of exhaustion, “Granger, what is it going to take for you to realise that I'm not that same slick-haired prat you knew?
He added reluctantly but truthfully and hoped she didn’t take it the wrong way, “It's taken me years to find my true self, and while I was doing that, I umm,… thought of you often.”
What the fuck? She was certainly taken back by that declaration. She swallowed hard at that revelation but adopted a mocking tone, “Should I be flattered?”
Draco smirked at her absolute stubbornness, but he resorted to some practical advice, “No, but I would appreciate a little open-mindedness. Are you that set in your ways and incapable of entertaining the notion that a teenager is capable of change?”
Hermione shifted her feet uncomfortably. Yes, the answer was evident when he put it like that. She repeatedly replayed the question in her mind, “Why did you think of me?”
Draco smiled, but with a certain degree of sadness, he replied, “Because I was always the most horrid to you. Even Potter and Weasley were spared the distasteful remarks I kept especially for you.”
He sighed, "I could say it was because I envied you but that wouldn't be the truth. I found you to be an easy target and preyed on your weaknesses." He had been horrid to her because he could be, nothing more or less.
Hermione looked forlorn and heard the distinct sound of thunder, “Oh yes, I recall quite vividly.”
He pressed on undiscouraged, “When I returned, I had a few things planned, but I should've known better.” He added bitterly, “Things hardly ever go to bloody plan.”
Draco put his hand inside the deep pocket of his tailored suit and said, “If tonight is the last night I am to see you, then I want you to have this.” He pulled out a tasteful silver chain with a jade pendant hanging from it and held it up for her to see better. The jewel glistened in the darkness and illuminated both their faces.
In shock, Hermione stared at the beautiful pendant, “What is this?”
A genuineness so fine crossed his fine features, “It's supposed to bring the wearer good luck, peace, and prosperity.”
She stepped back and shook her head rapidly, “I cannot accept this.”
Draco stepped forward and insisted without any hesitation, “It's yours. I bought it with the money I earned, not inherited.” He recalled the painstaking hours of polishing pots and dying embers over hot metal as he slaved to earn a minimum wage.
Hermione stood her ground, took a deep breath to calm herself, and reminded sternly, “Stop it. I told you not to mess with my head.”
He leaned forward and quipped, “After tonight, you will never see me again, so what does it matter what I do to your pretty little head?”
The realisation that she might not see him again stung. She could not quite fathom why.
Draco took her hesitation and lack of reply as a sign of consent. He closed the gap between them, undid the chain's clasp, and requested civilly, “Please, allow me.”
Hermione stared for a few minutes at the chain dangling from his hand and reluctantly nodded in agreement. She moved her hair out of the way and turned her back to him.
Draco stepped closer without delay. Her body was acutely aware of his presence. He placed the chain around her neck slowly and purposely let the tips of his fingers skim over her skin. A trail of tiny goosebumps appeared where he awakened her to his touch. He fastened the clasp, and the jade pendant lay snugly nestled between the valley of her breasts. She touched it gently and marvelled at the artisanship.
The handiwork on the dragon was unique to one country only, and she knew enough about the world to spot it once. His newfound skills, the pendant, it all made perfect sense.
Hermione asked confidently, “You've been living in China, haven't you?”
He grinned, and his breath ghosted over the shell of her sensitive ear. He whispered, "You are quite bright, Granger." It was a statement she had heard countless times but never from him.
They both stood still, breathing heavily and taking in their intoxicating smell.
Draco boldly placed a lingering kiss on the exposed back of her neck. His parted lips gently sucked on her sensitive skin, making her nerve endings come alive.
What was this erotic hold he possessed over her?
Hermione’s eyes fluttered shut, and a low moan escaped her lips. She shivered and unconsciously moved her head to the side to create more room for him to cover with his delectable mouth.
Merlin, she wanted more, so much more.
Each word he uttered between kisses was punctured with desire, "I don't know what to make of this, but I want you, Granger." His words, tone, and everything about him ignited a blazing fire in the pits of her being. It was so bizarre how her body betrayed her when with him, but it seemed to want to wither away with Terry.
Draco did not comprehend the words that seemingly spilled out of his mouth or whether he was even ready to have sex. Lack of practice made him conscious of his performance, and it was of the utmost importance that he lived up to his former reputation.
His voice was thick with the yearning to claim her. He rasped, “You hate me. I know, but you want this. I can feel it. Tell me you want me to touch you intimately.” He had wondered ever since he returned and ran into her what it would be like to kiss her. He imagined it to be intense, her tongue pushing against his, her moans muffled by his insistent lips.
Her brain and hidden inner desires were not in sync. In fact, they were worlds apart, but she managed a halfhearted and utterly weak response, “No, I don't, Please....”
Draco knew he sounded desperate, even mildly intoxicated, but he replied firmly, "No? Then why did you wear this dress? Or do you enjoy driving me to the brink of insanity?" What was he saying? It was all too much.
Think of Terry, she silently commanded her body, but that was a futile attempt as any. She saw no one but the brooding ice blonde who muttered words of passion.
He was not done with telling her exactly how he felt. It felt like a weight being lifted off his shoulders among the many things that weighed him down, “I held it at bay for as long as I am able, but I'm a hot-blooded man who knows exactly what he wants.”
Hermione protested with her eyes closed. Her voice was barely audible, “Malfoy, we can't. This is wrong on so many levels.”
Draco kept up his ministrations and bit down her collarbone, "What's wrong is denying ourselves."
Her lips parted, and a sultry moan spilled forth, earning a gratifying growl from deep within him, “I want to hear more of that.” His arm went around her slender waist and held her tight against his body, almost possessively. Her back to his front while he peppered a trail of kisses down her neck.
God.
Draco held nothing back. He said forcefully, “Spend the night with me away from the Manor.” It was meant to be a question but sounded more like a command coming out of his mouth. Yet, he felt nervous about the situation.
Yes, she wanted to mutter, but... He could feel her hesitation, but he pressed undeterred, "No one needs to know. We will take it to the grave." The mental image of black silk sheets wrapped around their writhing-infused bodies came to mind, and it was more than she could bear.
Sex. A Mindless, thoughtless coming together of two individuals. No attachments. Not a fusing of love but pure lust.
Her resolve crumbled around her.
Hermione hated herself for wanting him and had from the first moment he touched her intimately, but there was no denying the heat that pooled at her core.
“One night...,” she breathed in defeat. Draco grinned triumphantly, turned her around roughly, held her by the waist, and stared into her flushed face but conflicted eyes. There was no going back now.
She opened her eyes and challenged him. He brought his head down to hers and paused for effect before hungrily devouring those cherry-red lips, "Good girl." The glass doors flew open, and Narcissa strode out impatiently.
She was done playing this charade, "Are you quite finished with your secrets?" They jumped apart but not before Narcissa caught them in the act.
Hermione stumbled at the suddenness, but Draco grabbed her wrist and steadied her, preventing her from a nasty fall. He shook his head as if to say, every fucking time.
Narcissa abruptly halted and stared at the slightly embarrassed duo, “Oh, umm...forgive my intrusion.” A slither of hope ignited in her heart. Perhaps, she was overreacting. Maybe they had decided to forgo past differences and tolerate each other.
Bernard silently sipped his expensive scotch and grinned knowingly.
Draco answered as if nothing transpired, "There is nothing to forgive, Mother. Let us go inside. It's quite chilly."
Hermione stood alone on the terrace and touched the smooth stone. It was a brilliant work of art. The silver casing of the dragon that surrounded the polished stone intrigued her, and she wondered what work went into it.
A dragon. Figures. He was a dragon, alright, and he was breathing fire all over her.
Draco glanced over his shoulder and shot Hermione a look of disappointment quickly followed by concern. He followed his mother in, but his mind was everywhere but where it needed to be. He had perfected the technique of pushing feelings away and detaching himself from any physical stirrings, but he could not grasp the pull Granger evoked.
Dotty served a round of drinks before dinner was prepared.
Hermione opted for a glass of whiskey, Draco did the same, Bernard nursed a scotch and looked at them suspiciously, and Narcissa elegantly but nervously sipped her wine.
Hermione brought her drink to her mouth with unsteady fingers to quench her thirst and moisten her suddenly dry lips. She tried to look at Malfoy inconspicuously, but she needn't bother. He was staring at her without shame. They locked eyes, and much was said between them in that one look.
Narcissa cleared her throat and asked impatiently, “Draco, what is this about?” There was little point in prolonging the inevitable.
He replied firmly, "This is about the law, Mother."
That much was obvious, but she probed nervously, “What about it?”
Draco took a deep breath and looked around him at the faces staring at him unblinkingly except Granger, who kept her eyes on the glass of scotch in her hands.
He said as calmly as possible, “Mother, you must understand what I'm about to do." He glanced at Hermione and said, "I do for the best of everyone in this room.”
Narcissa felt an instant sense of dread, “What have you done?”
Draco gathered his courage and said slowly, “I took the exit clause.”
A sudden gust of chilly air swept through the room, followed by pin-drop silence.
Bernard widened his eyes, and his grip tightened around the hundred-year-old crystal tumbler.
Narcissa shook her head and cried in despair, "No, I forbid it. I won't allow you."
"Son, this is unacceptable, " Bernard scolded angrily. He wiped the sweat off his brow and looked disturbed.
Narcissa shot to her feet, grabbed hold of her son by his arms, and shook him, "Tell me this is a joke. I can't bear to lose you." The older woman’s anguished sobs pierced Hermione’s heart, and the melancholy pulled her under and left her struggling to grasp the severity of his decision's impact on his beloved mother.
Bernard turned his attention to Hermione. He intently watched her face fall in sorrow and her fingernails dig deep into the plush velvet of her chair.
Hermione sat to the side with her legs crossed at the ankle and frozen in time, watching the distressing situation before her unravel.
Oh, Merlin, Narcissa’s pain cut through her, but she kept quiet and watched mother and son argue in her arrogant selfishness. It was a futile attempt to make her only child see reason on Narcissa's part.
Draco gathered his mother in his arms and cradled her. Narcissa dug her fingers into the front of her son's shirt and sobbed and repeated the same thing, "I won't allow it."
Bernard tried his best to soothe his beloved, "Darling, please, let us take a deep breath. It is not good for your health to exert yourself. Let us discuss this calmly."
Narcissa shook him off and held onto her son in desperation. Hermione continued to sit extremely still and felt the pounding of her heart in her ears. She had prepared herself to withstand Narcissa’s reaction but not this. It broke her heart into a million unseen pieces.
Draco choked back a sob. His voice cracked, and he fought the tears that threatened to spill over, “Mother, Bernard is right. Please calm yourself.”
Dignity forgotten, Narcissa shook her head in disbelief. Her elegant bun came undone, and her long hair framed her distraught face, "How can you expect me to stand by and watch them erase your memories."
She cried aloud in despair, balled her dainty hands into small fists, and beat her son's chest in hopelessness, "You cannot ask this of me."
Draco closed his eyes and battled to keep his emotions in control. He was in dire straits, and the feeling of overwhelming misery washed over him.
He struggled but somehow managed to offer reassuring words, "We will find a way to stay in touch. I swear it. No one needs to know. Granger will help us." It was a promise with so many obstacles, but to appease his mother, he would jump through the fiery pits of hell but not marry Granger.
Draco looked over Narcissa’s bowed head at Hermione in desolation and pleaded, "You will help us, won't you?"
Hermione held the tears at bay and nodded without a single thread of hesitation. She would break every Ministry protocol to spare Narcissa from this pain and gut-wrenching agony. The more she watched the grief-stricken noble lady hanging onto her only child for dear life, the more she felt her pigheadedness drift away into nothingness.
For the first time since she received the Ministry-sealed parchment announcing her match, she reconsidered and thought, would marrying Malfoy be so horrible?
Draco cooed as if to a child. He lovingly soothed, "I love you, Mother, and it greatly pains me to leave you, but I cannot force Granger into this union."
Tears streaming down her face, Narcissa weakly protested, "But, this cannot be the alternative. I will speak to Shacklebolt. Make him overturn this union." The tall blonde man sighed, and despite his hatred for the law, he knew the Minister was as helpless as they were.
The Algorithm was no random matching of individuals. It was the syncing of souls based on blood compatibility to produce strong offspring and further calculating birth times to align horoscopes to yield the best match for each person.
Unlikely as it seemed, Granger and he were a formidable pairing. According to what Kingsley let slip, one of the strongest. He was forced to remind his mother about their conversation when he first found out about the match, "We spoke about this. You know what I'm doing is right."
Bernard stepped in and gently pulled Narcissa to his side. He gazed into her tear-filled eyes and brushed away the strands of hair that fell over her pretty face. Narcissa responded weakly to the calmness Bernard radiated and nodded reluctantly.
She knew Draco was doing Hermione a kindness because of the guilt of his past actions towards her. This was extreme. Still, she knew if he didn't, the deed would needle away at him, and all his years of trying to better himself would be a waste.
She sobbed against Bernard’s shoulder, “I understand, but that doesn't make any of this easier. You are my son. The only reason I have for living.”
Draco closed the gap between them and cupped her face tenderly, “And I will always be your son. Nothing can change or take that away.”
Narcissa was far from convinced. She stared into his clear grey eyes and implored, “I cannot let you go like this.”
He kissed his mother’s perspiring forehead and promised, “You have my word. We will find a way.”
Draco turned his back to the room and announced unexpectedly, “Excuse me, but I need a breath of fresh air.” What he needed was to leave before his mother saw the tears swimming in his eyes.
Bernard nodded in understanding and helped Narcissa to a seat. He crossed the room and fixed himself a much-needed drink. He knew Draco was going to make a hasty decision. Their meeting had warned him of that much, but never would he have guessed this harsh outcome.
Hermione watched Draco exit and struggled against the urge to follow him. She could not move. Her legs refused to work. The situation left her paralysed and affected her more than she could have imagined.
Narcissa kept her trembling hands on her lap. She had never before felt at a loss for words. Her fingers pulled at the material, and her bottom lip constantly quivered. Hermione felt unworthy and ashamed to look at Narcissa, but it was a good thing she did.
Narcissa smiled at her. Despite everything, she bore no grudge. Pained and drawn, her pinched face reflected the unbearable pain that she suffered. She had aged considerably in ten minutes. Their eyes locked, and Hermione felt a shiver go down her spine at the vacant expression in the older woman’s eyes accusing blue eyes.
Narcissa struggled to comprehend what happened. To give up her child hurt her far greater than anything else ever could. Her lips trembled with the overwhelming emotions taking over, and her shaking fingers picked at the material of her dress. She felt a mild pain stab her heart uncomfortably. It was soon accompanied by difficulty breathing.
She took large gulps of air to fill the void, but nothing helped. When the pain did not recede, her jewelled hand clutched the rich material over her heart, and her mouth parted in surprise before she tumbled to the ground, unmoving.
Hermione saw the woman she had come to love and respect fall in slow motion. She sprang out of her seat and caught Narcissa before her head hit the ground. Her black dress ripped, but her blood-curdling scream drowned out the sound.
Bernard turned to face them. In alarm, his tumbler dropped to the ground and smashed to smithereens, sending its contents all over the Persian rug. He sprinted the short distance and fell at Narcissa’s fallen, unresponsive form.
Hermione pulled Narcissa’s lifeless body onto her lap and wept, "No... no... Lord...no."
Max whimpered and used his snout to nudge his mistress. Bernard searched for a pulse desperately; when he could not find one, he took out his wand with terrified hands and waved it over the still body. He muttered an ancient language that Hermione vaguely thought might have originated in Ireland. Once done, he conjured a brilliant Patronus of a giant polar bear and sent an urgent message.
Quickly, she brushed the strands of fine blonde hair off Narcissa's face, stared panic-stricken into the pale face of the unresponsive regal woman, and yelled without abandon, "DRACO, HELP!"
It would be the first time she referred to him by his given name in years.
Chapter 19
Notes:
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Chapter Text
Ginny tore the dark purple chocolate bar wrapper with her teeth and bit into the slightly melted Cadbury slab. She closed her eyes and sighed in pure exhilaration, "Oh my god. That's better than sex."
Ron stared at her gaping mouth and grimaced, "That's gross, and can you please slow down. You've nearly eaten the lot. Save some for your son."
Ginny stuck out her tongue and defiantly popped a chocolate square into her already full mouth.
Harry frowned and shoved another chocolate ball into his mouth, "Thanks, Gin. I'll remember that the next time we...."
Ron covered his ears, "Lalala....what the fuck, guys? Shut the bloody hell up."
Ginny chuckled, "Oh, do grow up, Ronald."
Harry took in the empty wrappers scattered around the wooden kitchen table and inquired sarcastically, "Did you only bring us chocolates?"
Ron defended at once, "I was on my honeymoon, not on some bloody shopping trip. We hardly left the room."
It was Ginny's turn to look mildly revolted, "Argh, way too much information."
Ron nudged Harry and winked, "I certainly did my part to repopulate the wizarding world."
Harry purposely moved his chair away from his best mate and his touch and doubled over with laughter.
Ron munched on a Toblerone and mumbled fretfully, "Er, how's Hermione?" Ginny licked melted chocolate off her finger and caught Harry giving her the one over. She grinned and answered, "Battling a whole lot of shite."
A bottle of wine and an hour later, Ron had caught up with the drama that dogged his ex-girlfriend and best friend’s life. He whistled and shook his head in exasperation, "That poor woman. First, she gets matched with the snake and all this with the Law. It's enough to drive anyone mental."
Ginny looked away in thought, "Hmm, Malfoy has changed, Ron. He's apparently become or attempting to be a decent human being."
Harry pressed his lips down hard and kept his opinion to himself, but Ron was never the one to practise the fine art of subtly, "I do not believe his act for a second. He's fucking up to something. He always is."
Ginny questioned curiously, "So, are you finally over Hermione?"
Ron blushed, "Well, I guess I'll always have a soft spot for her, but, yeah, I think I am." He looked at the time, smacked his forehead and got to his feet, "Bollocks. I am so bloody late. Tracey is waiting for me."
He quickly and noisily pushed back the chair, dropped a quick kiss on Ginny's cheek, fist-bumped with Harry and rushed to the Floo network. When Ginny got up to clean the mess, Harry grabbed her around the waist, pulled her onto his lap, and whispered huskily, "Is there any chocolate left? I bet your tits covered in melted chocolate would be a treat."
Ginny bit her lip seductively, "I have a better idea." She slid down to her knees, slowly unzipped his trousers, and pulled out his hardening cock. She gave it a few sensual strokes and surrounded it with the warmness of her mouth.
Harry stiffened as all feelings headed south, and his dick grew to its full length inside his wife's talented mouth. His fingers twisted in her hair, holding her place as she expertly bobbed up and down on his manhood. He groaned, throwing his head back, "That feels so bloody good."
Draco fled to the one place he knew he wouldn't be bothered, and that was his newly fitted training room. He needed the solitude to gather his thoughts, but no sooner did he grasp the silver door handle to let himself in than the distressed sound of Granger’s shriek made it to his ears.
The sound pierced his ear canal and thundered right down to his eardrum. He knew instinctively something had happened to his mother. He turned on his heel at once and ran down the marbled hallway he knew so well back to where he left them. His heels clicked against the floor with every one of his purposeful steps and loudly filled the area.
Draco sprinted back to the foyer, where a horrific sight awaited him. While running through the house, he prayed to all invisible entities to spare his mother from whatever wrath they saw fit. He pleaded for them to punish him instead.
His mother lay unmoving on the floor on Granger’s lap while tears streamed down her face. Bernard was hunched over and muttering a complex incantation over her body.
Draco froze at the entrance and felt like his heart might explode. Searing hot pain replaced the blood in his veins. He charged in, and the powerful generations-old magic in him burst forth and encased him whole in gleaming bluish light.
Hermione looked up from Narcissa’s frail body and gasped. Malfoy was glowing. A bluish hue surrounded his tall, generously built body, and he looked hypnotically beautiful. She had read somewhere about how extreme emotions triggered dormant magic, and it was more potent than the everyday magic one used.
The closer he got to them, the more they were forced to move away from Narcissa. His unleashed magic pushed them away, somewhat burned them, and held them at bay.
Draco fell at his mother's side, took hold of her hand, and whispered in anguish, "Mother. Please forgive me." He lost his composure and collapsed. Unable to hold back, an anguished, grief-stricken howl left his lips.
Bernard helped Hermione to her feet, and both stood at a close distance and took in the heartbreaking scene with a mixture of awe and gut-wrenching despair. Draco cradled his mother to his chest and wept hot tears of incredible pain, no longer able to hold back the flood of tears.
Hermione rubbed her arms to generate some heat and cried. This was partially her fault. Oh, Merlin, how could she have done this? She wished she could take it back, even if it meant marrying Malfoy for his mother's sake.
Draco closed his eyes, desperately willing himself to calm down and concentrated hard. It took all his teachings, and momentarily he was transported back to the tranquil gardens of The Shaolin Temple. His magic returned to its rightful place, and he kept his trembling fingers on a pulse point and felt the light flutter of his mother's life force. He closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of immense relief.
Salazar was kind. Narcissa was still among the living. He got to his feet with his mother firmly in his arms. She didn't move, but her head rested snugly in the crook of his arm against the front of his dinner jacket.
After the initial shock of witnessing possibly the strongest display of magic he had ever seen in his long life, Bernard found himself able to approach Draco. He gingerly touched his shoulder and said firmly, "Senior Healer George is on his way."
Draco knew the name, the kindly but strict Healer had been their family physician since before his birth. He recalled the portly man making random visits to the Manor and a nasty incident when he fell off his father's broom and broke his arm at seven. Lucius had been livid, but Healer Spencer hushed him and proceeded to joke with a small, scared boy while he mended his arm.
On cue, the balding man rushed in, followed shortly by a distraught and utterly dishevelled Dotty. He exchanged a grave look with the men and peered into Narcissa’s sweat-soaked face, "Goodness, what brought this on?"
Healer George patted Bernard on the back, "You did the right thing by calling me." Urgently, he instructed Draco, "Hurry, now. Let us get her to her room. I need a more comfortable space to run diagnostics and administer potions."
Draco didn't need telling twice. With his mother firmly in his strong young arms, he sprinted up the stairs with Max running alongside him. Once he reached his parents' old room, without hesitation, he roughly kicked the centuries-old door open and strode in purposefully.
The portrait of Lucius Malfoy sprang to life. His cold condescending voice filled the space, "Draco, is that you?" Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath. In his panic, he completely forgot about his father's painting.
This was hardly the ideal situation for an awkward reunion. He bared his teeth and refused outright to acknowledge his father's portrait.
Instead, he kept his eyes on the task at hand and hissed darkly, "Not now, father." He laid his mother down gently on the large comfortable four-poster bed with expensive cotton bedding while the others rushed into the room.
Max reared his head. The fur on the back of his neck stood up aggressively. The usually friendly dog growled and snarled at the portrait.
Lucius came as close as he could to the edge, his eyes darted from one figure to the others in alarm, and he demanded impatiently, "My darling wife. What has happened to Cissy?" There was a certain degree of care in the older Malfoy’s voice. He had always loved Narcissa dearly in his own way. His cynical eyes fell on the woman trailing behind the men in a partially torn dress and unkempt hair.
Lucius spat in anger, "You! What are you doing in my house?"
Hermione wiped the tears off her face and turned to face the large, intimidating portrait. It was a stunning work of art, surrounded by a solid gold frame studded with precious gems, and it was so lifelike that it forced her to take a step back but stand her ground.
Draco heard the callous words and remembered Granger was among them. In the heat of the moment, he had completely forgotten her presence in the Manor. He rounded on his father, moved protectively in front of the woman wracked with sobs, and warned, "Still your tongue, father. We have no time to entertain the likes of you."
Lucius scowled, "You disgrace the name wizard." He looked sadly upon his unmoving wife and the Healer working tirelessly over her. He spat contemptuously, "What have you done to your mother? Did you cause this? I have no doubt that you did."
Bernard made his presence known. He narrowed his eyes to mere slits and advised sternly, "This bickering is not helping the situation, Lucius. Cissy needs to rest."
Lucious widened his painted eyes in disbelief. He was having none of it, and he made his displeasure apparent. His voice thundered, "Only I have the right to call my wife Cissy!"
He threw Bernard a deep look of loathing and accused, "I placed my trust in you, and this is how you repay me? By cavorting with my wife??"
Draco had heard and tolerated enough. He loudly summoned the head house elf who had retired to the kitchen, "Dotty!" A loud crack followed, and Dotty appeared at once and bowed dutifully, "Yes, sir." The ashen-faced elf straightened and awaited instruction.
Draco spoke impatiently, "Move my father’s painting down to his former study until further notice."
Lucius protested raucously, but no one paid heed to his constant complaining, "I forbid you. I want to be with my wife. We need each other."
Draco turned slowly, and father and son locked identical eyes. It was as if he were staring into a mirror. Only the age difference separated them. One an artistically painted likeness and the other a living, breathing, imposing man who felt his patience slip through his fingers.
He stepped close enough to touch the large painting and stated harshly, "You are dead, Father. You have tormented Mother enough. I will not let your memories harm her any further."
Lucius leered, “You left her to rot on her own, and now you’ve killed her.”
He hissed through clenched teeth, "You are no son of ours."
Draco took the cruel taunting and swallowed the bitter truth. He raised his head, stared his father down, and sneered, "I haven't been the boy you raised for years." Ignoring his son, Lucius focused on the being he considered beneath him and took every opportunity to treat him horridly.
He ordered with an air of superiority, "Dotty, I command you...." The tiny elf squeaked at being addressed directly but stepped forward. Dotty crossed her arms over her chest and grinned in satisfaction, "Dotty listens to Master Draco. I am bound to serve the living master of Malfoy Manor."
She gingerly touched the oil painting frame and closed her eyes in concentration. Lucius's last words were broken but heard by all, "Get your filthy hands off my painting."
A loud crack of disappararion echoed through the room, and a large, empty space was all that remained in the painting's place.
Draco silently thanked Merlin that there was no permanent sticking charm in place. Healer Spencer hurriedly pulled ingredients out of his bag, along with a plethora of potions. He shook his head in disappointment, "Your father was always difficult. Even in death, some things never change."
Bernard seemed disturbed by his former friend’s hurtful words. He looked over Narcissa woefully but lovingly. Once he was doubly sure she was in good hands, he exited the room without another word.
The Healer caught sight of Hermione looming anxiously in the background, "My dear, if all this family business is making you uncomfortable, then I suggest you step out."
Draco glanced at Granger huddled in the corner, quiet as a mouse and hoping not to draw too much attention to herself. Her eyes were fixed on his mother's form. He stared at her and answered in her stead, "That's not necessary. She's as good as family to my mother."
Hermione came crashing back to reality. She backed away slowly and attempted to slick her tangled hair back with her fingers, "No, it's okay. I think it's best. We need to give her space to breathe."
Draco took a step in her direction, "Granger...."
Hermione brought up a firm hand and held him at bay. Draco came to an immediate halt and looked at her questioningly. Her lips quivered with her reply, "It really is okay. I'll be outside." A breath of fresh air sounded quite delightful at that point. She closed the door behind her, leaned against the wall, and grabbed tufts of her hair in her hands like she was about to yank them from her scalp. Her sobs of frustration and misery echoed through the empty halls. Only sheer will prevented her from sliding down the wall to the floor in hopelessness.
Over and over, she repeated like a mantra, "I'm sorry, Narcissa. Please, forgive me. I am so fucking sorry."
A calming voice interrupted her unleashing of pain, "You are hardly to blame, Miss Granger."
Bernard stepped out of the shadows and came towards her with a warm, reassuring smile. Her emotions got the better of her, and she cried in outrage, "What do you mean? Of course, I am. My refusal to be a party to the Law is what's making him leave."
Bernard, however, kept his wits about him and attempted to appease the troubled woman before him. He queried curiously, "Is it? Has Draco at any point expressed a desire to wed?"
Hermione hadn't given it much thought, but she was now. She had been so adamant about her own feelings about the marriage that she hadn't given a second thought to what he wanted. She reacted meekly, "Well, no...but..."
Bernard silenced her with a raise of his hand and retorted, "But nothing. This was his choice alone, and I understand the reason behind it as I understand the reason behind your outrage of being matched with him."
Hermione nodded but argued, "Yet I did not lift a finger to stop him. I should have. I could have convinced him to stay and prevented all of this from happening, but instead, I encouraged him to leave."
Bernard looked thoughtful, "Narcissa told me Draco was rather horrid to you and your friends at Hogwarts."
Despite the severity of the situation they were in, Hermione snorted, "That's an understatement," she explained bitterly, "There was always tension between Harry and him, but Malfoy hated me far worse than the others. He went out of his way to remind me how unworthy I was to wield magic."
Tears filled her tired eyes once more, and she said resentfully, "In his eyes, I was dirty and tainted."
Bernard could somewhat sympathise, but he stated an important contributing fact to Draco's uncouth behaviour, "You do know the circumstances of his upbringing. Our little encounter with Lucius's portrait is a reminder of just that."
Hermione glanced at what she was sure was a rare painting by Vincent Van Gogh and recalled angrily, "He was the first person, but certainly not the last to call me Mudblood."
Bernard’s eyes widened in shock, and he voiced his thought, "He did not dare use that forbidden word."
Hermione acquiesced and closed her eyes. Tears ran down her face uncontrollably. Her voice cracked, "How am I expected to start a life with him?" She looked at the Manor walls and felt them close in on her. An involuntary shudder rocked her body. Even though years had passed, the night of her torture was fresh in her mind, and Bellatrix's evil screech entered her mind.
In plain sight of Bernard, Hermione grabbed hold of her head and hissed, "Leave me alone."
Bernard stared intently at the woman before him, battling an invisible being. He caught her by the elbow, peered into her face, and asked in concern, "Are you alright, my dear?"
Hermione stayed still and battled the inner demons that roamed freely around her troubled psyche. Once the evil laughter stopped, she answered softly, "Yes, I'm fine."
The older kind man glanced at the closed door and said resolutely, "This unfortunate incident is nobody's fault. You both did what you thought was best."
Hermione shook her head vigorously, "I never intended to separate a mother from her son."
Bernard offered soothing words, "Of course not, Miss Granger. That is clear to everyone here."
Hermione mustered a polite smile, "Please call me Hermione." Just then, Draco strode out with the Healer. He completely ignored the figures in the shadows and spoke hurriedly with Healer George. The experienced Healer told the truth, "She will be fine, son."
He instructed firmly, "Make sure she gets plenty of bed rest."
A hearty chuckle left his lips, "That will be a most difficult task. Your mother is as stubborn as a mule."
Draco mustered a somewhat fond smile, "I won't argue with that, sir."
The Healer's tone turned quite serious, "She is not a young girl anymore and must try not to get worked up by every little thing." Losing one's son could hardly count as a little thing.
Draco nodded in agreement, "Yes, I'll make sure she gets the rest she needs."
Healer George sighed and added importantly, "She was lucky it was a mild stroke and not a full-fledged heart attack. I shudder to think what would have happened if it was."
Draco’s face fell and contorted in unmistakable agony. He replied with renewed sadness, "You and me both."
Healer George said reassuringly, "Chin up, boy. Your mother needs you to be strong."
Draco nodded once again and replied determinedly, "Yes, sir."
The astute man clamped him on the shoulder and smiled, "Take care of yourself, Draco. It is good to have you back. Your mother missed you terribly."
They reached an apparition point, and he said supportively, "I will pop by tomorrow to see how she is fairing." They shook hands, and Draco thanked the Healer profusely, "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
The skilled Healer smiled warmly, "It was my pleasure, dear boy." After Bernard excused himself, Hermione entered Narcissa Malfoy's suite for the second time that night, but this time she was quite alone with the unconscious lady. It was a lavish but tastefully decorated room with every bit of luxury befitting a noblewoman. She hesitated at first but carefully sat on the edge of the bed and stared into the sleeping face. Narcissa’s chest rose and fell with content breathing, and Hermione sighed in relief. It was a narrow escape, but, most importantly, a massive wake-up call.
Strands of long blonde hair fell across Narcissa’s pale face. Hermione brushed them aside, took her clammy hand in hers, and cupped her tear-stained face with it. She kissed the palm of the motherly figure and pledged, "He's not going anywhere. I promise."
Hermione knew firsthand how devasting obliviating someone's memories could be. She had endured the painful experience and the heartbreaking results that followed. She knew Narcissa could not hear the heartfelt words she uttered, but it didn’t matter. Hermione made up her mind to accept the Law and her improbable pairing. Narcissa needed her son, and if three lousy years of marriage was the only way to accomplish that, then so be it. She would much rather have Narcissa around than visit her grave.
Again, she held on tight and swore by all the Gods, "You have my word. He will not leave your side."
Before the war, there was a time before the Malfoys fell from grace, where Narcissa herself had been a party to pureblood dominance and, on occasion, treated Muggleborns poorly. Still, she had made it abundantly clear that she was playing the part expected of her. To protect her son, she dined with the devil. Hermione did not know how long she sat there, but the sound of a loud crack made her jump. Dotty appeared with a basin filled with lukewarm water and a cloth.
She tried to smile, but her giant orbs filled with tears, "Healer George said to keep Mistress cool so she won't get a fever."
Hermione took the bowl, dipped the cloth, and let it soak up the water. She squeezed the excess water and kept it gently on Narcissa’s head, then wiped her hands and feet. She repeated the action until she was satisfied it was enough.
Draco opened the large door to his mother's room and froze, caught in his thoughts. He caught sight of Dotty holding on to a glass bowl of sorts and Granger standing over his mother with a damp cloth in her hand and talking to her as if she were awake, "Once you’re better, I'm taking you out for dinner and we are going to go shopping at that little French store you love so much."
Despite her seemingly cheery chatter, Draco could make out the unmistakable ache in Granger’s voice, and on cue, she dropped to his mother's side and wept, "I'm sorry, Narcissa. Please let me make this right."
Draco wanted to interject and assure her that it wasn't her fault, but that would bring to light that he had been spying on her. If anyone was to blame, it was him. He had decided to take the exit clause, and Granger had absolutely nothing to do with it. Max whimpered and refused to leave his mistress’s side. Not only did he refuse to go, but despite Dotty’s best efforts, he would not eat a single scrap of food.
Draco backed out of the room slowly and returned to the foyer where Bernard was fixing himself a drink. The older wizard glanced over his shoulder and saw the thoroughly defeated young man enter. He fixed another glass of scotch, added two ice cubes, and handed it to the disturbed ice blonde staring at the roaring, rising flames in the fireplace.
Bernard inquired in concern, "Are you quite alright?"
Draco took a sip of the rich liquid and sneered, "My mother almost died because of me. No, I am most certainly not okay."
Bernard started to say something, but Draco cut him off, "Why do I bring misery to those around me?"
Bernard brushed aside the statement and replied carefully, "That is hardly the truth. You love your mother, but this situation with the Law isn't the easiest."
Draco sipped the rich amber liquid; it burnt his throat, and he welcomed the unpleasantness.
Bernard studied the tall, brooding man drowning his sorrows and inquired, "Can I ask you something?"
Draco’s curiosity piqued, and he replied almost at once, "Yes, of course."
Bernard leaned forward and asked curiously, "Do you want to marry Miss Granger?"
He added with a devilish smirk, "I see the way you look at her."
Draco looked mildly ashamed. He did well to hide the blush that crept up his cheeks, but he replied truthfully, "Do I desire her? Yes, very much, but do I want to marry her or anyone else?" He shook his head and emphasized his point, "No, I do not. Granger and I are too different. Our upbringing was so vastly diverse."
Bernard was anything but convinced, and he gave voice to his thoughts, "I never believed you would change your arrogant ways, but here you are, a changed, remarkable man ready to grasp the world by the balls."
Draco let out a deep laugh, “I’ll drink to that.”
Bernard tossed back his drink, clamped Draco on the shoulder, and advised, "You might be pleasantly surprised. If I've learned one thing, it's that there are plenty of surprises life tosses your way."
Draco felt obliged to apologise, "I'm sorry about my father’s cruel words."
Bernard smiled but with exhaustion rather than happiness, "Ah, think nothing of it." He shrugged, "It is the jealous ramblings of a dead man."
He perked up and said with purpose, "Now, if you excuse me, my beloved needs me."
Draco smiled gratefully, "Thank you, Bernard. My mother is lucky to have you."
Bernard said fondly, "My dear boy, it is I who is lucky to have her."
An hour passed uneventfully. Hermione left Narcissa in the care of Bernard and searched the Manor for Malfoy. There were certain things she needed to get off her chest, so to speak. The fire in the fireplace burned out, leaving dying embers glowing in the darkness. Hermione could make out his tall frame, despite the dimness, pacing anxiously.
He firmly held a half-full tumbler of scotch with the tips of his fingers and occasionally sipped it. Once he drained the glass, he threw it into the fireplace in frustration and anger. It collided with charred and blistered logs and smashed to smithereens. Draco held onto the mantlepiece with both hands, bowed his head, and swore loudly.
Hermione shuddered, gathered her strength and Gryffindor bravado, and stepped out of the shadow into the flickering candlelight. The outline of the shirt where it moulded to the delicate muscles of his back was plain to see.
She cleared her throat and said in a firm voice loud enough for him to hear, "Let's get married." The words left her lips effortlessly despite her unwillingness to marry her former school bully.
Draco heard the voice as though he was in a dream. He turned around quickly and saw Granger standing but a few feet away from him, staring at him intently and waiting for some reaction. Surely, he had heard her wrong. There had to be some mistake. He could see the rip in the side of her dress. She was barefoot, and her hair was a messy, unkempt tangle of curls. It was endearing to see her this way. She looked like her former Hogwarts self.
She tutted impatiently, but he was not intimidated and replied adamantly, "No, that isn't the answer."
Hermione held her ground and hissed through clenched teeth, "Yes, it is, and you know it."
Draco stared deep into her eyes and shot back defiantly, "I said no, Granger!"
He saw her face contort with anger, or perhaps it was frustration. It didn't matter because she looked furious. Thinking she misunderstood, he added quickly, "I find you quite desirable as I bluntly told you earlier, but marriage...." Their attraction was sexual. It was nothing beyond the sensual act.
Hermione glared sternly, "If I can do this for your mother, then you bloody well can too." She further emphasized impatiently, "I will not play party to Narcissa’s declining health and death. I care for her too much."
Draco refused to accept the truth she uttered. He said calmly, “Let us not make any hasty decisions. We have been through a great deal tonight. "
Hermione rolled her eyes, and her reply dripped heavily with sarcasm, "Yeah, because the one you made worked so well." That bold statement hurt him. It pierced through his tough exterior and stabbed his heart.
She crossed her arms over her chest, stood her ground, and stated brazenly, "I've made up my mind." There was an edge to her voice and finality to the tone that he dared not question. Draco racked his brain to find another solution to their problem. One that kept his mother healthy and alive whilst saving them from a disastrous marriage. If a solution existed, it evaded him with purpose.
He conceded defeat and inquired firmly, "Are you sure about this?"
Hermione laughed manically, and Draco took a step back in alarm. She looked pretty deranged. He impulsively covered his precious parts, thinking she would hex him or Avada his arse. She growled, literally growled as a caged animal would, "No, I'm not fucking sure but let's get one thing straight, I'm doing this for her and only her."
Without a single thread of remorse, Hermione hurled angrily, "I don't give a shite about you or what happens to you, but for the woman fighting for her life, I will do the unthinkable and wed the man who wished me dead time and time again."
Draco closed the gap between them and covered her mouth with his large hand. Fresh tears trickled out of the corner of her eyes and over his fingers. He stared, mesmerized by the tiny drops moving over his knuckles.
He wanted to comfort her and brush away the salty tears, but instead, he rested his forehead against hers and pleaded desperately, "Granger, stop..."
Her fingers grabbed hold of the side of his dress shirt, and she held on hard to control some of the raging emotions flowing through her body.
Why was he so bloody tall? She barely reached his shoulder. She took a step back, wiped the tears, and said with an air of importance, “If you excuse me, your mother needs us, and I fully intend on being by her side when she awakes."
Hermione turned on her heel, but long fingers encircled her wrist and turned her around roughly.
Once again, she was pressed flush against his broad chest, and she wholeheartedly welcomed the heat he generated.
His earlier promise of one night came to mind, and she dug her fingers into the soft material, letting tears flow until they dampened the cotton of his probably expensive shirt. His arms went around her, and he hugged her tight and buried his head in her unruly tussle of curls. Her hair smelt faintly of coconuts with a hint of rose, and he eagerly inhaled it.
She whispered between sobs, "I hate you..."
He closed his eyes and replied sadly, "I know..."
She repeated less convincingly, "I hate you so much...."
Draco almost smiled, "I know...."
He promised without hesitation, "I will do all I can to make this easier for you."
Draco held her till she was emotionally spent.
Surrounded by darkness, they held onto each other and let the day’s events wash over them. Only after she stilled and pushed herself off him did he let go.
He boldly cupped her face and brushed away the tears that were smeared across her reddened cheeks, "I'm forever in your debt for doing this."
Hermione stepped back and fired, "Need I remind you of how much Narcissa means to me? I want nothing from you." She walked away, glanced over her shoulder, and asked sternly, "Well, aren't you coming?"
Draco smirked, "Lead the way, Granger." He was being bossed around by Hermione Granger, and he immensely enjoyed the feeling. When they walked into the beautifully decorated room, Bernard held Narcissa’s hand, and she smiled weakly at him. After a few moments, her eyes fluttered shut, her head rolled to the side, and she fell asleep once again.
Draco and Hermione stood by the edge of the bed and watched Narcissa’s peaceful slumber. The older woman’s features were relaxed, and a small smile curved the corner of her thin lips.
Bernard got to his feet, kept his eyes on the woman he loved, and said with a satisfied grin, "She's recovering well. I'll be in the guestroom if anyone needs me."
Draco nodded and heard the faintest sound of a stomach rumbling. He looked for the source and saw Granger blush and embarrassedly try to cover her abdomen as if to silence it.
He found her behaviour oddly amusing and asked bluntly, "Are you hungry?"
Hermione grinned sheepishly, "Oh, no, not really." The noise again, he heard it distinctively.
Draco raised a brow and questioned, "Granger?"
Hermione sighed in defeat, "Fine. I'm starving." She wasn't the only one, he had pushed aside the growing ache in his gut and focused all his attention on his mother, but with Granger’s all too vocal stomach, his hunger pangs rose violently to the surface.
He offered eagerly, "Why don't we raid the kitchen? I'm sure Dotty can make us some sandwiches."
Hermione glanced at Narcissa unsurely, but Draco reassured, "Mother needs to rest, and we need to keep our strength up."
Narcissa was out of danger and well on her way to fully recovering. He offered his hand, which she brushed aside and suggested he lead the way. Draco led her past famous paintings, she stopped to admire the beautiful works of art, and he explained calmly, "My grandfather had many vices, but he valued Muggle artists, and he was a true connoisseur of wine."
Hermione couldn't keep the surprise off her face, and they passed many unique pieces before arriving at tall black mahogany double doors. He pushed them open and stepped into the brightly lit kitchen. It was surgically clean, and every surface was polished. Three house elves, including Dotty, jumped to attention.
Dotty came up to them hurriedly and bowed, "Mister Malfoy, sir. What are you doing here?"
Draco grinned, "Miss Granger and I are quite hungry. Would you be so kind as to rustle up some food?"
Dotty beamed, and a happy smile split her face in half, "Of course, sir," she snapped her fingers, and the other two elves sprang to attention and fell over themselves in their haste to get the stove started.
Appearing mildly offended, the tiny elf asked, "Why didn't you ask Dotty, sir? I would have brought dinner to your room."
Draco smiled warmly and glanced at Hermione, attempting to make small talk with the other elves, "I wanted to show Miss Granger our spotless kitchen."
Dotty glowed proudly. She always kept the place sparkling clean, and that much was obvious. Pots hung in neat rows, and cupboards and drawers were artfully and methodically organised.
Hermione tugged at her dress, the rip was widening, and her dress would come apart at any moment. Like a buffoon, she had left her wand inside her beaded expandable purse in Narcissa’s room. Draco sensed her distress, and he moved closer, instructing her strictly to stay still. She barely got a word out before he touched her and sent all these mixed feelings through her tired body,
"What are you...." His fingers touched the bare skin of her thigh over the noticeable rip. An involuntary shudder went down her spine at his fingertips relatively close to her core.
She croaked, "Are you quite done?" He kept moving his hand along the damaged area, up and up and then inward. She felt the magic that emitted from his fingers warm her skin.
It was clear he was enjoying her discomfort and took longer than necessary to patch up what was otherwise an easy fix, "Hmm, not quite yet. Almost though, if you would stop squirming, I could do it faster."
Hermione cried indignantly and enunciated each word in frustration, "I. Am. Not. Squirming."
Draco stifled a laugh, straightened, and assessed the area, "There, all done. Good as new."
Hermione caught her reflection on a polished cupboard door and nodded her approval, "Yes, well. It will have to do."
Dotty cleared his throat and pointed to nearly the other side of the room, where a white kitchen island stood surrounded by six high chairs. They crossed the space and took their seats. The smell of roast beef and cold turkey cuts made it to their nostrils, further exacerbating their hunger pangs. The double-decker sandwiches were packed with layers of roast beef, slices of juicy tomato, fresh salad leaves, and a dash of mustard.
Draco took a deep sniff and said in appreciation, "Thank you, Dotty. This smells delicious."
Hermione followed suit, "Yes, thank you, Dotty, JoJo and Daisy." The other smartly dressed elves beamed at being acknowledged.
Draco picked up his sandwich and bit into it, forgetting his usual impeccable table manners. Hermione watched him greedily devour his meal and did the same. She did not care to be graceful or ladylike, and she munched happily on the delicious, toasted goodness. She absolutely hated awkward silence during a meal. Hermione delicately dabbed the corners of her mouth with the white serviette and asked in slight concern, "Er, how are you holding up?
Draco leaned against the chair and replied unhappily, "Well, I could be better. And you?"
Hermione stared at her unfinished sandwich, and the recollection of Narcissa falling played over in her mind. She choked back a sob, "I wish it never happened."
Draco reached across and covered her hand with his and slightly squeezed, "What happened to mother is not your fault."
She took her hand from under his, averted her gaze, and muttered, "It doesn't feel that way. I feel every bit as responsible as you do." A strained silence followed. Hermione broke the silence and said in an impressed tone, “That was, umm, a powerful display even for a wizard who can do wandless magic."
Draco looked anything but proud, “I can’t explain what happened. It felt like my blood was on fire and seared the flesh from within.”
She looked horrified but fascinated, though quickly stirred the conversation towards other things, "Tell me about China."
A fond smile flashed across Draco's face. He wiped his mouth clean and answered, "That's a long story." She rested her head on her hands and gave him her undivided attention, "Humour me."
Draco cleared his throat, glanced pointedly at his timeless Patek Philippe watch, and inquired, "Shouldn't you be getting back?"
Hermione smirked at his blatant refusal to answer the question and asked rudely, "Eager to get rid of me?
Draco countered at once, "Not in the least. I can ask Dotty to fix up a guestroom for you to rest in."
Hermione hesitated, picked at the serviette, and responded darkly, "That's quite alright. I could never sleep within these walls."
Draco nodded curtly, “I understand.”
She picked up the sandwich, "This is so good."
He took a large bite of his and savoured the taste of the tangy mustard. A bit of the yellow paste dribbled down the side of Hermione’s mouth. He brushed it off with his thumb and grinned at her look of utter shock. They ate their meal in companionable silence, only stopping to exchange meaningful glances.
Once she had polished off every last morsel, Hermione hopped off the highchair and announced, "Well, I'll be going then. I will come by first thing in the morning. I fancy a day off work."
Draco got to his feet and answered, "As you wish. Come on, let me escort you to the apparition point. It's quite late, and I will not allow you to wander about the grounds alone."
He instructed the tiny elf hovering in the background, "Dotty, please fetch Miss Granger's bag from my mother's room and take care not to disturb her."
Hermione argued, "I can take care of myself."
Draco grinned, "I have no doubt you can, but it would ease my troubled mind."
He heard her mutter, "What an idiot."
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Fine, let's go then."
She took in the flowers in bloom, the magical surroundings and the intoxicating smell, "I always admired the gardens. The moonlight makes everything beautiful seem so sinister."
Draco nodded in agreement, "True. But some things remain as beautiful as they were in the light."
He was staring at her, hungrily devouring her curves, the dips in her body and even her imperfections, and she knew he meant her. Never had she been considered beautiful. Attractive or even sexy perhaps, but never beautiful. His comment made her blush, but she concealed it well. Her eyes moved over his body.
The steady shimmering beams of the moon did him justice. He fit into the dark, mysterious surroundings, his silvery blonde hair glistened, and his eyes shone brightly.
They arrived at the fountain with carved centaurs gazing lovingly at the heavens.
Hermione looked to the open sky and sighed, "It's been a distressing night."
Draco followed her gaze and replied, "Hmm...indeed. Granger, again, you are most welcome to stay."
She looked away uncomfortably, "I, um....can't. The Manor isn't my favourite place to be."
Draco knew precisely why. He shared her sentiment, "Of course, I couldn't agree with you more." He included bitterly, "In fact, I feel the same. If I could, I would sell it off or donate it and start new, but mother would never entertain the idea."
Hermione stared into his face. He had faced far greater evil within the walls than she had. She fleetingly wondered if nightmares tormented him as they did her.
Draco said carefully, "We need to talk about our situation."
Hermione retorted in exhaustion, "Not tonight. For now, we have agreed to marry, so let's leave it at that."
The words she said were a nasty pill to swallow, but she pressed on undeterred, "It's barely sunk in yet, and I would rather focus on Narcissa’s wellbeing at this moment."
Draco nodded and quipped, "Agreed. See? We might have more in common than you think.
She gritted out, "We have nothing in common and never will."
Hermione shivered as cold air swept over her, and she reached for her wand, "Goodnight then."
Draco stepped closer, invading her personal space. He placed an affectionate kiss on her forehead and muttered, "We will figure this out, I promise. I'm sorry to put you through this." She closed her eyes and felt every bit of his lips ghosting ever so delicately over her skin. The softness, the reality of their situation made it even more intense.
Hermione looked up and locked eyes with him. She unconsciously brushed a strand of ice blonde hair off his face and, with a single magical word, disapparated.
Draco sighed as she disappeared. His fingers twitched in wanting to touch her again. He took the scenic route back to the Manor, where his father's ghost-like peacocks preened around the gardens looking as majestic as ever.
When Hermione’s feet touched familiar ground, she tossed her bag aside and fell onto the bed. In her weakened mental state, she missed the warmth of her parents horribly and decided a visit was long overdue.
The severity of the events that followed hit her hard, and before she knew it, she was crying. She hugged her legs to her chest, curled into a fetal position, and wept for fear of Narcissa dying, for an unstable future but most of all for having no choice but to marry the monster who tormented her in school.
A faint evil cackling filled the flat and added to the torment, "Welcome to the family, Mudblood."
Draco returned to his mother's room and flopped unceremoniously on the chintz chair in the corner by the wide window.
Max came over and lay by his feet. He ruffled the dog's head and stroked its back until he was satisfied and lulled to sleep. Head in his hands, Draco thought about his father's goading words but primarily the sacrifice Granger made to keep his mother from an early grave. It could not have been easy for her to come to such a conclusion. Did his mother mean so much to her, or was her innate goodness shining through to save his family again?
Of one thing, he was sure. He would do all within his power to keep her happy and sane for the duration of their marriage of convenience. Besides, three years could hardly be considered a lifetime. He was confident they could co-exist in harmony, and all being well, the years would fly by faster than they hoped.
Chapter 20
Notes:
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Slow burn, I know, but it is rather important for the storyline.
Enjoy Chapter Twenty!
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Chapter Text
The sexually spent man rolled off the woman and stared at the ceiling with a smug, satisfied grin, "Nothing like an early morning fuck to take the edge off." He nuzzled into the crook of her neck and desperately wished for love. Would he die without ever feeling its warmth?
The woman lay naked and spread-eagled. Deep cuts and bruises adorned her used body. Her eyes were devoid of any emotion. They were hollow shells of misery and acceptance. There was nothing left, and her tears had dried up. She slowly turned her head to the side, watched the man peeling the condom gingerly off his dick in disgust and murmured, "Kill me. I rather die than have you in me again."
Her words hurt him. Hadn't he shown mercy by making sweet love to her? Pulling up his trousers, he walked towards her. His stride was panther-like and foreboding. He cupped her face letting his fingers dig into her gaunt cheeks, leering, "Not yet, darling. But soon."
He placed a heated kiss on her puckered lips, "I haven't tired of your screams yet."
After he let go, she spat blood at his feet and snarled with all the strength she had left, "Coward."
It would be the final nail in her coffin. Cuffing her to the bed, he enjoyed her obvious discomfort as the rusty metal bracelet cut into her wrist.
He showed no remorse as he loomed over her and threatened, "Mouthy, aren't you, bitch? When I return, we can put that filthy mouth of yours to good use."
The steady beams of sunlight entered the ancestral home through the glass windows. They reached the corners of the room and illuminated it in a warm glow. Narcissa blinked in a futile attempt to rid herself of the drowsiness. She was not quite sure where she was. Her eyelids were heavy with sleepiness, and her mind felt foggy, but she fought the urge and struggled to open her eyes.
She felt a presence by her side, a whimper followed, and something wet nudged her eagerly. Narcissa struggled to move and, with some difficulty, turned over and found herself face-to-face with her beloved German Shepherd. She swallowed hard; her mouth felt appalling. The faint taste of a calming draught lingered on the receptive nodes of her tongue. She desperately needed to quench her thirst.
Her voice was barely audible, but she croaked, "Water...." Max stared at his Mistress in distress for a second and started to bark loudly.
Narcissa closed her eyes in pain; the sound felt like a battering ram to the side of her head. She was too weak to cover her ears and shuddered at the magnified noise inside her head.
Draco was asleep, slumped in a chair awkwardly. Exhausted and in the clothes from the night before, he stirred at the loud sound of the dog’s bark.
It took him a second to gather his bearings and shoot to his feet. He saw Max turn to him and then his mother and continue to bark in alarm. Draco shot his mother a panicked look when he found her wide awake. Her face was twisted in anguish, and she repeatedly mouthed, 'Water."
He quickly fetched the gold goblet that rested on the bedside table and waved his hand over it without a moment's hesitation. Freshwater splashed within, and he sat by his mother, helped her up with one hand and kept the cool glass of water to her lips. Narcissa eagerly grabbed it with both hands and attempted to gulp it down, but Draco held it carefully and cautioned, "Slowly, mother. You will vomit otherwise."
Narcissa nodded, took another gratifying sip, and laid back down. A small, content smile curved her once-dry lips. She regained enough strength to speak clearly, "What happened?
Draco took her hand in his and kissed it, "You had a mild stroke." His voice dropped low, and he revealed heartbreakingly, "I almost lost you. Please forgive me."
Narcissa stroked her son's tired face lovingly. He seemed uneasy and visibly distraught, "There is nothing to forgive. I acted childishly, but the thought of losing you is more than I can bear." Her voice broke on the last word, spurring Draco into action. He dropped to his knees and assured, "You needn't worry about that. I'm not going anywhere."
Narcissa cupped her beloved son’s cheek and looked pleased but perplexed, "Whatever do you mean?"
Before Draco could answer, the door opened quietly, and Bernard walked in wearing a white linen shirt and dark grey trousers, clutching a handful of Narcissa’s favourite yellow roses. He saw the woman he adored wide awake and conversing.
He could hardly contain his happiness. Keeping the flowers by the vase, he rushed over and said in relief, "My love. You gave us quite the scare."
Draco got to his feet and allowed Bernard to take his place, "I'll give you two some privacy." He took a deep breath and grimaced, "Besides, I could do with a long shower. I haven't changed my clothes since yesterday."
Narcissa muttered anxiously, "You were saying..."
Draco grinned encouragingly, "Please Rest. We have all the time in the world to talk."
Max whined impatiently and kept his head on the bed. Narcissa ruffled the head weakly and mustered a happy smile, "Good boy."
Bernard tousled the shaggy white mane of the Alsatian and said fondly, "He has not left your side."
He placed an enduring kiss on Narcissa’s forehead as Draco exited the room and made his way to the training room. A shower would have to wait. He needed to gather his thoughts and arrange them accordingly. Still, most desperately, he wanted to punch something, anything really, to let out the frustration.
Hermione woke wearing only her knickers. Sometime during the night, she had tossed her clothes aside and fallen asleep in her underwear. Groggily, she reached for her mobile and scrolled through the contacts until she found Brenda's number. Bringing the device as close to her face as possible, she typed fast the intended message.
Family emergency. Please tell Kingsley that I'm taking a personal day off.
She clicked send, tossed the phone aside, and buried her head under the covers. It was well past ten am, but her body protested, and Hermione knew she could afford a few more winks before heading to Malfoy Manor. What a night it had been. A near-death experience and she was now verbally promised to her former bully.
Indeed, a life-changing night. Did she say she would marry him in the heat of the moment? No, she meant it, but the very thought of the deed made her want to weep and wither away.
Perhaps, she should take the exit clause. It made far more sense for her than it ever did for him. Who the hell was she kidding? She could never be without magic. It was part of who she was, and up until the Marriage Law and Malfoy's untimely return, she had loved every bit of her life minus the soul-shattering nightmares that plagued her often.
She was wide awake now. Hermione cursed under her breath, kicked aside the sheet, and dragged her feet into the bathroom.
Narcissa struggled to sit up, but Bernard put his arms around her waist, helped her up and summoned Dotty.
Dotty hurried in and almost tripped over her long dress. She beamed, and happy tears ran down her chubby cheeks, "Oh, Mistress. Dotty is most pleased to see you awake. I have cried all night."
Narcissa managed a shaky smile, "My dear, you shouldn't have. I'm fine, see?
Bernard patted Narcissa’s hand affectionately and said politely, "Dotty, would you please serve breakfast in the suite."
He added after a quick think, "Nothing starchy. Fruit, toast and a boiled egg would do nicely."
Narcissa swallowed hard and grimaced, "My mouth feels rancid."
Bernard offered gently, “Shall I help you to the shower?”
Her eyes fell on the space Lucius's portrait previously occupied
She stared at it intently and demanded firmly, “First, tell me what happened.”
Bernard sighed and gave her a shortened version of the events that occurred. He took great care not to further upset or alarm her. Once he was done, Narcissa trembled and voiced her displeasure. She struggled to get up, "Poor Hermione. I must see her at once."
Bernard towered over her and said determinedly, "You are in no state to go anywhere." His gaze softened, "Hermione will probably come by in a while."
Narcissa glared at the empty space on the wall above her private safe and queried, "Might I ask what happened to Lucius's painting?"
Bernard averted his gaze and shifted his weight uneasily, "Lucius became very vocal and unpleasant. Draco decided to move the painting to a more suitable place."
Narcissa raised a brow and mused, "Like the garbage?" There was no love lost between father and son, and she knew it.
Bernard gathered her in his arms tenderly and held on tight. He choked back a sob, "You don't know how happy it makes me to hear you joke. I was terrified that I was going to lose you."
Narcissa let herself be held. She returned his enthusiasm and closed her eyes. A single tear slid down her face, "I'm fine. I should never have let myself get so worked up."
Bernard stroked her fine long hair, "It was understandable."
She requested shyly, "Can you help me to the ensuite?"
He nodded and wordlessly helped her to her feet, she leaned on him heavily, and he almost carried her the short way to the luxurious bathroom. Conscious of being partially naked, Narcissa looked away as she let the night robes drop to her feet, exposing her body to him. His astute eyes took in her mature body. He smiled fondly and helped her into the large tub.
Draco changed into training bottoms and left his hardened upper body bare; he didn't bother with warmup exercises or meditation. He slipped on the black leather gloves, quickened his stride and as the large punching bag came within reach, he made a solid fist and smashed it into the bag with all his might. He kept striking the bag with his fists and long legs until the sweat dripped down his back.
With each punch, he muttered in annoyance, "Stop thinking about Granger, you idiot. Your mother almost died." His grunts and deep groans filled the space. It felt immensely gratifying to release the pent-up frustration.
A precise and strong roundhouse kick connected with the side of the heavy bag. It made a faint hissing sound. The seam split, causing the sawdust filling to spill on the ground. His heavy breathing echoed through the area. He swore and doubled over in a futile effort to calm himself. He grumbled and set to the task of repairing the damaged bag.
Hermione stepped into her room after a relaxing bath with a fluffy white towel wrapped firmly around her and shook her wild curls sending water droplets in all directions. In deep thought, she threw the doors open and stood with her legs apart in front of the white-painted cupboard.
What to wear? Hmm...
She ultimately settled on a tight black turtleneck and form-fitting jeans. Her hair was too wet to do anything with it, so she let it cascade around her shoulders, unbridled and free.
Hermione felt uncertainty and her heart thumped a rapid nervous beat. She had seen a different side to Malfoy last night. It was unnerving yet undeniably appealing. Under normal circumstances, and if he weren't who he was, she wouldn't have given pursuing him a second thought, but unfortunately, the situation wasn't that simple.
Her phone buzzed, and she snapped out of the disturbing thoughts prancing around her head. She kept the phone to her ear and choked back a sob. Her emotions were getting the better of her, “Mum.”
It was uncanny how parents could sense their child's distress.
Julia said cheerfully, “Hi, my darling. We missed you and thought we’d give you a ring.”
Hermione tried to hide a sniffle.
Richard Granger’s deep concerned voice came through, "Sweetheart, is everything alright?"
Hermione sighed. Her announcement was best done in person, "Yes, dad. I just miss you too."
Julia knew something was amiss and suggested eagerly, "Well, why don't you come and stay for the weekend?"
Hermione felt real happiness in days. She perked up, "That sounds brilliant. I can't wait."
She included wearily, "I need a bloody break from the magical hocus pocus."
Richard chuckled, "We will be sure to Muggle it up for you."
Hermione couldn't help but laugh at the reference.
They spoke for a bit and hung up. She was careful not to blurt out her predicament. Oh, guess what? I got engaged to a man you’ve never met. We hated each other in school and have no logical choice other than to get married and live miserably for three years.
Three years, she would be in her late twenties and divorced. It was hardly considered an old age to start a family but still an enormous waste of time. Grabbing her sizeable Chanel bag, she flung it over her shoulder, slipped on a pair of matching black sunglasses, clutched her wand tight and muttered her destination.
Draco pushed down his bottoms and stepped into the bathroom. His softened cock sat unmoving and unused between his muscular thighs.
He glanced at it momentarily and fought the urge to question its allegiance to Granger. It was an amusing thought, and he chuckled to himself. He didn't care for bathtubs, but his mother insisted each bathroom contained one. He walked right past the jacuzzi and slid open the glass door to the cubicle.
As the overhead shower came to life, he closed his eyes, threw his head back and wholeheartedly welcomed the beads of water that fell over his face. An involuntary sigh of contentment escaped his lips.
Hermione hesitated at the intimidating entrance to Malfoy Manor. She got ready to knock, but the door flew open, forcing her to step back in trepidation.
Dotty beamed, "I saw Miss walking up the steps from the second-story window. I wanted to surprise you." More like giving her a bloody heart attack.
It was clear from the elf's disposition that Narcissa was doing fine, and Dotty must have sensed her apprehension because she offered gleefully, "Mistress is awake. She is much better today." Relief swept over Hermione, and she shared in the elf’s happy mood, "That's wonderful."
They reached Narcissa’s room, and Dotty stopped outside. Hermione raised a brow in question, but the tiny elf fixed her dress and bowed, “You can go inside, Miss. I will bring you a pot of tea and some breakfast.”
She was indeed smart; Hermione was feeling somewhat peckish. Dotty disappeared with a loud crack.
Hermione took a deep breath, willed her rattled nerves to calm themselves and knocked on the door. The unmistakable voice of Narcissa Malfoy came from within, “Please come in.” She slowly pushed the door open and walked in on wobbly legs. Narcissa was sitting up in fresh light blue robes as Bernard munched happily on a piece of toast. They turned her way and smiled kindly in greeting.
Narcissa was beside herself, “Hermione, I'm so glad to see you, darling.”
Bernard welcomed courteously, “Good morning, Miss Granger.”
Hermione hurriedly closed the gap between them, put her arms around the older woman and hugged her close.
Narcissa didn't hold back. She held onto the younger witch and soothingly rubbed her back, "I'm okay. It will take a lot more than a little stroke to kill me." They broke apart, and Hermione wiped the tears off her face, "I was so worried."
Narcissa took Hermione’s hand and comforted her, "I'm fine. Healthy as a horse." Max came running up to Hermione and demanded her attention. She went on one knee, hugged the dog around the middle and buried her face in its soft fur. It tickled her nostrils, and she sneezed a few times.
A deep voice drawled, "Bless you, Granger." Just the tone of his naturally husky voice sent multiple shivers down her spine. She slowly rose and turned to find him but a few inches away from her body. She involuntarily took a step back but held her head high, "Good morning, Malfoy." He ignored her greeting, sidestepped her neatly, dropped a kiss on his mother's forehead, and said, "Ah, good, you're eating. You need to keep up your strength."
Hermione stared at her hands and mumbled miserably, "I'm sorry, Narcissa. We should have never put you through this." Three pairs of curious eyes turned to look at her intriguingly. Narcissa smiled and patted the area next to her. Hermione sat down and continued to stare at the hands in her lap. Fresh tears streaked her cheeks, and she struggled to keep her composure.
Draco almost reached out to touch her, maybe even comfort her, but he stopped himself. His actions were not lost on Bernard, who grinned knowingly and continued to devour his breakfast.
Hermione muttered weakly, "We have a solution."
Bernard didn't know what the two headstrong youngsters had cooked up, but he wasn't going to take the chance of having Narcissa relapse. He interrupted sternly, "I don't think this is an appropriate time."
Narcissa narrowed her clear blue eyes, "Hush, Bernard." She glanced at Hermione, nervously picking at a loose tread on her jeans. "Go on, dear." She encouraged.
Hermione brought her head up and stared directly at Draco. Their eyes bore into each others intently. Neither dared to break eye contact.
He kept his eyes on the witch before him and announced confidently, "We have amicably decided to get married."
Draco saw Granger flinch, but she hid it well. Her face clouded over with uncertainty.
Narcissa pressed her lips together and frowned. Her eyes darted from her son to her would-be daughter-in-law. She sat up straighter and questioned strictly, "I see, and what brought this on? My untimely illness?"
Draco was ready with his reply, "It's the best possible way forward.” He hesitated and added bleakly, “We haven't worked out the details yet."
Clearly, their declaration did not have the desired effect, though Narcissa did a good job hiding her anger.
Narcissa rubbed her temples exasperatedly and spoke slowly, "I will not let my feelings doom the two of you into a contract marriage." She said tenderly and momentarily eyed her ring finger, "Marriage is a sacred bond between two individuals."
She raised her voice forebodingly and directed her statement at her only child, "And Malfoys do not get divorced."
Hermione stiffened and purposely looked away, but Draco kept his wits about him and answered coolly, "Well, this Malfoy will." He persistently stated the truth, "We did not come to this decision lightly, but we stand by it."
Draco looked to Hermione for backing, and after a moment’s hesitation, she concurred, "It's only for three years, and as Malfoy said, we haven't quite worked out all the details."
That much was true. They hadn't spoken about it all, but she knew he wanted it, but she wasn't ready. It was so much to take in.
Narcissa said directly, "Then I suggest you do. A loveless marriage isn't what I want for either of you." A sadness laced her following words, "I will handle myself and come to terms with it, but don't let my health be the catalyst that propels you into making unwise decisions that ruin your future."
Draco sighed, "Mother...."
Hermione spoke at the same time, "Narcissa..." The doors flew open, and a cheerful man walked in carrying a briefcase. He took in the situation and tried to lighten the mood, "Ah, I see the whole gang is here."
There was a collective murmur of good morning. Healer George grinned, displaying perfect rows of sparkly white teeth, took Narcissa’s hands in his and gushed, "My dear, Narcissa. You gave us quite the scare." He checked her vitals and nodded approvingly, "Well, you seem to be doing well."
Turning to Draco and Bernard, he asked earnestly, "Is she taking the potions without causing a fuss?"
Narcissa blushed at being referred to as an insolent child.
Bernard threw her an amused look and smirked, "Like a good girl."
Dotty appeared shortly with a tray laden with a steaming pot of tea and a plate of freshly baked scones. She held it out to Hermione, “Miss Granger, your tea. Would you like some breakfast? Dotty can make you some egg muffins.”
Hermione inhaled the sweet smell of tea and felt her stomach growl, but she politely declined, “Thank you, but...”
Draco asserted himself and requested, “Serve brunch on the terrace, Dotty. Miss Granger and I will eat together.”
Hermione protested, “Oh, I’m really not that hungry.”
Draco stood his ground and countered willfully, “I wasn't asking, Granger.”
Healer George requested graciously, “I would love a cup of tea. If you please, two lumps of sugar and a dash of milk.” Dotty froze at being addressed directly and hurried off to do her duty.
Draco led Hermione onto the white marbled terrace which overlooked the gardens. A sizeable round table was arranged with platters of food.
Hermione quipped, “That's a large spread for two people.”
Draco grinned, “Mealtimes are quite the fuss. We ate whatever was prepared without question at the temple and didn't have dinner.”
She asked intriguingly, “Are you going to tell me about China?” He tipped her chin and leaned closer, "All in good time." She smelt the fresh mint of his toothpaste on his breath.
Hermione closed her eyes and let his manly aroma clog her senses. Through a haze, she heard his voice, "Come on, the food is getting cold."
Unfazed, Hermione shot back, "A simple spell can fix that." Some wizard he was.
Draco scowled and rationalised, “Everything time we use magic, something is taken in return. I want my food fresh and naturally hot.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, “Fine.”
They ate in companionable silence, and Hermione sneaked sausage pieces to Max, who had followed them.
Draco scolded, “Don't do that, Granger. He will get used to it and demand it of everyone.”
Hermione argued, “He's a puppy still. I mean, look at his face.” Max kept his head on Draco's lap and stared into his master's face with the most adorable eyes.
Draco chuckled, "He's got you wrapped around his little finger."
She said absentmindedly, "Him, along with Teddy and James."
Draco swallowed hard and implored, "Teddy?"
Hermione shifted uncomfortably, busied herself with buttering a piece of toast and mumbled, "Yeah...he’s your cous...."
Draco interrupted, "I know who he is," and added with a genuine smile, "I would love to meet him one day. I saw him with my aunt at Tracey’s wedding.” He had also seen Granger showering the boy with unmistakable love.
She certainly wasn't expecting that. Hermione raised a questioning brow, "Would you like to meet him? Do you mean that?"
Draco fixed her with a strange look, "Why do you sound surprised? He's family, of course, I want to meet him." That shut her up temporarily, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same about Andromeda.
Hermione bit into a flaky croissant delicately, but bits of pastry still landed on her top. She brushed them off and gazed into the immaculately kept gardens, and quipped, "Can we expect more visits from your girlfriend?"
Draco choked on his pumpkin juice, surfaced spluttering, and Hermione patted him on the back in panic, "Fuck. Are you okay?" He emerged with tears in his eyes and a burning sensation in his throat but croaked out an answer, "I'm fine. She was never truly my girlfriend." After a few sips of water, he shrugged nonchalantly, "Well, she comes and goes as she pleases. It's always been the way."
Hermione savagely pierced a thick sausage, and Draco winced. It physically hurt his cock to see her brutalise the homemade sausage. He grabbed her wrist midair and glared, "Stop playing around with your food."
She smiled sweetly, broke free from his grasp and pointedly cut the meat into minuscule pieces, popped a few into her mouth slowly and stated rather insensitively, "Greengrass is not going to take the news of our upcoming nuptials well."
Draco visibly paled. He was already a shade lighter than most, but this new shade put his original colour to shame. With all the drama that followed, he had forgotten entirely about Astoria. That would be a difficult hurdle to jump. She was likely to do something drastic, but he was still somewhat glad Granger had been the first to bring up their impending union.
He cleared his throat and said cautiously, "We need to talk about the marriage."
Hermione contemplated the many varieties of marmalade and shrugged, "What is there to talk about?"
Undeterred, Draco pressed forward, "For starters, we need to speak about living arrangements."
Oh Merlin, did the incorrigible sod expect to share a room? A devilish thought floated by; he would be a pleasing sight to wake up to.
Horrified by her momentary distraction, she absentmindedly picked up a black jar, generously spread the black contents within on a fresh piece of bread and said adamantly, "I will never live here. We can just keep our current living arrangement. Me in my flat, and you here."
She took a bite and gagged. What was that revolting taste? Hermione turned the jar around, and in big, bold letters, the word MARMITE jumped out at her. She pushed her plate away and hurriedly drank some orange juice to erase the disgusting taste.
Draco chuckled, "You either love it or hate it. Besides, it’s very nutritional." He picked up her discarded piece of marmite-smeared bread, took a sizable bite and sighed exaggeratedly, "Delicious."
Hermione looked repulsed, "That's a vile jar of shite." She was more surprised that he ate her leftovers.
Seriously, who the fuck was this man?
Draco laughed aloud, "I love it when you swear."
His eyes clouded over with desire, and he drawled, "Are you vocal in bed?"
Hermione bit her lip, leaned forward until their faces were inches apart and quipped, "Only if you fuck me right."
Salazar, she had him by his balls. Figuratively, of course.
He pushed his chair back. She had succeeded in making him uncomfortable and horny.
Draco ran his long fingers through his hair and inquired, "Erm, I presume you read through the conditions of the Marriage Law."
It hit her like a metaphorical ton of bricks.
Article 03 - Living Arrangement.
Couples are to live under one roof for the duration of the Law. Failure to do so will result in immediate contract termination and confiscation of wands.
It was a no-win situation.
She looked around the Manor in hatred, "The occasional visit is one thing, but I could never live in a place where my blood was spilt."
Draco stiffened. The realisation of her words hit him hard, and he started to clarify, "Granger, I didn't mean for us to live here, I...."
The words us and live triggered something within, which made the whole situation seem real, and she couldn't handle that.
Hermione closed her eyes and hissed, "Can we please not do this right now. I'm not ready to speak of our, umm...union."
Draco went to take her hand in his but withdrew. The last thing she needed was for him to touch her at that moment. He deliberately changed the topic, "So, are you planning on spending the day?"
Hermione nodded unsurely, "Yes, if that's alright. I would like to keep Narcissa company."
Draco smiled encouragingly, "It's perfectly alright." He added with poised excitement, "If you are done eating, I would like to show you something." That piqued her interest. She wiped her mouth with the embroidered napkin and rose. Draco followed suit and offered his arm; he didn't expect her to take it, but she did. He led them towards the Manor's West Wing and came to a standstill outside massive doors.
Hermione touched the centuries-old carved door and raised a curious yet suspicious brow. She was beyond perplexed. Draco grinned, pushed the doors open and stepped into the large room. Her jaw dropped. Never had she seen such an impressive collection of books. Even from where she stood, she could see some were ancient. She longed to gorge on the mysteries and lost secrets.
The Malfoy library was legendary, and despite her visits with Narcissa, she had never plucked up the courage to ask to see it. She felt an urgent tug. Draco laughed aloud at her reaction, grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her inside. Not even Hogwarts boasted such a rare collection.
She muttered, awestruck, "It's....breathtaking." Hermione was reminded of the scene in Beauty and The Beast, where the Beast gifts the castle library to Belle, except this was no beast. This handsome man had caused her to question a great many things.
Draco used her distraction to his advantage. He positioned himself behind her and looked around himself. He had forgotten what an imposing sight the library was. He said in a low voice, "My father had many faults, but this library was his brainchild. He combed hours through bookshops in rather unfavourable alleys to add some rare gems to the collection."
Hermione stood rooted to the spot, "I am utterly speechless."
Draco snickered, "Well, that's a first." He gently pressed into her back and heard her gasp as their bodies brushed against each other. She leaned into his sound structure and listened to the heavy words he uttered, "Every single book in this library is yours to read or borrow." Those words were more potent to her than his offer of a one-night stand, but clearly, he wasn't done.
She felt his lips brush the top of her head. Draco muttered helplessly, "Why do you always smell so enticing?” He lent a voice to the sinful thoughts running rampant. It dripped with hunger and yearning to be close, “I can’t stop thinking about you." Books were forgotten; Hermione felt her knees weaken.
She said the first stupid thing that came to mind, "I use a Muggle shampoo," and regretted it at once. The art of seduction was clearly lost on her.
Draco ignored the remark and urged unalterably, "I could take you in here surrounded by things you love. Although, I envisioned silk sheets and a large bed."
Her voice was barely audible, but it was breathless with growing desire, "Malfoy, stop..."
He unwaveringly reminded her of the night before, "You agreed..." She pushed her feelings aside and let her brain dictate terms, "That was before everything went to hell. Things have literally changed overnight."
Draco kissed the exposed shell of her ear, "My wanting to be with you hasn't changed." Her skin came alive under his ministrations.
He ran his fingers down her arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake, "It hasn't changed for you either." She turned around and found him staring at her intently. His stormy grey eyes swirled in a frenzy. Hermione gathered her strength and muttered weakly, "Things could get horribly complicated."
That much was true, especially if they were to wed. Before, it was one night and goodbye, but now it would mean one night and then having to face him for the next three years. She had no intention of going beyond one night of mutual passion.
His face hardened, and Draco stepped back immediately. He straightened to his full height and nodded curtly, "If that's your wish, I won't bother you in future."
Hermione frowned. Her body reacted in disappointment, but it wouldn't do to make it obvious. She looked him dead in the eyes and replied haughtily, "Good, because we need to set some boundaries." His face was set in stone and void of any readable emotion, "Consider them set." He pointed to the library's interior and said, "Enjoy your time reading."
Draco turned on his heel, glanced over his shoulder and asked casually, "I gather you can find your way back to Mother's suite?"
Hermione nodded, "Yes, thank you." He walked towards the exit and called out before disappearing around the corner, "Good day, Granger." She couldn’t help the resentment that bubbled. It was an uphill battle to assert herself and align her thoughts, but her body was not cooperating.
Hermione waited till he left and ran around the space much like a small child in wonderment. She could hardly decide where to start, but the Malfoy family ancestry had always intrigued her, and she thought it fit to start there.
A few hours passed, and Hermione momentarily forgot the reason she was there. She glanced at her clock, and it was nearly five pm.
Where had the time gone?
She closed the bulky book shut, tucked it under her arm and made her way down the long corridors to Narcissa’s suite. It took her a while to get there, and she thanked Merlin when she did because the Manor felt sinister to her at times.
Sometimes it felt as if the statues stalked her every move. She was sure her mind was playing tricks on her, but the innate feeling of being unwelcome dogged every step she took. Reading into their family history didn't help matters much.
It gave her a profound insight into why Malfoy was such a bastard at Hogwarts. His entire line was built on pureblood dominance, but she finally understood why they were considered a pillar of the Magical community.
Their line went back centuries, and the magic that flowed through their veins was powerful and not easily matched. Well, that much was clear considering his display the previous night and the fact that he could wield the magic in him without using a wand. He would also be the first of the Malfoy bloodline to wed a witch of inferior birth.
Inferior, indeed. She could take each of them with one hand tied behind her back.
Hermione pushed the thoughts aside and reentered the room. Narcissa sat up as she walked in and put aside the book she was reading. She eyed the book in Hermione's grasp and mused, "Ah, straight to the heavy stuff, I see. It's not for the faint of heart," Narcissa smiled in relief, "I was afraid you might have left."
Hermione grinned sheepishly, "Of course not, I came to spend time with you, but I got carried away, I'm afraid."
She emphasised reverently, "The library is positively exquisite."
A fond smile curved Narcissa's pale lips, "Only a true scholar can appreciate its beauty." She coughed, and Hermione hurriedly poured a glass and handed her a tall glass of water to eradicate the dryness the potions left behind.
Narcissa took the glass with both hands and took a gratifying sip. She laid back down and patted the area next to her on the bed, "But come, we must talk." Max had been sleeping by the fireplace and decided he had rested enough. He came to Hermione’s side and demanded affection.
The Alsatian was quite fond of her, and she, in turn, lazily stroked his head before inquiring casually, "Where's Bernard and umm, Draco?"
It felt weird to use his given name, but she gave it a good old try for Narcissa. The older woman laughed at the way Hermione uttered her son's name so reluctantly and with obvious distaste.
Narcissa answered fondly, "Bernard is educating Draco on company matters," but her tone turned motherly and severe, "But enough about them. I want to speak to you about this foolish decision."
Hermione sighed exasperatedly and argued, "It is not foolish, Narcissa. You need him, and it's a small three-year sacrifice on our part."
She added meekly but with a certain degree of scepticism, "I have no doubt we can remain civil to each other during this ordeal."
Narcissa had her doubts. She said bluntly, "But, Hermione, this isn't what you want."
She covered Narcissa’s hand with her own and replied genuinely, "It's not what I want, but it's worth it."
Narcissa cupped Hermione’s cheek affectionately and choked back a sob, "You are a gem, my dear, and for what it's worth, and I've said this before, I welcome you wholeheartedly as my daughter in law."
Hermione couldn't help the blush that coloured her cheeks. She pondered, "I'm afraid it's not quite sunk in as yet. Malfoy keeps bringing it up, and he's right to, I suppose. We need to discuss things, but I'm just not there yet."
Narcissa nodded in agreement. "True, but I suppose there's time."
Hermione shook aside the unpleasantness and perked up, "First, you need to get better, and we need to go shopping."
Narcissa grinned, "Oh, the French store?"
Hermione adopted a French accent and bowed eloquently, "But of course, ma Cherie." She thought and smiled dreamily. She tapped her chin in thought, "I do recall a rather handsome clerk."
Soft peals of Narcissa’s happy laughter echoed through the space, "The one with the ponytail? He is rather fetching."
Hermione’s face fell, and the tears she fought spilt over, "I thought we had lost you yesterday." She couldn’t bring herself to contemplate the thought of what could have happened.
Narcissa brushed away the tears and smiled tenderly, "Dear child, let's wipe away the tears and have high tea."
Max sensed her distress, nudged her with his long snout and licked her hand.
Hermione kissed the dog's head and replied in her most aristocratic voice, "Sounds smashing."
The women shared a laugh, and it was a most pleasing sound indeed.
Draco looked over the papers, "What concerns you?"
Bernard frowned, "Funds are missing from the German construction site."
Draco frowned, "And you suspect foul play?"
Bernard nodded in frustration, "It has to be our partner in Germany."
Draco sat down, brought his large hands together and said firmly, "Do what you must, Bernard. I trust your judgement. You have my approval and consent."
He added bitterly, "I will not tolerate crooks."
Hermione sat in Narcissa’s room on the comfortable sofa with her feet up and read a rare book while the older lady rested. She was positively comatose after indulging in far too many pieces of chocolate cake, but by Merlin, Dotty was a fantastic cook.
Draco and Bernard were still discussing company-related documents and would probably surface sometime close to dinner. She was so engrossed in the book Hermione didn't realise it was night until the words blurred, and darkness consumed the room.
She yawned in exhaustion, the book slipped from her fingers to the floor, and she fell into a deep slumber.
Michael stepped out of the lift and glowered at the sight before him. His body shook with unmistakable anger. John leaned forward and chatted with his witch.
Brenda was merely being polite, but she fidgeted nervously and wished John would leave.
Michael pushed the glass door open and hissed, "What the fuck are you doing here, John?"
John eyed the frothing madman cautiously, "Nothing, just having a friendly chat."
Michael asserted himself and fired, "Are you fucking stupid? Can’t you see you’re making her uncomfortable?"
John stepped away from Brenda's desk and looked upset. It hadn't been his intention to make her anxious, but then again, he had that effect on people.
Brenda was quick to defend, "Corner, stop. That is not true. He was just asking about my hair."
Michael turned to John and asked incredulously, “Were you? Why the sudden interest?"
John looked confused, "What?"
Michael took a step forward, forcing John to step back until his back hit the wall. Corner leaned forward and jeered, "You enjoy hurting others? Does it get you off, you sick fuck?"
John's bottom lip quivered, and he snapped abruptly, "What? No. Shut up, Corner."
Brenda grabbed hold of her boyfriend’s arm and pulled him back, "Michael, that’s enough."
He shook her hand off and poked his wand into the helpless man’s chest, "Keep your head down."
Brenda explained, "Michael, you should leave. John was here to meet Hermione over a Muggle artefacts case."
John eyed the wand cautiously but replied crassly, "It’s okay. Aurors tend to think they walk on water," he spat in contempt, "but you buggers are nothing but an arrogant bunch of arseholes who suckled at their mother’s bosom till they were eight."
Michael's temper spiralled out of control. He grabbed John by the collar with the intent of smashing his face into the wall, "What did you say? Do you have a bloody death wish?"
John cringed, "I'm sorry. Please let me go. I have work to do."
Michael let go and leered, "Like what? Unclogging a Muggle bathroom?"
Brenda warned, "Stop it."
She looked at John sympathetically and mouthed, "I’m so sorry."
He mumbled before parting, "The new colour suits you, Brenda. It’s a pity that it isn’t your natural hair colour."
The second the man disappeared from their line of sight, she accused her boyfriend, “How dare you treat him that way? You should be ashamed of yourself."
Michael was livid, and he made it abundantly clear, "He was eyeballing you." He narrowed his eyes and said suspiciously, "There's something not quite right about him." The man's sudden interest in redheads struck him as odd. Was it a bizarre coincidence?
John might be an oddball, but he worked for the Ministry. Michael pushed the thought aside and focused on his fuming girlfriend.
Brenda retorted sarcastically, "And because of that, you bully him? Have you gone mental?"
Michael was getting tired of what he believed to be childish behaviour. Hands in his pocket, he asked shortly, "Are you ready to leave?"
Brenda grabbed her tote bag and replied angrily, "I’m not coming over. I can’t look at you without wanting to throw up."
Michael tried to touch her, but she shook him off. He pleaded, "Babe, come on."
Brenda was having none of it. She left him standing by himself and stormed towards the lift, "I mean it, Michael. Fuck off."
John watched from the shadows. Fucking Aurors, thinking they are so smart. The dumb bunch of cunts.
A high pitch cackle echoed in her subconscious, "Wakey, wakey little Mudblood."
Hermione hissed, "Fuck off."
Bellatrix leered, "We haven't spoken in a while. I miss you."
Hermione spat in contempt, "I have nothing to say to you."
Bellatrix laughed manically, "Of course you do. You like him, don't you?"
Hermione’s face twisted in displeasure, "Not in this bloody lifetime."
Bellatrix's maddening squeal of laughter bounced off the walls of Hermione’s mind, "Then why is he in here with me? You keep thinking about him because you want him."
Hermione gritted out, "Get out of my head."
The laughter stopped, and Bellatrix grinned, "We get to be family. Isn't that something to celebrate?"
Hermione felt the repulsive taste of bile in her mouth and hurled back, "Fuck you."
Bellatrix licked her lips and pointed to the faint but still visible scar, "Does that still hurt, my pet?"
Hermione froze, and her eyes widened in horror. Her voice cracked, "Stay away from me."
Bellatrix took steady steps to close the gap between them and mocked, "Come on. Let's see, shall we?"
Hermione forced her legs to work, and when they did, she took a step back, stumbled and fell to the ground.
Bellatrix licked the tip of the small glistening dagger and sneered, "You never did answer my question." She grabbed hold of Hermione's arm, and she felt the smooth edge of the dagger dig into her flesh. She tried her best to suppress her cries, but eventual pain won over, and she screamed, "Please, stop! It hurts."
Bellatrix leaned closer to Hermione's ear and whispered, "It’s supposed to hurt, you filthy bitch."
Draco entered the dark room. He was surprised to find that there was no light. Not even a candle.
He snapped his fingers gently, and the tips of his fingers lit the way. He heard the distinct but faint sound of a painful cry, but his mother was soundly asleep. He looked around, and his eyes came to rest on Granger. She was writing in agony and seemed to be fighting an invisible entity causing her discomfort. The following words out of her mouth made his blood run cold.
"I swear we haven't been inside your vault."
He remembered them well. That horrible night had given him nightmares for years, and Granger was undoubtedly afflicted by them too. She suffered terribly at the hands of his deranged aunt, and he had stood by like a coward, helpless and unable to muster a shred of courage to step in and help her.
Draco remembered his father's disappointed words, "Shield your thoughts, boy. I see right through your pathetic heart."
Granger's cries for mercy and her repeated screams of agony that night echoed through his mind as if it were yesterday.
She was bathed in sweat and thrashed about in her sleep, trying to fend off whatever had a hold on her. Her suffering prompted him to action, he bent to her level, grabbed her firmly by the arms to still her and gently shook her awake, but she mistook his hands on her as a sign of hostility.
Eyes firmly shut, still caught in her nightmare, she broke free and fought him. Her nails dug into his forearm, leaving a deep gash down the front and blood dripping down his arm. Before he could stop her, she brought her hand up and slapped him hard across the face.
His deep groan woke not only her but his mother as well.
The room filled with light, and Narcissa groggily asked in concern, "What happened?"
Hermione's eyes flew open. She trembled in his hold.
They locked eyes, and she stared at the ice blonde, regarding her curiously with a look of sorrow. She did not bother to explain her actions or apologise for them.
She pushed him back roughly, grabbed her bag and ran out the door. In her panicked state, without a backwards glance, Hermione wiped the tears that fell as she ran through the dark corridors in utter desperation to find the exit. The paintings came to life as she ran and mocked her, or so she thought. She ran with abandon, and once the fountain with the centaur came into view, she waved her wand and disapparated.
Narcissa shot up and attempted to stand, but Draco's firm hand on her shoulder stopped her. He stared at the door in deep thought. Granger carried some baggage. Her past tormented her as his did him, but he knew how to help her rid herself of the nightmares.
Narcissa declared sadly, "I am very worried about Hermione."
Draco kissed his mother's hand, "Calm yourself, mother. I will make sure she is okay."
Chapter 21
Notes:
Thank you so much to everyone who posted a review and for everyone following! It means so much! I will most certainly get around to replying to each comment soon. 😊
I apologise for the delay in updating, but the story needs some thinking, plus work has been rather mental.
A lighthearted chapter with a few twists and turns.
I've taken a few liberties! 🙈
Enjoy Chapter Twenty-One!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! 😊
Chapter Text
It was late, but young Teddy Lupin looked out of his window and stared at the night sky. The sparkling stars smiled down on him, and he felt hopeful. He would, on most days, wish upon a star for an older brother. Uncle Harry did his best, but he was always so busy, and Aunty Hermione was a girl and not the biggest fan of Quidditch.
As usual in his innocence, he brought his hands together and said a silent prayer, "Please grant my wish, Merlin. I've been a good boy this year." Satisfied, he dove under the covers of his bed, pulled the battered old teddy bear close, and closed his eyes. A content smile spread across his face.
Hermione collapsed in a heap the second her feet touched the ground. She hugged herself and wept. She needed help. She knew this, but it would mean admitting her insecurities, and with Malfoy’s unfortunate return and the Law looming over her had increased exceedingly.
“No,” she lashed out and gathered her strength to get up. She would not succumb to Bellatrix’s taunting.
Hermione went straight into the kitchen and took out a calming draught she always kept prepared. Without a moment’s hesitation, she uncorked the vial, tossed the contents back, and felt the potion take immediate effect. A sigh of relief left her lips.
Another thing that worked wonders was a relaxing bubble bath. She discarded her clothes on the way to the bathroom. Filling the clawfoot tub with lukewarm water, she fetched some sweet-smelling bath salts she had bought weeks ago.
After adding a generous amount, Hermione swirled it using her hand until it dispersed and became one with the water. She dipped a leg in first and descended into the soothing tub of water. She sank into the bliss it offered and felt her tense muscles begin to loosen. Minutes passed, and her body turned into a lethargic pool of mush. Her eyes fell on the shiny silver chain that hung around her neck.
Hermione delicately touched the pendant Malfoy gave her. She lifted it with her fingertips to get a better look. It was stunning, and she couldn’t help but stare at the intricately carved silver dragon.
His words rang through her head. Did he mean what he said? Had he thought about her for years? It boggled the mind, and she was forced to admit that he aroused rather extreme reactions from her body, but that was before she agreed to marry the fiend.
There would be no sharing of bodily fluids or anything sexual between the two. She let the pendant drop, and it once again rested snugly between the valley of her sizeable bosom. Her breasts had undoubtedly filled out since her Hogwarts days.
Hermione closed her eyes and rested the back of her head against the smooth surface of the tub, but annoyingly the loud ringing of the bell shattered her peace. She groaned and hoped the intruding wanker would just move along and leave her be but to no avail. It just kept ringing incessantly.
Cursing aloud, she unwillingly rose from the scented bath water and slipped into the robe she had ready. With wet curls and the cottony robe barely covering her bits, she hurriedly tiptoed the short distance to the lilac painted front door of her flat.
Usually, she would peak through the peephole to see who was outside, but she was puddling and dripping everywhere and wanted to get rid of whoever it was fast. She threw the door open in frustration, ready to give whoever it was a severe tongue lashing and froze. Standing with an amused grin spread wide across his unfortunately handsome face was the last person she expected to see. In blue jeans and a black t-shirt, his eyes roved over her in appreciation.
The invader grinned, "Well, this is a pleasant surprise. "
He caught a rogue drop of water falling off her cheek with his thumb and smirked most alluringly, "So wet." His eyes went to the parting in the robe where the pendant was clearly visible. He touched it without invitation, and his fingers brushed against the top skin of her exposed breasts sending renewed sensations through her now relaxed body.
He bit his bottom lip and pondered, "I'm surprised you haven't chucked it away yet."
She tightened the robe around her and leaned against the door casually, "What are you doing here?"
His voice turned serious, and he offered clarification, "You ran out of my home without explanation."
He bent to her level and mocked, "What kind of a man would I be if I didn’t check up on my fiancé?"
Hoping to further appease the woman before him, he included sincerely, "Besides, mother was worried about you."
Hermione jabbed him in the chest, warning, "Don't call me that."
She hugged herself, averted her gaze, and mumbled, "And you don't need to feel obligated. I’m fine."
Stubborn witch. He sighed in exasperation, "Sure you are. Can I come in? I bought dinner."
Hermione curled her bottom lip with her teeth and contemplated what to do. Reluctantly, she decided the decent thing would be to let him in. She opened the door wide enough for him to enter and replied feebly, "Sure, come in."
Draco held up a few white plastic bags with a bright red lantern logo on the front. He missed the soups and flavouring of the Asian cuisine that provided him sustenance for years.
With a happy smile, he exclaimed, "I hope you like Chinese."
Hermione raised a brow and replied casually, “Actually, I love Chinese food."
Draco chuckled, "Good because I am starving." A cool gust of wind blew through the flat, and she felt an odd coldness creep up her legs.
Hermione suddenly felt entirely naked. She slowly backed away towards her cosy room and declared, "Oh, umm...make yourself at home. I need to change."
Draco abandoned his task of taking out the many boxes from the bags and gave her his full attention. His eyes lingered on her voluptuous curves, and he swallowed the formed lump.
He cleared his throat and replied coolly, "If you must, but what you have on is perfectly acceptable."
She threw him a look of abhorrence and disappeared into the sanctuary of the room. Leaning against the door, Hermione took a deep breath, gathered her thoughts, and gave herself a much-needed pep talk, “You can do this, Granger. He’s just a man.” A good-looking, imposing man but a man just the same.
Hermione hurriedly dried her hair, pulled on a pair of beige shorts and a white t-shirt, and quickly pulled it off again because she forgot to put on a bra. Her dirty clothes were piling up, and the only clean bra she had left was dark green. She figured that maybe the universe was giving her a sign to spread her legs for the egotistical prat.
While getting dressed, she constantly muttered, "Fuck my life." She adjusted the top, made her way to the kitchen, looked up, and gasped in surprise.
He had laid the table immaculately, put the relevant items in bowls, and was busy looking in her drawings for serviettes. Hermione sensed what he was searching for.
She pointed to the upper cupboards and offered helpfully, "Umm, top left corner." The tiny kitchen smelled wonderful. The rich aroma of soy sauce, mixed vegetables, and meat made her stomach churn with hunger. She looked around the neat space and teased, "Well, you certainly made yourself at home."
Draco smirked, "I made myself useful."
She looked around the tidily arranged table and frowned in embarrassment since she usually ate right out of the boxes without bothering with a plate. Her mantra was that the fewer dishes to wash, the better.
Draco placed two handblown wine glasses on the counter, took the bottle, and turned it over to read the label. He was impressed, "This is an excellent year. You certainly have impeccable taste in wine." He expertly uncorked the bottle, poured the rich liquid into both glasses and handed her a drink, which she reluctantly took.
Hermione stood awkwardly around the table, observing his every move before plopping himself down on a wooden chair and raising his eyebrow at her. She pulled out a chair, moved it pointedly away from him, and sat down, nibbling her nails anxiously.
Draco laughed internally at her behaviour. It was amusing that the seemingly confident woman fell to pieces around him. His stomach protested in hunger.
He pulled the largest of the boxes to him, piled his plate generously with a helping of chicken fried noodles, and pushed it towards the woman munching on a spring roll and trying not to stare at him. She pried apart the chopsticks and stared at them in dread. Hermione tried her best to master the use of the wooden sticks without appearing clumsy, but evidently, that was impossible. Meanwhile, the smug bastard trying hard not to laugh was a pro.
Well, obviously, he had lived in China, which gave him an unfair advantage.
Draco could not bear it any longer. He rolled his eyes and moved closer, "For fucks sake, like this." He took her delicate fingers and attempted to wrap them around the chopsticks. His fingers touching hers made her drop the sticks at once, and she quickly resorted to plan B, a sturdy fork.
Draco laughed, "Coward."
Hermione frowned and said unpleasantly, "I have a weakness. Whisk me off to Azkaban."
She added rather miserably, "It’s hard, okay?"
In defeat, Draco put his hands up and mocked, "You always did lack coordination."
Hermione gritted out, "Sod off, Malfoy," and savagely attacked her noodles. His chuckles echoed through the small kitchen.
They ate in companionable silence, only stopping to drink wine or reach for a chunky spring roll.
Draco watched Granger play with her food and hunt through the noodles for bits of chicken and mushroom but overall, she only ate a few mouthfuls. He decided it was high time to address the elephant in the room. Draco took a sip of wine and asked firmly, "How long, Granger?"
Hermione felt her palms bead sweat and breathing hasten. She looked up from her plate, raised a brow, and acted causal, "I don't know what you’re on about."
Draco pushed back the chair, stretched his legs, and reacted seriously, "You don't have to pretend with me. I won't judge you for being flawed and human."
Hermione flinched at his words. They hit a sensitive spot she kept hidden from the world, including her best friends. Her eyes went to his fading Dark Mark.
The snake was still prominent enough to be noticed. Perhaps, Malfoy could sympathise, having gone through similar scarring events himself. He saw her eyeing the gruesome mark, but he didn't shield it or criticise her for staring at it.
Instead, he gestured to the area around them and smiled reassuringly, "This is a safe space. Be yourself, not what you expect the world to see."
Hermione tried to argue, but it was futile, "I'm not pretending."
Draco scowled, "If you continue to portray this picture-perfect person, you will collapse sooner than you know." He cocked his head to the side and demanded seriously, "So cut the shite and tell me."
Hermione avoided his penetrating gaze and kept her eyes resolutely on the half-eaten food before her. She lazily twirled her fork around the thin strands of noodles and sighed in defeat, "Since the day it happened." He seemed genuine enough for her to confide in him. It felt immensely gratifying to share the load.
Draco closed his eyes and digested the words she uttered. He hung his head and retorted, "Me too. I kept reliving the torture he inflicted upon me and the killing of others for years but not anymore."
That piqued Hermione’s interest, and she asked almost at once, "How did you get rid of them?" There was innate desperation to her voice, and it physically pained him.
Draco remained silent. He seemed to be concentrating or gathering his thoughts. After a bit of time passed, he answered calmly, "I meditate. I learned a few handy tools in China. It goes hand in hand with my Kung-fu training."
Hermione nodded in agreement, "That makes sense. What was it like?"
A smile curved his lips, "It was Intense but worth every second. It's not an easy life." She pictured a pampered boy struggling to keep up with the mundane activities of an average Muggle person.
Draco exclaimed abruptly, "Let me help you."
Hermione suddenly felt angered by his words. A blazing fire ignited and roared to the surface.
She spat in contempt, "You want to help me? That's rich. Your aunt did this to me."
He bared his teeth and hissed unpleasantly, "My aunt was a raving lunatic. I had nothing to do with it." She accused mercilessly, "You stood by and did nothing." Hermione didn't realise she was shouting. Her lips quivered with pent-up frustration.
Draco softened his tone and pleaded, "Granger, I was a scared, witless boy. There was nothing I could do."
He added desperately, "I had the same dreams you suffer though. The screaming, the faceless cries for help, so much blood and....” he paused, “your face."
Hermione brushed aside his words and choked back a sob, "Did you hate me so much at the time to think I deserved it?"
Draco's head snapped up at once. He stared into her face and replied frantically, "No, of course not. Nobody deserved that."
The tears she fought split over, and she cried in frustration, "And now I have to fucking marry you and act like everything is fine and dandy."
Hermione threw her napkin down, roughly pushed the seat back, and retreated to the stand by the sink. Her fingers gripped the counter's edge as she tried to ease the pain she felt.
Draco shot to his feet and followed her without hesitation. His steps were purposeful.
He turned her around roughly, and she cried in outrage, "What are you do...?"
His fingers found their way into her wild tussle of curls, and they wound themselves around his long fingers, and he held on possessively.
He leaned his forehead against hers and implored, "I beg your forgiveness. If I could have traded places with you, I would have."
They stared at each other unblinkingly. He was standing so close, and she was breathing hard and fast. Draco felt the rapid nervous flutter of her heart.
He saw the rise and fall of her bosom through the t-shirt she wore. They needed to soothe the agony that drove them time and time into each other’s arms. His fingers moved without thought to cup her face and tenderly brush her skin with his thumb.
Hermione closed her eyes, parted her lips ever so slightly, and leaned into his touch. She looked ready for plucking, and her womanly smell washed over him, causing his resolve to crumble.
Draco threw caution to the wind. If she hated him, then so be it, but with every fibre of his being, he knew she wouldn't lift a finger to stop him. He brought his head down urgently and crushed her lips with his.
It was an insistent, punishing kiss, and Hermione blinked from the total shock of being kissed by Draco Malfoy.
The man was everywhere, prying her lips apart with the tip of his tongue, eagerly trying to gain entry into her mouth and drowning her in his masculine smell.
His teeth grazed the skin of her bottom lip, and it took her a little over two seconds to put her arms around his neck, move her fingers into his fine silky hair, and open her mouth to his probing.
It was clumsy at first as both sought out their rhythm, but once they did, it was a feeling like no other.
She felt right.
He felt perfect.
The softness of her lips, the way her strawberry-flavored gloss tasted, the flickering of her eyelids, and her throaty moans fed the hunger he craved since first seeing her. It was as if her consent threw him off the edge.
He groaned into her mouth as their lips moulded together perfectly while they hung onto each other and kissed fervently. Soft mewls escaped Hermione’s lips, and she pressed flush against his hardened body.
She felt his rough hands trail down her back and rest on her arse cheeks. He kneaded the flesh, dug his fingers in, lifted her, and settled her on top of the counter like she weighed nothing.
It was pure bliss to have him surround her with his relentless kisses.
This indeed wasn't meant to feel this way, so pure and unimaginably tantalising. Even through his Oxford shirt, she felt the dips and curves of his sculptured body. She knew he came alive under her touch, and his heart raced in tandem with hers. It was purely sinful to feel this good in another’s arms.
His tongue pushed against hers in a battle for dominance, but he would have his way.
Draco moved between her thighs, and she urged him closer by locking her smooth legs around him, bringing him closer. His erect cock pressed into her material-covered heated flesh, and she gasped at how hard he was for her. He tore his lips from hers and placed a trail of blazing kisses down her neck.
Hermione arched her neck and allowed him to gently suck on the tenderness of her neck. A seductive low moan left her swollen lips.
God, his hands alone were driving her insane with desire. She wanted his digits to caress her most intimate area. In a moment of weakness, she almost guided his large hand to rest between her legs. Her knickers were dampening with the arousal he evoked.
His hands covered parts of her body eagerly. She felt them move under her t-shirt.
He cupped a breast, let his thumb graze the hardened nipple, and rasped, "Granger..."
It was as if she came crashing back to earth. His voice reminded her of who she was playing with. He would always be the boy who called her Mudblood repeatedly and the same boy who wished her dead.
Had she lost all sanity to allow him to touch her this way? Have you no shame, Hermione? Her inner voice raged.
Draco felt her change. She went rigid in his arms. Not again, he thought desperately.
Breathless, she muttered in conflicted pain, "I can't do this."
Draco brushed her hair back, held onto her face, and insisted, "Forget about the past." She tried to break out of his hold, bit her lip, and slowly shook her head when she couldn't.
He buried his face in her sweet-smelling hair and whispered, "You will be my death, Granger."
Her seductive reply ghosted the inner canal of his ear, "We shouldn't. It's not right."
He argued unwaveringly, "Depends on what you deem right."
Again, he offered most ardently, "Let me help you."
Hermione gritted out, "I don't want anything from you." She was hot and cold, but Draco understood her hesitation.
He gently kissed the corner of her mouth and murmured, "Yes, you do."
God, her scent. It drove him feverish with longing, but he eagerly drank it up.
She gently pushed him back, hopped off the counter, and looked keenly at the table, "The food is getting cold. You like things naturally hot, remember?”
Hermione sat back down, and Draco trailed after her. Both took their place at the table and resumed the meal. It was not easy to go on as if nothing transpired, especially when all he wanted to do was clear the table and fuck her right there in the middle of the living room.
His hardened shaft pressed uncomfortably against the material of his boxers, and he quickly placed a sizeable napkin across his lap to hide his situation. Somehow, they accomplished the impossible.
He apologised but not unequivocally between mouthfuls, "I'm sorry if I stepped out of place. I have made my feelings towards you clear.
She sighed and struggled to swallow the noodles, "And so have I. I cannot sleep with you and then act as if it didn't happen.”
She included deliberately, “We have too much history, Malfoy. The unpleasant sort."
Draco bit into a crunchy spring roll and advised harshly, "You need to let the past go. Live in the moment, Granger."
Hermione ignored him and tried her best to finish her meal. Why were these blasted but tasty noodles never-ending?
A few minutes passed in utter silence until Draco inquired anxiously, "So, do you want to tell Kingsley or should I?"
She threw her fork down and sulked, "Actually, I thought we could do it together. I don't think I can handle his smug face alone."
The loud ringing of the doorbell cut into their conversation.
Draco glanced at the door in interest and raised a brow, "Are you expecting anyone?" He teased further, "A lover, perhaps? Maybe a boyfriend?"
Hermione locked eyes with the curious ice blonde and retorted suggestively, "Terry pops by for a quickie when the need arises."
Draco felt his heart clench. It was a feeling he was not quite used to. He hissed ominously, "I would rather not break his nose twice."
Hermione pushed the chair back, got to her feet, and looked repulsed, "You must think so low of me."
Draco ran his fingers through his hair and responded, "On the contrary. I believe sex is a vital need for a living being. Even though your choice of partner is appalling."
Living being? If that's dirty talk, he was doing a bang-up job.
Hermione sprang to Terry's defence, "Well, Boot is a..."
Draco smirked triumphantly and finished the sentence for her, "A moron..."
She certainly walked right into that one. Hermione stifled the laughter that rose and disagreed, "He's really not that bad."
Draco rolled his eyes, "Not my concern."
Hermione scolded, "Shut it. Anyway, I have no idea who it is."
The doorbell blared again, and the annoying sound filled the small flat.
Draco frowned, his fine features pinched together, "Well, whoever it is, is an inpatient prat." She threw him a look that said, make yourself scarce because no matter who was on the other side, she would have a tough time explaining his presence. Of course, he ignored her entirely and calmly ate his noodles.
Muttering to herself, she walked over to the door, threw it open, and shrieked, "Oh my god, Ron! It's so good to see you."
Ron gathered her in his arms and gushed, "My darling. You look fabulous."
A low, deeply calculated voice interrupted the reunion, "You look rather tanned. How was the honeymoon?"
Ron let Hermione go and narrowed his eyes at the imposing man.
He regarded them with an amused expression and spat, "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"
He turned to his ex-girlfriend and demanded an answer, "What is he doing here inside your flat, Hermione?"
Draco smiled smugly, "I'm visiting an old friend."
Ron was having none of it, and he made his displeasure apparent, "Like hell you are. Bugger off, Malfoy."
Draco drawled warningly, "Hmm, temper, temper. Calm your tits, Weasley."
Hermione sprang to action, pulled Ron inside, and closed the door behind him. She tried to diffuse the tense situation, "Come in, and yes, do calm yourself."
Ron glared sternly. His eyes darted from Draco to Hermione suspiciously, "I will once you tell me what he's doing here."
He crossed his arms over his built chest and insisted on answers, "Are you sleeping with him?"
Hermione rubbed her temples, glanced unsurely at Malfoy, and replied quickly, "God no."
Draco could feel his composure slip. Weasley’s line of inappropriate questioning was not welcome. He answered haughtily, "Not that it's any of your business, but no,” and added for ample effect, “Not yet at least."
Hermione looked appalled, "Shut up, Malfoy."
Ron's ears turned cherry tomato red. A clear sign that he was beyond furious. He yelled, "What the fuck is going on?"
Draco saw an opportune moment, and he used it to his full advantage, "Granger and I are getting married. You might as well be the first to congratulate us."
Ron’s temper spiralled out of control, and he bellowed, "WHAT?"
Hermione pressed her lips down hard for a second, glared sternly at Draco, and mouthed, "I'm going to fucking kill you." This was hardly how she intended her friends to find out.
Draco leaned against the wall and said calmly, as if nothing had happened, "You’re interrupting our dinner, Weasley. Would you care for a spring roll?"
Ron took a threatening step forward, but Hermione held him back. He fired insultingly, "Take that roll and stick it up to your ar..."
Hermione scolded, "Ron!"
He pointed a trembling finger at Draco and said harshly, "I'm not leaving you alone with him."
Draco stated arrogantly, "It might come as a surprise, but she's been alone with me plenty, and I'm the one with the bruises." True to his word, a deep gash and scratches adorned his right forearm, and Hermione and Ron stared at the entwined reddish marks in dumbstruck disbelief.
Oh, Merlin. Hermione wished she could wither away.
Draco lazily walked over to the sink, washed his hands thoroughly, and turned to face the irked Gryffindors. He said casually, "I'll tell you what. Since I have good manners, I'll leave you two alone."
Hermione’s eyes widened in panic. She preferred the snake over the frothing mad redhead at that particular moment. He approached them with a flawless smile, "I'll see you soon, Hermione" She gagged, almost. The audacity to use her name just to rile Ron up.
Draco stopped next to her, pulled her to him, dropped a quick kiss on her forehead before she could blink, and walked out of the door without looking back.
If one thing was abundantly clear, it was that meditation and soul-searching could not erase the petty rivalry among men. The door slammed shut with a loud bang causing Hermione to jump and Ron to narrow his eyes at her and reprimand, "You have a lot of explaining to do."
Hermione walked over to the table still laden with plenty of food and sighed, "Well, it's a long story."
She grabbed a spring roll, bit into it, and offered sheepishly, "Wonton?"
Draco braved the cold weather and wandered along the cobbled Muggle street full of people with his hands in his pockets. His mind was riddled with disturbing random thoughts, but they all came down to one thing.
Granger.
Kissing her had been a grave mistake. It was a horrible misjudgment since it made him want her even more, and clearly, he wasn't about to have her anytime soon. The simple act awakened some rather distressing feelings he thought he could control but sadly, they overpowered him.
He brought his hands out, blew hot air on them to warm himself, and accidentally glanced at his watch. It was late, but it was never too late to call Theo or Blaise. He fancied an impromptu meet-up with his friends.
Bernard was keeping his mother company, and quite frankly, he felt like a sodding third wheel in their presence. Mealtimes were quite literally the worst.
The older couple would share meaningful glances over their plates while he ate his food with a sour and lonely disposition. He fished out his mobile and called Theo first. The bugger answered after the first ring and mused, "You interrupted my beauty sleep."
Draco laughed, "No number of treatments will make you look like anything other than a wanker."
He asked seriously, "Fancy a pint?"
Theo yelled, "LUNA! I'm heading out to meet Draco."
Draco heard an audible sigh of immense relief and exhaustion in his friend's voice as he shouted back in reply, "Yes, I'll be back in time to shag."
Draco took the phone off his ear, stared at it, and frowned, "What the fuck?"
Theo grumbled, "Oh, sorry mate, she's ovulating, and well, we're trying to get preggers."
Draco rolled his eyes and grimaced, "That was way too much information."
Theo laughed aloud and chirped, "See you in a bit."
Next, Draco scrolled through the numbers and dialled Blaise.
A sweet, utterly cute voice answered, "Hello, this is Mister Daddy's phone."
Draco couldn't help but smile fondly, "Oh, hello sweetheart, this is Uncle Draco. Is your daddy close by?"
Carrie replied with importance, "He's yelling at the cat for making a poopy in the room."
Draco heard the familiar sound of Daphne's voice. She asked curiously, "Carrie darling, who is that on the phone?"
Carrie shrugged and held the phone for her mother to take, "It's daddy's dragon friend."
Draco smiled widely. The child was undoubtedly intelligent.
Perplexed, Daphne took the phone and spoke into it, "What? Who...? Hello?"
Draco spoke clearly, "Hi Daph, is Blaise about?"
Daphne greeted happily, "Draco, it's so nice to hear from you." She added with a grin, "Hang on. He was just tossing the cat out."
After covering the mouthpiece, Daphne walked with the phone to where her husband dealt with their stubborn daughter.
She handed the phone over to Blaise and whispered, "Darling, it's Draco."
Carrie yelled tenaciously, "Daddy, but I want Mr Buttons to sleep in my room."
Blaise stated firmly, "No, Carrie, and that is final."
An ear-piercing scream rang through the home, "Mummmmmmy......."
Blaise covered his ears and cursed, "Bollocks."
Daphne gathered a distraught Carrie in her arms and scolded, "Blaise!!!"
Draco heard every word and wondered whether he needed to cut the call. Blaise's exhausted voice came through just as he was about to hang up, "Mate?"
Blaise's voice was drowned out by the loud tantrum his firstborn was throwing.
Draco apologised profusely more for the situation than calling, "I'm sorry to catch you at an inconvenient time."
Blaise desperately replied in hushed tones, "I'm going mental."
Draco offered what he felt was a temporary solution. His best mate sounded like he needed a drink, "Want to grab a drink?"
Blaise glanced over his shoulder in time to catch Daphne carrying a sleepy Carrie into her room.
He said in a carrying voice, "Oh, what's that? An emergency? Of course, I will leave right away."
Daphne came out of the toddler’s room and rolled her eyes, "Must you be so dramatic."
She grabbed the phone out of his grasp before he could object and told Draco, "Have him home at a decent hour. "
Draco laughed, "You have my word, Daph."
After Draco hung up, Blaise hugged his beloved wife around the waist and kissed her passionately. Once they broke apart, he drawled, "Wear the red crotchless knickers and wait up for me."
Daphne peppered his face with kisses and giggled, "As you wish, Papa Bear."
Ron stormed out of the Floo network and pulled a chair back forcefully before sitting at the small wooden table in the kitchen at No. 12 Grimmauld Place.
Hermione trailed after him miserably. After Malfoy left, Hermione explained best she could the events that led her to accept the marriage, but the red-headed fuming madman refused to listen to reason. After fifteen minutes of yelling followed by angry pacing, they decided to head to Harry’s.
Ginny looked up from the soup she was eating and grinned, "I thought once you got hitched, we would see less of you."
Harry put the paper away and asked in growing interest, "What's got your wand in a knot, mate?"
Ron glared at Hermione and spoke sarcastically, "Go on, tell them your exciting news."
Hermione shot back angrily, "Will you stop being so childish, Ronald." His bloody idiotic behaviour was starting to get on her last nerve.
Ron looked at his best friend and sister, staring at him intently, and yelled out in frustration, "Hermione is marrying the ferret."
Harry spat out his tea, and Ginny automatically reached for the bottle of wine. Both struggled to keep their composure.
Harry widened his eyes in utter shock and yelled, "What? No way. That’s ridiculous."
Ron gritted out furiously, "Oh, but it's not. He was at her flat."
In disgust, he asked them, "Do you think they've slept together?"
Hermione cried in outrage, "I am standing right here, you arsehole."
Ginny, however, kept her wits about her, raised a brow, and asked her brother directly, "Er, does it matter if she has?"
Ron was beside himself. He could not believe the harsh words coming out of his sister’s mouth. He argued, "Of course it fucking matters. I do not want him touching her."
Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and mused, "Well, aren't you the pot calling the kettle black." She leaned forward and asked sweetly, “How’s the wife, Ron?”
He countered defiantly, "Not like that but as a friend. He's going to destroy her."
Hermione stomped her foot irritably to make her presence known, "I'm standing right here."
She faced Ron and asked rather anxiously, "What makes you think he will destroy me?"
Ron spat stubbornly, "It's Malfoy. That's reason enough."
Before she could help herself, Hermione defended, "Well, that's hardly fair."
Ron narrowed his eyes, "See, look at how she's protecting the prat."
He poked Hermione’s arm cautiously, "He's done something to her."
Hermione hissed menacingly, "Poke me again, and I'll sever that finger and stuff it up your arse."
Harry chuckled, "She sounds the same to me."
Ginny asked aloud and directed the question at the group, "Wine?"
Hermione answered first, "Yes, please. Leave the bottle."
Ron mumbled in frustration, "They were having Chinese."
Ginny shrugged, "It's a popular cuisine."
He added strangely, "It's our thing."
Ginny rolled her eyes, "Aren't you bloody overreacting?"
Ron pouted and made a childish face when Ginny's back was turned.
Harry injected seriously, "Hermione, what's going on?"
Hermione sighed. She was getting quite tired of repeating the same thing
For the last time, she collected herself and answered, "Ginny, remember how I told you Malfoy took the exit clause?"
Ginny poured glasses of wine, replying curiously, "Yeah, and?"
Hermione hung her head and stared into the dish of cheese and salty peanuts. She replied woefully, "And Narcissa had a stroke after he told her."
Harry stiffened, and Ginny gasped, "Oh Merlin, she is alright?"
Ron mumbled, "What has that got to do with anything?"
Ginny scolded, "You heartless troll."
Hermione turned to face Ron slowly and sneered, "It has everything to do with her. She means so much to me."
Ron grudgingly conceded defeat, "Fine. Do whatever the hell you want."
Hermione ignored his pointless complaining and answered Ginny's previous query, "Yes, thank Merlin, she is fine now, but…." She closed her eyes and said almost incoherently, "I couldn't let Malfoy do it. She needs him."
Ginny placed her hand on Hermione’s and smiled comfortingly, "Of course, she does.
She reassured, "I think you did the right thing."
Harry, who had been relatively quiet up until that moment, voiced his thoughts, "As much as it disgusts me, I agree with Ginny. It wouldn't be right to separate a mother from her only child." They knew his statement went beyond the situation. He reminded wisely, "Besides, isn't it just for three years? I'm sure it will be fine."
Ron tapped his temple impatiently and bellowed, "Have you lot lost your minds? This is Draco sodding Malfoy."
Ginny frowned, "Yes, we know, but it's obvious he's not the same Malfoy we knew."
Ron got to his feet abruptly and declared, "You know what? I'm leaving." He rounded on Hermione and said nastily, "Don't bother sending an invitation because I won't be coming."
Ginny's tolerance of her brother’s behaviour hung by a thin thread. She snapped, "God, you’re so insufferable."
Hermione looked away pointedly and muttered, "There won't be any wedding. We will probably get the certificate of Marriage from the Ministry. I think we need two witnesses, and it's a done deal."
Ginny exchanged a meaningful look with Harry. She said thoughtfully, "Hmm, maybe it would be wise to have a small affair. Won't it be expected?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes, bared her teeth, and spat, "I don't give a fuck what is expected. I'm marrying him, aren't I? That's enough."
Ginny listened intently but leaned over and whispered inconspicuously in Hermione’s ear, "Ahem, you have a hickey behind your ear.”
Hermione gasped, tried to pull up the collar, and realised her stupid t-shirt was collarless.
Fuck.
Ginny giggled, "Cover it up before the boys see."
Hermione whipped out her wand and pleaded sheepishly, "Ginny..."
Ginny lowered her voice and winked devilishly, "You've been a naughty girl, Granger. And I expect a full report on the events that led to that."
Hermione rested her head on the table and groaned, "Shite."
Malfoy's powerful presence and probing kisses were imprinted onto her skin.
She still felt his lips moving over hers and the rough pad of his thumb caressing her skin. It was wrong, of that she was sure, but despite gathering her strength to stop them before things escalated, it did nothing to dampen her wanting for him.
Bernard kept aside the report he was reading on the German site and asked his beloved, "Interesting book?" There was a beautiful woman on the cover with flowing red hair that cascaded down her back.
Narcissa adjusted her gold-rimmed spectacles and smiled, "It is quite an invigorating story."
Max whimpered and demanded attention, Narcissa absentmindedly stroked his head, and the grateful dog licked her hand.
Bernard chuckled and confided, "I had a fondness for redheads before you walked into my life."
Narcissa raised a brow and quipped, "Really? How interesting."
Bernard nodded and explained further, "Yes. My mother called them the devils in disguise. You know, because of all the red."
Narcissa frowned, "That's a rather strange assumption."
Bernard looked away and replied sadly, "Well, my mother was an odd woman. In her old age, she was afflicted by dementia and constantly tried to harm herself and us."
Narcissa felt his sorrow, "That's awful."
Bernard sighed, "It was a long time ago. I hardly ever speak of her."
His disposition changed to a happier one, and he offered his hand, "Fancy a nightcap?
Narcissa nodded in agreement eagerly, "A spot of brandy sounds smashing."
Theo smoked a cigarette outside the Cauldron, and Draco saw Blaise walk toward them. Five minutes later, they piled into the Leaky Cauldron.
Draco looked Theo over and mused, "You look tired."
Theo yawned pointedly and explained in exhaustion, "I am tired. My dick hurts."
Blaise laughed, "What?"
Theo found nothing amusing. They settled into one of the VIP compartments, and Draco and Blaise watched Theo delicately lower himself into a seat and wince as he sat down properly.
The lanky blonde took in their looks of astonishment and clarified meekly, "It's Luna. She's not let me have a moment's peace." He tenderly cupped his package under the table and groaned, "My bits are bruised."
Blaise pointed to Draco's neck and smirked, "Speaking of bruises, what's that on your neck, Draco?"
Theo stared at the visible reddened mark and mused, "You seeing someone?"
Draco pulled up his collar and cleverly hid the bruise that stood out like a sore thumb against his ashen skin and snapped, "Don't be daft. Just, erm, um…a passing fling." When had she branded him? The memory evaded him with purpose. Pity, as he wanted to relive it.
He could still taste and feel her. Granger tasted like no other woman. Her sultry moans echoed in the depths of his consciousness. Salazar, she sounded so erotic when his fingers ghosted over her skin.
An involuntary guttural groan escaped his lips, and thankfully his friends were none the wiser.
Theo mustered a witty comeback, "Right and Blaise has balls of steel."
Blaise shot back, "At least I can keep up with my woman."
Theo laughed good-naturedly, "I'm not even insulted. I can barely sit down."
They burst out laughing.
Blaise ordered a round of drinks. They're usual. The most expensive scotch the Cauldron carried with two ice cubes each and a dash of lime for Theo. He always enjoyed the tangy aftertaste.
Until the drinks arrived, Draco cheerfully asked his best mates, "So what's new, lads?"
Blaise raised a questioning brow, "You asked us here. What is going on?" A smartly dressed waiter arrived and served them their drinks along with a complimentary round of shots from Tom, the innkeeper.
Draco shrugged and took a gratifying sip from his crystal tumbler, "Nothing. My previous engagement ended earlier than I thought."
Theo snorted and joked, "How early?"
Blaise was not fooled. He probed anxiously, "Draco, what's going on? Did you sort out the Marriage Law issue with Granger?"
Draco answered carefully, "I took the exit clause."
Theo stiffened; whatever the clause was, it didn't sound good.
He asked quickly, "What do you mean?"
Blaise interrupted, "Before you get to that, hang on, did anyone tell Pans about our little gathering?"
Draco replied guilty, "Erm, no. I figured she'd be asleep."
Theo gingerly covered his aching nuts over the material, "Fuck no. My balls can't take more beating."
Blaise fished out his phone and called Pansy. She answered after the third ring, and Blaise asked eagerly, "Pans, you want to join us for an impromptu drink?"They could hear Neville being severally reprimanded by a stern older woman.
Pansy massaged her temples with manicured fingers, "Oh Lord, yes. I am on my way."
Ten minutes later, she stormed in wearing designer clothes and scary high heels. She dropped her Givenchy bag into the plush velvet chair, grabbed a passing server by the arm, and demanded, "Scotch on the rocks. Make it a double."
The petrified young server nodded at once and took off to do her bidding. The men at the table stared at her unblinkingly and waited for some logical explanation for her behaviour. She tapped her nails on the solid oak table and cringed, "Neville’s grandmother is driving me up the wall."
Pansy gritted out through red-painted lips, "The woman is an annoying bitch. She simply will not die."
Theo cried in horror, "PANS! That's awful."
Pansy grinned and shrugged, "What? I'm joking."
Again, the men cocked their heads to the side and raised their eyebrows as if to say, really?
Pansy laughed, "Okay, partially, but honestly, she keeps on hinting it's time to have kids." She downed her drink without remorse and stated, "I don't want a bunch of snotty fuckers running about." Pansy looked at Blaise for good measure, "No offence."
Blaise waved aside the comment, brought his drink up, and replied, "None taken."
Pansy turned to Draco and advised comically, "Your lucky you don't have these issues."
Well, that was the opening he needed.
Draco took a sip of the rich amber liquid, wet his lips, and drawled, "I'm getting married."
Theo dropped his tumbler in surprise, and it fell to the floor. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and hollered, "WHAT?"
Blaise, puffing on a Cuban cigar, inhaled the rich smoke the wrong way and sputtered with teary red eyes. He croaked, "What?"
Pansy widened her eyes incredulously, "What the fuck are you on about?"
Draco eyed Blaise in concern, patted his back repeatedly, and answered Pansy, "Granger and I are tying the knot."
Theo's mouth fell open in disbelief, "No fucking way. She agreed to marry you on her own?"
Draco lost his patience, and he questioned angrily, "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Do you think I would slip her a potion or charm her into agreeing?"
Theo realised the mistake of his untimely words, and he struggled to fix them, "No, of course not. It's just...."
Blaise regained his composure, shot Theo a look of disapproval, and interrupted the skinny man from digging himself into an early grave, "I feel there's more to this than your letting on."
Pansy ordered another round of drinks and concurred, "True. What happened, Draco?"
Draco recited an abridged version of the fateful events that led to Granger and his current predicament.
He said solemnly, "I took the exit clause."
Pansy paled. The others looked utterly confused. Having been matched through the Law herself, she knew a thing or two about the clauses.
She demanded, "Which one??"
Draco reluctantly replied, "Er, the obliviate one." He took another sip from his drink and added the most distressing part, "My mother didn't take the news well. She umm, had a stroke."
Pansy punched him hard, "You arse. You would've left us to get out of it, and how could you do this to your mother."
Blaise nodded in agreement, “Narcissa needs you, mate.”
Pansy punched him again in frustration, much harder this time.
Draco rubbed the area and groaned, "Enough, woman."
Blaise asked curiously, "So, Granger is okay with this?
Draco laughed sarcastically, "No, of course not. She's only doing it for Mother’s sake."
He ran his fingers through his hair, and a few strands fell across his forehead. The situation was grave, but he quipped, "She still fucking hates me. I might have to drag her lifeless corpse down the aisle."
Theo bobbed his head, "You can't blame her, mate. You were a horrid git to her."
Blaise eyed the barely visible purplish love bite in interest but said nothing.
Draco responded with a smidge of hope, "I'm trying to atone for past mistakes."
Pansy snorted into her drink, "You like Granger."
Draco scowled, "Come off it. I do not." His cock fancied her, but that was about it. It was sexual, as simple, and complicated as that.
Theo said thoughtfully, "Well, you could do worse. She's sexy, intelligent and accomplished."
Blaise rolled his eyes and frowned, "Yes, we are acutely aware of your feelings about Granger, Theo." He further warned, "Put a bloody sock in it."
Theo opened his mouth to argue, "I'm just saying..."
Pansy silenced him and asked impatiently, "When’s the big day?"
Draco sighed. They had hardly spoken about anything regarding the marriage, and quite frankly, it was doing his head in.
However, his so-called fiancé refused to entertain the idea, and his mother still needed plenty of rest. He drained his drink, smacked his lips, and replied seriously, "We haven't quite worked out the details yet, but it is happening."
Theo let out a low whistle.
Draco looked at his friends staring at him intently with uncertainty etched into their delicate features.
He mustered a half-hearted smile, "It’s already decided. Hermione Granger will be the next Lady Malfoy."
Chapter 22
Notes:
I loved everyone's input on the previous chapter! The different viewpoints were fascinating.
THANK YOU FOR ALL THE AWESOME COMMENTS! 😊
More decisions, a murder and further insight into a disturbed mind.
Enjoy Chapter Twenty-Two!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! 😊
Stay safe, beautiful people! ❤
HAPPY READING! :) 🙌
Chapter Text
Tracey pushed back the covers and tried to reach for her husband’s rather sizable hand. She cooed, "Come to bed, darling."
The lights were dim in their plush new flat on the upper East side of London. Tracey was born into splendour, and Ron was doing quite well for himself business-wise, but her family bought the modest four-bedroom flat fitted with every bit of luxury.
Ron stepped out of her reach and responded without much thought, "I need a drink." He paced the carpeted area anxiously; his features pulled tight in concentration. He was genuinely concerned for Hermione’s safety.
Tracey sensed his agitation. She got to her feet, slipped on the dainty slippers, came to his side and implored, "What's the matter, Ron? You've been off ever since you returned."
Ron massaged his temples. He felt an intense headache coming on, but he brushed it aside and said, "Nothing. I just heard some disturbing news."
Tracey appeared shocked at the declaration and quickly asked, "Oh no, I hope everyone's well."
Ron scowled, "Everyone's fine. Hermione and Malfoy are getting married."
Tracey clapped her hands together in delight, and her eyes sparkled, "That's wonderful." Her husband thought otherwise as his face distorted like he was swallowing a bitter pill.
He said with displeasure, "Er, no, it's not. She deserves better than the fucking snake who tormented her throughout school."
Tracey obstinately came to Draco's defence. She offered hopefully, "Maybe he's changed."
Ron rolled his eyes exasperatedly and hissed, "I'm sick to bloody death of everyone saying that."
Tracey felt her heart clench. Jealously shrouded her usually calm demeanour. She crossed her arms over her chest and questioned sceptically, "Why are you so concerned about who Hermione ends up with?"
Ron thought that much was clear. He faced his wife and countered truthfully, "She's my best mate. I care a great deal about her."
Tracey huffed and spat sarcastically, "Of course you do, and I doubt you will ever stop."
Ron pulled his t-shirt over his head, stood bare-bodied, and watched the fuming woman before him, perplexed. He asked in confusion, "What are you on about, Tracey?"
Tracey jabbed Ron in the chest and said firmly, "I will not live in the shadow of your ex-girlfriend."
Ron stared into her face like she was barking mad, "What? Are you bloody mental?" He wasn't about to lie; it was best she knew the truth. Ron added sincerely, "I will always care for her as a friend."
Tracey pouted, "Fine have it your way."
He hoped she would see reason, but it was like banging his head against a brick wall, "You’re acting like a blooming child."
She rounded on him in anger, the strap of her black nightdress slipped off her shoulder, but she hurriedly pulled it up before yelling, "Whatever, Ronald. Draco has changed, there was always so much good in him, and if the Algorithm sees them as an appropriate match, then you should have no reservations about it."
Good in him? Right. If the bastard possessed any good, it was well hidden.
Ron suddenly felt exhausted. It dawned on him, what did Tracey Davis know about their issues with Malfoy and his cronies? He shook his head slowly and beseeched, "You wouldn't understand."
Tracey hurled in outrage, "What I don't understand is this stupid infatuation you harbour for a woman who cared for you once upon a time ago."
Ron groaned. He was beginning to lose his patience, "Trace, she's my friend, nothing more." He fumed internally but advised himself to remain calm and not upset his wife.
She got back into bed, let her hair down and spat, "Why don't you go have that drink? I would like some time alone."
Ron turned on his heel and fled. He stood behind the minibar in the dimly lit living room and fixed his favourite drink, a small cognac. He tossed back his drink and fought the urge to curse.
What was Hermione thinking? Narcissa was certainly not worth sacrificing her life over. It was ludicrous. He poured himself another drink and walked onto the balcony. It was a rather chilly night, and the cold air blew around his naked torso.
After staring into the distance for what seemed like hours, he tried his best to come to terms with Malfoy marrying the woman he had wanted for so long.
They were high up but not so high that he couldn't see busy Londoners bustling about trying to get home.
Ron sighed, shook his head, and wanted nothing more than to appease his wife. When he entered the bedroom of their new flat, the lights were off, and Tracey was on the far edge of the bed.
He heard sniffles and his heart ached with the need to comfort her.
He slid between the covers, scooted close and gathered her in his arms. She showed indifference, but Ron kissed her head and pleaded, "Please don't cry, Tracey. You mean so much to me." She did not reply but closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. She couldn’t help but feel immensely relieved that Hermione was getting married.
A Secluded Part of London
They shared a delicious meal of steak, mashed potatoes, and buttered vegetables. Even prisoners on death row got a last meal. It was difficult for her to cross her legs and use the utensils in the ladylike manner he expected. He looked at her over the candlelight and smiled as if at a lover. She was completely naked; of course, he never let any of the girls wear clothes.
Fabric and fibres could be found under fingernails or in other microscopic openings over time and led to incriminating evidence.
So far, he was proud of keeping everything meticulously clean and the authorities in the dark. Besides, it was exciting to see their warm centres spread for him and pink-nipped breasts tremble whenever he looked their way. He, of course, was well dressed in a suit, with leather gloves and fancy shoes.
This one had outlived her purpose. The minute they began to resemble his mother, he knew it was time to get rid of them.
It was a shame, really. He had grown fond of the woman trying to eat the meal he prepared with love, or so he thought.
He delicately dabbed the corners of his mouth with the white napkin, threw it down and rose. Haunted eyes stared at him, watched his every movement with horror.
She urinated in fear. It travelled down her legs and pooled at her feet. There was no fight left in her. He had succeeded in breaking her completely. The scarred man ran an ancient-looking Hogwarts silk scarf through his fingers. The green serpent was prominent, and the word Slytherin was embroidered richly into the fabric.
His fingers trembled, but he pushed it aside and chirped, "Come on, love. Get up and move closer."
She sat still, frozen with fear but a terrified whimper escaped her dry lips, "Please."
He smiled reassuringly, "Hurry up now. I do not have all day.”
When she further paused, he battled with his inner beast to keep his temper under control. Her defiance was causing anger to bubble to the surface, but he added in mock encouragement, “It's a surprise to die for."
On shaking legs, she slowly got to her feet and tried to steady her nerves, but it was a futile attempt. He pointed at her and twirled his thin finger in midair, "Turn around and close your eyes."
She did as she was told, closed her eyes tightly shut and held onto her jiggling bare breasts.
The loss of sight aided her other senses. She heard the heavy footsteps coming closer and closer until they came to a halt within an inch of her body. The fine hairs on her back rose in anticipation of the evil deed he had planned.
The tears came before she could stop them, "Please, be merciful." She heard a distinct loud sob.
It threw her off. Was the sick bastard crying? Her eyes flew open as he moved the silky scarf around her neck. She wanted to run, fight, and do anything but her body wouldn't do as commanded.
The voice at her ear drained the very blood from her body, "I'm sorry, mother."
He tightened the scarf without hesitation, and her mouth fell open as he constricted her windpipe. She struggled and tried valiantly to claw at him, even reach back to attack him, but he was too strong and overpowered her effortlessly.
Her eyes rolled back in her head as she gasped for air and took her final breath; a blackness fell over her eyes like a silk veil. All the while, his inhumane cries pierced her efforts. He begged forgiveness, not from her but from someone she knew was dead. Her frail body went limp as her breathing ceased, and death took her into its warm embrace.
Finally, her suffering was over. He had shown mercy by strangling her instead of bludgeoning her to death. It left an awful mess to clean up afterward.
Only once he was sure she was dead did he let go, and she fell face-first to the floor with a thud. The scarf dropped to the ground. He backed away until his back hit a wall; he slid down it and fell to the floor in a crumpled pitiful mess.
He wept and yelled in torment, "I loved you. Why did you do this to me?"
For fifteen minutes, he screamed his frustration, and when all tears were spent, he slowly opened his eyes and stared deadpan at the body. A calmness washed over him, and he got to his feet with intent and reason.
It was as if nothing had transpired, his eyes held no remorse, and he rubbed his gloved hands together and smirked without regret, "Time to get to work."
Ever so slowly, he approached the body, knelt carefully by her side and smiled serenely, "You are in a better place now, mother."
He set to work. He returned the body to the bookshop she owned as per his ritual. He knew it was deserted.
It was swarmed with Aurors, her idiotic friends, and seemingly loving family the first few days. He watched from afar as they cried in grief and frustration, but it had since been abandoned for days on end.
To be extra cautious, he combed the area he kidnapped her from for a week leading up to her death to make doubly sure.
There was not an Auror in sight, and he marvelled at their stupidity. In reality, Michael, Terry, and Hannah kept close watch over the victim’s cosy cottage since the killer had returned the last corpse to her house as a final resting place.
Since the bookshop was a substitute home for the murdered woman, the disturbed man saw it fit to take her there instead. He laid her down carefully among the many shelves of books.
With her face looking up, she almost looked angelic. For the finishing touch, he took the detailed pendant of the owl and wand and laid it carefully between her exposed breasts.
A sexual urge swept over him, and he shivered with ecstasy, but he fought its relentless pull and drove it away. To do the act would mean he would ruin all his hard work of making sure she was spotlessly clean.
A black hoody covered his head and grotesquely scarred face. He threw her one last adoring look and stole out of the shop using the key she had on her person when he abducted her. The streets were empty, and it was understandable considering the ungodly hour.
He hummed a popular Muggle tune and walked inconspicuously down the street.
Three down. One more to go.
A brand new morning brought hope for some. Warm rays of sunshine flooded Malfoy Manor and bathed it in a yellowish hue. The sweet voice rang through the Manor, "Good morning, Narcissa."
Narcissa looked up from her embroidery in time to see Astoria approach. The younger witch wore a long-sleeved white blouse and crisp black trousers.
She looked lovely as always, and Narcissa smiled warmly in greeting, "My dear, I wasn't expecting you." That wasn’t new. Astoria came by without warning frequently. Narcissa brushed it aside and pointed to the chair in front.
Astoria sat down gracefully and tucked her legs neatly under the plush velvet chair. Narcissa regarded the pretty woman before her intently.
During her house arrest, the youngest of the Greengrass girls would pester her constantly with unannounced visits with the hope of finding out where Draco was. It became so annoying that Narcissa faked illness to get away from it.
Astoria answered, making her intention obvious, "I thought of popping by to see Draco."
She looked around pointedly, "Is he around?"
Narcissa smiled, "I'm afraid not, darling. He's gone off to work."
Astoria’s face fell in disappointment, it was plain to see, but she insisted politely, "Do you mind if I keep you company? I'm quite tired of the mundane activities of Greengrass Manor."
Narcissa nodded and invited politely, "Not at all, dear. Would you like a spot of tea?"
Astoria replied gratefully, "Thank you. That would be lovely." Dotty wobbled over in a bright baby blue dress, carrying a small tray with vials of potions, a goblet of water, and pieces of chocolate on a silver tray. She said anxiously, "Mistress, it is time for your potions."
Narcissa grimaced. The potions tasted atrocious. She frowned at Dotty, who held the tray firmly until her mistress took the medicine. The regal woman devoured the revolting concoctions in the blink of an eye and quickly popped a sizeable milk chocolate square into her mouth.
Astoria watched the scene before her and implored in concern, "Have you been ill?"
Narcissa swallowed the chocolatey goodness and smiled sheepishly, "Well, you know how it is. Getting old has its downfalls."
Astoria laughed in the most ladylike manner and argued, "You are hardly old, Narcissa. Look how stunning you are."
Narcissa joined the poised laughter, "You are too kind, darling." She requested Dotty to serve tea and cakes.
Her tone turned serious, and she inquired most genuinely, "How are you?"
Dotty returned with a large pot of tea, hand-painted teacups, and a cake stand stacked with delicious goodies.
Astoria graciously took the cup of tea Dotty offered. She took a sip of the hot beverage and replied solemnly, "I could be better."
After a moment’s hesitation, she asked tensely, "Umm, Has Draco spoken about the Law?"
Narcissa internally groaned. This was not a conversation she wished to have.
She sipped the tea and attempted to divert the conversation, "Oh, umm...Astoria, who did you get paired off with?"
Astoria was plainly troubled. She mumbled in contempt, "They didn't waste their precious time pairing a witch that could pass on a deadly curse to her offspring. Besides, I'm not in the best health and will not marry anyone other than Draco."
"Bugger," Narcissa thought internally and regretted her choice of words at once. She advised patiently, "Sweet girl, you have time. Do not speak so loosely about your death."
Astoria set the patterned gold cup down with a trembling hand and demanded with an edge to her voice, "Please, has he made a decision? I feel as if you're avoiding answering me."
"Fuck," Narcissa raged within. Oh, much worse that time around. Her language was certainly getting harsher.
She gathered herself, straightened, and spoke calmly, "Astoria, you must understand that Draco would sacrifice his soul to keep me safe. Something he did when Voldemort openly threatened the wellbeing of our family."
It was a dark period where so much responsibility had been piled on his teenage shoulders. Astoria stiffened. Her expression was sour, "I see. So, he has decided to marry Hermione Granger and sully a bloodline that has been pure for generations."
Narcissa clicked her tongue to show her obvious displeasure. She reprimanded most severely, "I have known you since birth, Tori, but your crude remarks will not be tolerated inside these walls."
Astoria's head fell into her hands. Her manicured fingers grabbed tufts of hair, and she cried, "I love him."
Narcissa leaned forward, pried Astoria’s hands away from ripping out chunks of thick black hair, and said silently, "I am well aware of your feelings towards my son, but Miss Granger is not to blame for the match. "
She added desperately, "She is as helpless in this matter as he is."
Astoria wept inconsolably, "I cannot bear to see him married to another."
Narcissa soothingly rubbed the troubled young woman’s hand and suggested carefully, "Let us cross that bridge when we reach it."
She leaned back and tried to stir the conversation well away from Draco. Happily, she inquired, "Come now, tell me about your paintings. Do you still draw?"
Astoria wiped away the tears, pulled out her wand, and waved it over herself. She struggled to retain her composure, "Yes, I do. It is the one thing that keeps me sane."
Narcissa felt her heart ache for the girl. "I weep for your situation. It is not your burden to carry but let us hope for the best."
Unable to shield her inner thoughts, Astoria blurted out, "Will they live under one roof, and share the same bed?"
Narcissa reapproached, "Astoria..."
The disturbed witch shot to her feet and declared unexpectedly, "I'm sorry but, I must leave. It was nice seeing you, Narcissa. Please look after yourself."
The older woman saw little point in trying to stop her, Astoria was already walking away, but Narcissa muttered honestly, "You too, child."
Dotty sighed aloud, and Narcissa nodded in agreement, "Oh, Dotty, it breaks my heart, but what are we to do?"
She instructed firmly, "Owl, Mrs Greengrass at once and inform her of her daughter's visit. We must keep a careful watch over Astoria. She is a danger to herself and others."
Narcissa shuddered to think in a fit of jealous rage what Astoria was capable of, and she genuinely worried for Hermione’s safety.
Hermione breezed into the office to find Brenda already there, and Michael Corner bent over, stroking her face and smiling fondly.
The click of her heels alarmed the couple, and Michael stepped back and greeted happily, "Morning, Granger."
Hermione raised a brow and mused, "What do we have here then?"
Brenda blushed and stuttered, "O..oh..nothing, boss."
Hermione threw Michael a suspicious look and quipped, "Leave that poor girl alone. I hear her boyfriend is the jealous type."
Corner crossed his arms over his chest and grinned, "Is he now?"
Hermione watched Brenda's cheeks redden. She tapped her heel and retorted, "So I've been told."
Brenda opened her mouth to answer, but no coherent words came out.
Hermione rolled her eyes, shooed Michael away, and gestured for Brenda to follow her. The nervous young witch hurriedly grabbed her notepad and pink quill and hurried after her boss.
Hermione glanced over her shoulder and inquired impatiently, "Come on, Brenda. Fill me in on what I missed yesterday."
Draco wouldn't be caught dead in his father's old office. It remained untouched, and the only items he had moved were past ledgers, priceless books and the odd knick-knack.
His own office was decorated modestly. Modern and bright to set the mood. His liking for the colour black dominated the space. A large comfortable black sofa rested in the middle. His large desk was made of the finest oak, accompanied by an oversized leather chair for him to sit on.
The surrounding area held many bookshelves, and tall French windows overlooked the streets below. Since his youth, he had a fondness for fish. They were the one luxury he allowed himself. A fully-equipped aquarium with brightly coloured exotic fish stood artfully in the corner.
Despite the new office, Draco knew he would spend very little time in it. He had other dreams, things he felt compelled to do.
Bernard pushed a thick file forward and grinned, "The issue on the German site has been resolved. The Head was caught embezzling, and he has been sacked. A portion of the money has been returned."
Draco clapped slowly, "Impressive, Bernard. This calls for a celebration tonight."
Bernard laughed hard, "I was told the man nearly pissed his pants when the authorities walked in."
Draco shook his head, "Crime doesn't reward you well. It has a way of coming back to you."
He leaned back in his chair and recited a story from his time at the Shaolin Temple, "The temple held a great many treasures. Certain pieces went missing from time to time, and it baffled us all. That was until a monk meditating in the dark caught the thief red-handed in the great hall.”
A serene calmness spread across his face, “After the Abbot spoke to him kindly, the police took him away, but what was most shocking was the man returned after his jail sentence and is now one of the most revered monks there."
Bernard listened in interest, "It sounds fascinating."
Draco nodded and smiled warmly, "I wish you could meet Master Chun one day. I have a feeling the two of you would get on smashingly. He was like a surrogate father to me. I learnt so much from him."
Bernard rested his arm on the table. Draco glanced at it and raised a brow, "Those cuts on your arm look deep. You should attend to them."
The older man quickly took his arm off the table, covered the area with the sleeve of his shirt, and brushed it aside, "Oh, It's nothing. Max jumped on me this morning when I visited your mother."
Draco grinned. A fondness crept into his voice, "The dog is a bloody menace, but I love him to bits." They spoke about Max and his many antics that had both men laughing.
Once they reached a natural pause, Draco grew serious and voiced his thoughts, "There's a matter we must discuss."
Bernard sighed in exhaustion and raised a questioning brow, "I don't think I can stomach any more surprises."
Draco laughed good-naturedly; Bernard joined the jovial laughter. He had been back a few days shy of two weeks, and so much had already happened.
His only wish was for a peaceful life, a feat he very much doubted would happen with Granger as his wife. His growing lust for her was unsettling, and it only aided the ache in the pits of his being.
Bernard interrupted his thoughts of wild hair, sultry moans and creamy smooth skin, "What did you want to discuss, Draco?"
The blonde wizard took a deep breath, leaned forward and said confidently, "This isn't the life for me, Bernard. It is what I was groomed for, but this is my father’s dream, not mine."
Bernard furrowed his brow, "Son, you are the last Malfoy. You need to heed your mother's advice and take your rightful place as the head of the company."
Draco exhaled. He ran his fingers through his hair and argued, "I will learn, someday I will, but right now I would like to fulfil a greater calling."
Bernard leaned back, crossed his legs, and curiously regarded the wizard before him, "And what might that be?"
Draco clicked his fingers, making flames appear and flicker ever so slightly. He moved his fingers elegantly to make the conflagration dance on the palm of his hand.
Bernard stared transfixed; he knew about the once arrogant wizard's powerful magic. He saw it firsthand when Narcissa collapsed, but seeing it in a controlled setting made it appear surreally beautiful.
Draco spoke softly, "I'm trained and able to brandish magic without a wand." He included with purpose, "I want to serve a community that I previously had no care for."
It became clear to Bernard the precarious career path he was speaking about.
The older man smirked, "Ah, you want to become an Auror?" And added sarcastically, "Your mother will love that."
Draco pressed on adamantly, "It's something I planned on doing for ages, and I have every intention of seeing it through."
He offered a bit of insight into his time at Hogwarts when he was nothing but an arrogant git, "When I was younger, all I ever wanted was to play Quidditch professionally, and though I was above par in school, I wasn't quite good enough for the League."
Next to Potter, he was considered the best, even though The Chosen One outdid him at every bloody match.
Bernard pulled at his collar and loosened his tie, "Well, being an Auror isn't exactly sunshine and daisies. It’s a real risk to your life."
Draco banged his fist down on the table, "Exactly. I will finally have a chance to help people, reunite families and vanquish evil before it rears its ugly fucking head."
There was a blazing purpose in his eyes that impressed Bernard. It spoke volumes to him. His passionate speech broke through any reservations the older man had. It was clear it meant a great deal to the once-troubled youth, and Bernard assumed it was another thing he wanted to accomplish on his path to complete redemption.
Bernard smiled encouragingly, "If it means this much to you, you have my complete support."
He winked, "I'll help bring your mother around. Trust me. You will need all the help you can get."
Draco grinned sheepishly. The loud beep of his phone diverted his attention. He fished it out of his pocket and stared at the unknown number in thought. He excused himself and clicked on the pulsating glowing small envelope that flashed across the small screen.
Got your mobile number from your mum. I need to see you now. – Hermione
A smile curved his luscious lips, and her low moans of pleasure invaded his thoughts once more.
Bernard waited for an explanation. He coughed to remind Draco of his presence.
Draco pocketed the device and smirked, "My lovely fiance has demanded my presence for whatever reason."
Bernard chuckled knowingly, got to his feet, and adjusted his suit jacket, "Carry on, son. We can finish this later."
His voice was low. There was no greeting, but it was mildly taunting and powerful, "I cannot be summoned like some mongrel pup."
Hermione looked up, and her eyes roved over the tall, built man in a black suit, leaning against the thick frame of the door with his hands in his pockets.
Merlin, he was sexy. It was utterly unfair.
Brenda was conveniently away on an errand. She was probably canoodling with her witless boyfriend in some deserted Ministry room. She cocked her head to the side, bit her lip suggestively and mocked, "Apparently, you can."
Draco strode into the office determinedly and decided to stretch the truth, "I was at the office and in the middle of a board meeting."
Hermione looked embarrassed, "Oh, I'm so..."
She felt her inhibitions falter with each purposeful step he took toward her. He closed the distance between them in three long strides, kept his hands on her neat desk, leaned forward and invaded her space. His icy grey eyes were complacent and destined to destroy every resolve she held dear.
He interrupted frostily, "What do you want, Granger?"
She took a whiff of his manly scent and cleared her throat to hide her shameless reaction.
Once she regained a smidge of composure, Hermione said significantly, "It’s been brought to my attention that Kingsley is leaving the country on a Ministry matter and will return next week."
Draco straightened, picked up a large snow globe that rested on her table, and answered without interest, "I fail to see how that is my concern."
She was losing her patience with his nonchalant behaviour towards their situation and rightly told him so, "I thought we could tell him about our way forward before he left."
That bit made his head snap up; she had his undivided attention. He nodded curtly, "Ah, a wise decision. Lead the way, Granger."
Hermione pushed back the chair, slowly rose, came around the table, and scolded, "Are you mocking me?"
His eyes devoured her whole. She looked quite appealing in a black pencil skirt, a red blouse, and matching black heels. Her face was devoid of makeup except for a smidgeon of eyeliner and mascara that adorned her gorgeous almond-shaped eyes.
Draco tore his eyes off her and quipped, "And risk having my balls chopped off? I think not."
He took a step closer, and she backed away, hitting her back on the front of her desk.
He saw her swallow hard. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and drawled, "You smell captivating."
Hermione watched the man with his eyes closed intently. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair and bite down on his bottom lip, but instead, she accused haughtily, "You're obsessed with my smell."
Draco inhaled and did not skip a beat with his sincere response, "I am."
He stared deep into her chestnut-brown eyes.
He loved the fire that burnt in them, "You look lovely. Is it for Boot's benefit?" His icy grey eyes ran over her without shame, causing what little control she maintained to crumble like stale biscuits.
She pushed him back and shot daggers, "It might surprise you, Malfoy, but I like to dress nice for me and not some man."
Draco stepped away and smirked in satisfaction, "Good answer."
She grinned and gestured to all of him, “You are positively green with jealousy. It's not a good look on you, Malfoy.”
Draco teased openly, “You love the attention, don’t you?”
Urgh! The incorrigible sod.
Hermione coughed in a rather pathetic attempt to hide her discomfort. She felt a strong hand at the small of her back guiding her out, and she stiffened from the contact.
He rasped temptingly, "You really are receptive to my touch." Her nipples pebbled at the thought of his lips on hers. She didn't make an effort to move away from his touch, and neither did he attempt to drop his hand.
He inquired abruptly, but there was laughter in his voice, "Did Weasley give you a rough time?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, "What do you think?"
Draco stated with a serious look, "He might be married, but the pathetic sod is smitten with you."
His hand snaked down her back and came to rest on her hip. She felt his touch burn through the material, but she refuted weakly, "That's ridiculous. He cares for me as a friend."
Draco pulled her close, dropped a kiss on her forehead in plain sight of everyone passing by, and joked, "Obviously."
Hermione stared wide-eyed, mortified by his blatant display of public affection.
Evidently, she was not the only one who thought so. An angry growl made Hermione groan nervously, and Draco slowly turned towards the source.
She saw the unmistakable flash of frustration flicker in his smoky eyes. His hold of her tightened, his long fingers dug into her skin, and she winced in discomfort.
In unmistakable anger, the same deep voice demanded, "What the fuck is going on?"
Chapter 23
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Chapter Text
Teddy jumped up and down excitedly, "Come on, gran. Hurry up."
Andromeda adjusted the pin of an elaborately jewelled owl on her dress robes and picked up her sizeable handbag, "Patience, Teddy."
They were headed to the Burrow for an impromptu brunch. Ginny, James, Bill, Fleur, and their children were joining them, and Teddy was beside himself with excitement. He was the oldest of the lot and immensely enjoyed playing the role of big brother.
He urgently pulled his grandmother into the homey kitchen.
Andromeda smiled fondly, took his small hand in hers and waved her wand. They disappeared with a distinctive pop.
The Minister's office door was closed, and Harry and Michael stared, stunned, while Terry trembled with unmistakable anger. His fists were balled at his side, and he was clearly fighting a losing battle. On the other hand, his eyes were pools of agony, and Hermione momentarily felt remorse shroud her thinking. However, it was Harry who found his voice first. It was barely audible, "Hermione?"
Hermione stepped away from the comfort Malfoy offered. She put a substantial distance between them, hoping that it would appease the men standing before her.
Terry seemed to have regained his faltering composure. He pointed to Draco without any false politeness and demanded, "What are you doing with him?"
Hermione glanced around the area hurriedly and beseeched, "Terry, please..."
The last thing she wanted to do was cause a scandalous scene. Many unfamiliar faces were watching them intently. It would not suit her reputation to have a lovers spat in front of the Minister of Magic’s distinguished office.
Draco made his presence avidly known. He drawled almost lazily, "It would be wise not to run your mouth off. This is hardly the place for a jealous outburst."
Terry was not about to be lectured by an ex-Death Eater scum. He closed the gap, jabbed Draco hard in the chest and snarled, "Shut the fuck up, Malfoy. Nobody here is speaking to you."
Draco did not flinch. He put his hands inside his pockets and smirked. This time around, he would exercise control and not let the mediocre wizard get under his skin.
Hermione stepped between the tall men and kept her hand palm down over Terry's chest. His Auror badge felt rough under her fingertips.
She dropped her voice and warned, "Let's talk later. People are beginning to stare," Sure enough, a few foreign dignitaries looked their way, frowned, and chatted among themselves in what sounded unmistakably like French.
Terry grabbed her wrist and pleaded a touch more desperately than he hoped, "No, don't do this, Hermione."
Hermione broke free from his grasp and murmured, "Stop it. Let's speak later."
Michael stepped in, clamped his best friend on the shoulder while glaring at Draco and then bestowed a look of disappointment on Hermione.
He spoke directly to Terry, "Come on, mate. Let's go for a smoke."
Terry stubbornly stood his ground, but eventually, he stared at Hermione accusingly and followed Michael out.
Harry watched them go but stayed behind and eyed Draco suspiciously. She touched his arm and implored in growing concern, "Is everything alright?" Trying to steer the conversation away from the current situation, Hermione questioned softly.
Harry looked disturbed and restless. He had visible bags under his eyes, and his usually messy hair was further unkempt and knotted. He massaged the bridge of his nose in exhaustion, and his mind was in sheer turmoil, "No. Another one's been found."
Hermione gasped, "That's horrible. Oh, the poor woman."
Harry nodded in agreement and shuddered, "You should've seen her mother. She kept fainting and had to be restrained. I hoped I’d never have to see such anguish." That much was true, and this one case shattered his whole purpose of becoming an Auror.
Draco listened keenly from his place by the door. Potter looked like hell. He could see there was a grave matter at hand.
Harry looked past Hermione, and his eyes landed on the tall blonde sulking by the large door. He inquired carefully, "What are you two up to?"
Hermione glanced over her shoulder and caught Draco staring at her as if to say, he's your mate. You should answer. She bit her lip nervously and averted her gaze, "Yes, umm, we need to inform Kingsley of our decision."
Harry ignored Malfoy’s presence, held Hermione by the shoulders and forced her to look directly at him. She raised conflicted eyes, and Harry questioned frankly, "Are you sure about this?"
Hermione took a deep breath and nodded meekly, "Yes." She felt anything but confident, but they could probably make it work with a few ground rules.
Harry sighed, let go and offered a half-hearted smile, "Will you stop by the house later?"
Hermione smiled warmly, "Yeah, sure, I'll pop by."
Malfoy nodded curtly, "Good to see you, Potter."
Harry raised a quizzical brow at his former rival and retorted, "Yeah, likewise, Malfoy." He didn’t mean it. Even with time, some things were hard to let go.
Hermione watched Harry take the stairs. She adjusted her blouse, exhaled to release the pent-up frustration, and knocked on the door.
A voice at her ear made the tiny hairs on her neck stand on end, “We will be just fine, Granger.”
They heard the deep, loud voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt from within, "Come in." Draco pushed the heavy door and held it open for Hermione to walk through as any gentleman would.
Kingsley was clearly agitated. The closer they got to the Minister, the more his conversation came to light. He was barking instructions and waving his free hand about madly.
He yelled into the phone, "This has gone far enough. I want a bloody solution."
Hermione knew better than to irritate him further and asked in a soft tone, "Shall we come back later?"
Kingsley looked up from the phone at her and then Draco. He was baffled as to why the unlikely pair was standing in his office.
There were many pictures of the deceased woman scattered around his desk. The close-ups of the corpse were brutal, and Hermione only glanced at them before moving swiftly away.
She felt rage boil in the pit of her being. Draco moved closer and inconspicuously eyed the gruesome, disturbing photographs. His eyes went directly to the pendant, but before getting a better look, Kingsley gathered them all and shoved them into a drawer.
With a straight edge to his voice, the Minister informed, "We are at our wit's end. I've requested help from private entities." Desperate times called for utterly desperate measures.
Hermione stated prominently, "Make the statement, Kingsley. We must warn the public of a potential serial killer."
Kingsley nodded and crossed the room to his fully stocked minibar. He poured himself a glass of scotch and raised it in their direction in question, "Would you like a drink?
Hermione frowned and pointed out critically, "It's barely one, Kingsley."
Draco, however, accepted the offer graciously, "Don't mind if I do, Minister."
Kingsley poured a splash of expensive single malt scotch into a crystal tumbler, added two clear-cut ice cubes, and handed a glass to Draco, who took it gratefully. They clicked glasses before taking gratifying sips. The witch in the room tutted her disapproval.
Shacklebolt scowled, "Don't look at me like that, Granger. If you’d had the morning I’ve had, you would be drunk by now."
Draco snorted into his drink, and Hermione threw him a look of deep loathing.
Kingsley instructed solemnly, "Will you arrange the press conference with the Prophet?"
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and nodded resolutely, "Of course. I'll attend to it after our little matter."
Kingsley tossed back his drink, and contemplated whether to have another but eventually abandoned the idea and settled for a glass of water. He went around his large desk, sat down, and gestured for the two individuals in the room to follow suit.
Draco waited for Hermione to take a seat and then lowered himself down into a plush leather seat. The Minister brought his large hands together and regarded them oddly.
He leaned back and inquired, "What can I do for you two?" He added for good measure since he was in no mood to listen to their constant complaining, “I already made myself abundantly clear that I cannot get you out of it."
Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered, "We've decided to do the deed and adhere to the Ministry's dreadful marriage law."
Kingsley choked on the water. He surfaced, spluttering and gasping for breath.
He croaked, thumping his chest, "Oh, right. Well, that's good news but certainly surprising."
Shacklebolt eyed Hermione doubtfully, reaching into his dark plum robes to pull out his long wand. He waved it over her in plain sight and muttered a complex spell.
The blonde in the room did not take kindly to what the Minister was doing. He finished his drink, licked his bottom lip, and flicked his wrist causally. Kingsley’s acacia wood wand flew out of his hand and landed neatly in front of him.
The Minister narrowed his eyes and demanded in astonishment, "How did you do tha...?
Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her chair and glanced at Draco. He was not to be trifled with and frowned at the Minister with a look of contempt on his face.
Draco thwarted without hesitation. His tone held a smidge of sarcasm, "I'm gifted, and should I be insulted that you were checking to see if Granger is enchanted."
Kingsley countered, "No, I was merely being thorough."
Hermione saw fit to instil her opinion, "There is no foul play here, Minister. I agreed to this."
Draco’s luscious lips pulled upwards into a smug smirk, "As a matter of fact, she asked me to marry her." His eyes danced with humour, and he gazed fondly at the witch next to him squirm uncomfortably.
Hermione glared sternly and explained steadfastly, "That's not nearly as messed up as it sounds." The bloody nerve of him.
The Minister was beyond relieved that they had come to their senses and decided to embark on what could be called a somewhat perilous journey. He wondered if Malfoy would survive the three years unscathed.
Kingsley made his feelings vocal and stated cheerfully, "Good, now to plan the function. I hope you will wait for my return."
Hermione gasped wide-eyed and gobsmacked. She stuttered, "F-f-function?” What blooming function?"
Draco moved his seat slightly away from the glowering woman, who looked like she was about to explode. Her obvious displeasure would be directed towards him, no doubt.
Kingsley noticed none of this. He waved his hand casually and supplied further clarification, "Yes, Granger, you know, a party of sorts."
Hermione shot to her feet and cried in outrage, "Have you lost all sanity? I agreed to marry for the sake of Narcissa, but I won't put on a bloody gown and prance down the aisle like it’s the happiest day of my life."
Kingsley looked at the fuming woman in interest and chuckled, "There's really no need to be rude."
Hermione banged her fist down on the table and stated firmly, "There will be no wedding!"
She pointedly looked at her watch and said to the room, "I actually have an hour free. We could get the certificate now."
Draco saw his cue to intervene. He got to his feet, adjusted his tie, and fawned sarcastically, "How romantic."
He ran his fingers through his hair and smirked, "But my mother would have our head if we went about this tactlessly without informing her, and we must also consider your parents."
Hermione grilled incredulously, "My parents?"
Draco raised a questioning brow, "Yes, Granger, your parents. Unless you are planning on lying to them for the next three years."
She shuddered, and memories of old came to mind. It was the single most difficult thing she had ever done. Obliviating her parents’ memories and then tracking them down with the Ministries to help restore them was an experience she wouldn't ever repeat.
Her mum especially felt resentment towards her, but once they began to understand why she did what she did, they managed to let go of the past over time and rebuild their relationship.
Hermione had not given it much thought other than to spend the weekend with them and spill the beans on her marital status. She argued, "Well, obviously, I'll have to tell them."
Kingsley advised animatedly, "You could learn something from him, Hermione."
Hermione sneered, "Oh, really? Like how to look down on Muggleborns?"
Draco shook his head and frowned. The Minister massaged his temples slowly and said, "If you’re done sharing your news, please go make life miserable for someone else."
Hermione giggled and replied, "Have a safe trip. Pass my regards to the French Minister."
Kingsley grimaced, "That slimy old toad is not worth mentioning."
Draco saw Kingsley bestow a look of affection upon Granger. They honestly had a love, hate relationship. They departed. Hermione walked ahead and tittered, "Well, that went better than anticipated."
When she heard no reply, she glanced over her shoulder in annoyance and found Malfoy standing in front of Professor Dumbledore’s portrait, engaged in what looked like a lively conversation. Hermione walked back and smiled at their old Headmaster.
Dumbledore grinned broadly, "My dear, Miss Granger, I think congratulations are in order."
Hermione blushed, "Not really, Professor. We have been pressured into this."
The wise old man chuckled, "Ah yes, but sometimes the unexpected can happen."
Hermione mumbled, "Not this time."
Draco heard her stubborn reply and stifled a laugh. They bid the Professor a fond farewell, and Draco trailed leisurely after the headstrong woman into her office.
Brenda had returned, and she stared flabbergasted at the couple making their way into Hermione’s office.
Hermione noticed her assistant gawking at Malfoy and asked pointedly, "Any messages, Brenda?"
The pretty young witch tore her eyes away from the striking blonde, swallowed hard and turned towards her boss, who frowned deliberately, "Oh, nothing, Hermione."
Hermione recited quickly, "Good, schedule a meeting with the Prophet and Quibbler in three hours," and walked away without further instruction.
Draco lingered and smiled warmly at the woman scribbling in her notepad. Her quill moved over the paper effortlessly. He greeted, "It was nice to meet you, Brenda."
Brenda blushed madly and mumbled incoherently. He followed Hermione into her office and mused, "Is madam done with me? Can I take my leave?"
Draco closed the door and tallied, "Your assistant seems lovely."
Hermione regarded him like someone shoved a handful of shite under her nose, repulsed.
She rounded on him in the privacy of her room. With her hands on her shapely hips and feet slightly apart, she spat decisively, "I meant it, Malfoy. No sodding wedding."
Draco rubbed his chin in thought, "Hmm, duly noted." He looked around her immaculate office. It mirrored her personality and said animatedly, "Well, if we are done here. I'll take my leave."
Hermione nodded feebly and held the door open for him to leave, "I suppose we will meet soon."
He stopped abruptly at the door and turned to face her. The grey in his eyes glistened with unease, but somehow it added to his appeal. Hermione grew flustered and hurriedly stepped back.
Draco closed the space between them, cupped her cheek with one hand and ran his thumb along her suddenly dry lips.
His husky voice sent shivers down her spine, "Yes, we will, Granger." He let go and glanced over his shoulder as he walked away and flashed a flawless smile at the young receptionist.
Hermione leaned against the wall to steady the rapid beating of her heart. She walked over to her desk on wobbly legs and plopped down unceremoniously in her chair.
Brenda poked her head in and swooned, "Oh my goodness. He is a treat."
Hermione rolled her eyes and frowned, "Shut it. He's far too old for the likes of you, not that it matters and my soon to be husband."
The young woman gasped, “Married? You?”
Hermione looked insulted, “Yes, me! Why is that so hard to believe?”
Brenda shut the door behind her, and her mouth dropped open in shock. She regained her composure enough to blurt out, "No bloody way."
She took a seat and sighed dreamily, "I bet he's marvellous in bed."
Hermione could not help but giggle, "You have a filthy mind."
Brenda was utterly convinced, "Come off it, look at that firm arse. He's certainly got the build for it."
Hermione shrugged, started to jot down notes for the press release and shrugged casually, "I hadn't noticed."
She would need Harry’s valuable input on what they should disclose and what needed to be kept well out of prying eyes in case the killer followed the story.
Brenda quipped, "Haven't noticed? You really are an appalling liar, Hermione."
Hermione slipped on her glasses and scowled, “Speaking of liars. When were you going to tell me about Michael?”
Brenda had the good grace to look ashamed, "Oh, um...yes, well..."
Hermione held up her hand and silenced the embarrassing woman. She smiled warmly, "You look happy. He looks bloody ecstatic. So, it is going well, I presume?"
Brenda exclaimed enthusiastically, "Oh yes! We also got matched through the Algorithm."
Hermione asked in thought, "Does Terry know?"
Brenda bit her bottom lip nervously and looked away sheepishly.
Terry gripped the cigarette, the thin tube almost broke in half, and he shook in anger, "How could she do this?
Michael took a long drag and advised coolly, "Calm down, mate. We don't know what she's done."
Terry sneered, "I bet you hundred galleons she's accepted the match."
Michael blew smoke towards the ceiling and shook his head afterwards, "No way. She fucking hates him."
Terry inhaled the rich smoke and hissed, "Not anymore. There is more to this."
Michael offered carefully, "Maybe it’s the money?"
Terry threw his friend a look of deep disproval, "Fuck off. Granger isn't the shallow type."
Corner shrugged and defended, "I was just saying…."
Terry punched the wall next to him aggressively, making others in the area glance their way. He ignored the many eyes on him and thundered, "I'll fuck him up, I swear."
Michael squeezed his mate’s shoulder and reapproached, "Maybe it’s time to let Granger go?"
Terry couldn't believe his ears, "What? No!" Deep down, he knew his friend spoke the truth. Hermione was not as invested in them as he was. Frankly, he had no idea what she wanted from him, but he was willing to wait it out patiently.
Michael sighed, "Look, I'm your best friend, and I don't want to see you get hurt, but honestly, I don't think she's that into you."
Terry stubbed his cigarette and hurled, but his confidence waned, "Oh yeah? Will see about that."
He stormed off, leaving a concerned Michael behind to gather his thoughts and finish the last few drags of his roll-up.
Brenda narrowed her eyes at the raging bull that was Terry Boot. She quickly stopped him and said harshly, "Terry, she's in a meeting."
Terry glared stubbornly, "Do I look like I give a fuck?" He brushed past Brenda, entered Hermione’s office unannounced, and yelled, "What the fuck is going on, Hermione? Are you marrying the bastard?"
Brenda rushed after him angrily, threw Terry a look of disgust and apologised profusely, "I'm so sorry, Hermione. This imbecile wouldn't listen to me."
Terry opened his mouth to fling an insult, but the hardened expression on Granger’s face made him stop dead in his tracks.
Hermione smiled calmly at Brenda, "That's quite alright, darling. I'll take it from here."
Brenda glowered at Terry and mumbled unkindly as she passed him, "She's got someone better than you," and closed the door on her way out.
Hermione came around her desk, leaned against it, and appealed, "Calm down."
Terry inquired anxiously, "Are you?" Oh well, she couldn’t hide it. The sooner she accepted the truth of it, the better it would be for everyone. With that troubling thought in mind, Hermione sighed, "Yes, I am."
Terry felt his heart clench, and his stomach ache. This was a woman he cared for greatly. He cupped her face lovingly and pleaded, "Why? What changed?"
Hermione broke free of his hold and pointed strictly to a chair, "Sit down and listen or get out of my office."
Draco took the centuries-old lift down to the atrium. Now was as good a time as any. Besides, it saved him a trip, and his mind was made up. He approached the help desk. Three well-dressed witches were busy answering calls, directing lost people, and explaining things to the many foreigners aimlessly wandering about.
Draco cleared his throat, and a smartly attired older witch came up to him and smiled politely, "What can I help you with?"
He smiled gratefully and requested courteously, "Would you kindly direct me towards the Auror office."
She smiled as that was the practice and pointed delicately to the row of lifts, "Certainly. Take the lift, floor number 08."
He thanked her and once again walked towards the now crowded lift entrance. As he neared the area, he bumped into a slightly built man, and the poor man's files fell to the floor, sending papers everywhere. Some people stepped on them in their haste to reach their destination, and Draco apologised, "Oh, sorry, mate. I didn't see you there."
John mumbled, "That happens often." He fell to his knees and tried to gather the pieces of paper.
Meanwhile, Draco wondered why the man didn't use magic. When it became clear that he had no intention of resorting to magic, Draco pulled out his wand and neatly waved it over the scattered papers.
They landed in a neat pile on the flustered man’s hands. John looked utterly surprised. Wizards, in particular, snubbed him arrogantly. He muttered a quick thank you before disappearing into the crowd. Draco stared after him for a bit and returned to his earlier task of meeting Potter.
The lift was crowded, but Draco squeezed himself in and pushed the button. Merlin, it smelt like ball sweat, and the witch standing beside him pressed herself into his side. He sighed in relief as the lift dinged on his desired floor. He fought his way out, doubled over and gasped for fresh air.
Draco looked around, impressed. He was greeted first by a large logo of the DMLE Badge and motto engraved into the wall. Black-clad individuals eyed him warily before walking past. Aurors, in general, were a suspicious lot. Considering their job, they had to be.
He fixed his jacket and stopped a neatly dressed woman in a high ponytail, "Excuse me, can you direct me to Potter's office?"
The woman looked him over and raised a quizzical brow, "Malfoy?"
He looked closely at the attractive woman, and she did indeed appear vaguely familiar, but he struggled to recall who it was.
She sensed his predicament and offered, "It's Hannah. We were in the same year, except I was in Hufflepuff."
Ah, Longbottom’s Herbology partner. He hurriedly searched his memories for any recollection of him being horrid to her and thankfully came up empty.
Draco smiled warmly, "Of course, Hannah, how nice to see you. Sorry, I didn’t recognise you. You’ve changed quite a bit.”
Hannah laughed, “Got rid of the braces and changed my hairstyle.”
Draco grinned, displaying his flawlessly white teeth, “You look good.”
Hannah tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, blushed and asked sceptically, "Didn't expect to find you here of all places."
Draco replied awkwardly, "I'm looking for Potter."
She motioned for him to follow her, and after a short distance, they stopped at what looked like a modest office space with the name HARRY POTTER, HEAD AUROR sprawled across it in bright, bold gold letters. They heard a slew of curses from within as Harry slammed the phone down and proceeded to shout profanity at an unknown source.
Hannah nudged him and teased, "Good luck." He rolled his eyes and knocked on the door loudly. Harry’s agitated voice came from within, "Come in."
Draco opened the door and entered without hesitation.
Harry stopped fiddling with the papers on his desk and stared at the ice blonde standing in his rather untidy room.
Harry smirked, "Well, this is certainly unexpected."
Draco glanced at a bunch of photographs of dead women and said solemnly, "I gather this is a difficult time."
Harry sighed in exhaustion, "You have no idea, but come in." He didn't bother with unwanted pleasantries and assumed the blonde prick wanted to speak about Hermione.
Harry narrowed his eyes and inquired, "So, what can I do for you?"
Draco stood his ground; he didn't sit nor move a muscle. He came straight to the point and answered promptly, "I wish to join your department. I gather you are the right person to meet."
Harry leaned back in his chair and stared at the rather tall man he disliked intensely, "Indeed. Forgive my utter fucking shock, but why in Merlin’s name do you want to become an Auror?"
Draco sighed and simply asked, "Why do you do it, Potter?"
Harry answered at once fiercely, "To help people. Keep them safe."
Draco nodded in agreement, "There you go." It was complex yet straightforward reasoning.
Harry laughed mockingly. He spat in contempt, "You haven't helped anyone but yourself. Why is this time any different?"
Draco knew he would have his work cut out for him. It was the price he had to pay for being a gigantic knob back at Hogwarts. He formed his words carefully, "I want to give back what I've taken. You might find it a bitter pill to swallow, but I'm not the same selfish git I was back then."
Harry leered, "Right. Forgive me for not believing a word you say."
Draco argued, "Don't make the mistake of thinking only you and your lot suffered.” He punctured his last words with disgust, “You have no real idea what true hell is. I lived with the monster for months."
Harry nodded slowly, "Fair point." Malfoy had a valid argument; it couldn’t have been easy being forced to do such malevolent deeds with his family's safety looming over his head.
He shrugged and questioned seriously, "Okay then, what qualifications do you have to become an Auror?"
Draco smirked, "For one...." The goblin-made gemmed iron sword flew across the room and landed on his outstretched hand. His fingers closed around the handle, and his eyes roved over the impressive craftsmanship.
Harry straightened and stared in disbelief, "How did you do...." The smug prat had not used a wand. No, it was impossible.
Draco wielded the sword expertly. The sharp blade sliced through the air effortlessly, and he fondly remembered the swords that he practised with at the temple, the only difference being the weight. The sword currently in his hands was practically weightless and aided his fluid, quick movements.
Once satisfied, he placed it gingerly on the table before answering, "That’s a brilliant sword.” He saw Potter gawking at him in surprise. So caught up in his excitement, he forgot about his audience.
Draco cleared his throat, “I can do wandless magic. My spells pack quite a punch."
Harry still stared at a complete loss for words. Draco ignored the flabbergasted man and raised two long svelte fingers, “Second...."
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and concentrated hard. A satisfied smirk curved his lips, "Yes, Potter. I have every intention of treating Granger with the utmost respect."
Harry felt an unwanted presence. His Occlumency had improved by leaps and bounds since entering adulthood. He pushed back, put up solid walls to keep the intruder out of his thoughts and memories and hissed darkly, "Get out of my head, you arsehole."
Draco grinned triumphantly, "I'm an accomplished Legilimens. I don't need to resort to potions and whatnot to know what's in a criminal's mind."
He emphasised, "And lastly," the words barely left his lips as he did an effortless roundhouse kick that reached over Harry's desk and landed short of his neck causing his Adam’s apple to bob nervously.
Harry stiffened and eyed the shoe's heel out of the corner of his eye. It was so close to his face, but Malfoy brought his leg down, straightened and explained plainly, "I'm trained in martial arts. Kungfu, to be precise."
Harry hid his shock. He would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he was beyond impressed. Instead, he nodded and retorted professionally, "Impressive. I won't lie, you will be a valuable asset, but there is quite a bit to consider."
Internally, he thought, the fact that Malfoy was a cleared but still branded Death Eater would be disturbing to several members. Most importantly, their unpleasant history and how the rest of the team would react to working with him when some, if not most, outwardly showed contempt for the Malfoy family.
Draco pressed with adamant purpose, "All I want is a chance."
Harry leaned forward and queried curiously, "But do you play nice with others?"
Draco laughed low. It was good-natured and filled the room, "Besides, the moron Granger has the hots for, I'm confident the others and I will get on smashingly."
Harry joined the hearty laughter, "Oh, I very much doubt that."
Draco brushed it aside and inquired sincerely, "What do you say, Potter?"
Harry conceded, "Don't make me fucking regret this." He included offhandedly, "You will need to go through the training program for about a month to undergo a stringent series of character and aptitude tests. These tests are done in order to show us how well you will react under pressure, and it's all uphill from there."
His lips curved upwards in a sarcastic smirk, "The pay is shite, the perks are somewhat okay, and job satisfaction varies."
A sadness laced his following words. Harry sighed exasperatedly, thought of Ginny’s tired face and hung his head, "This life isn't for everyone."
Draco nodded in slow agreement, "I'm aware of what the job details." He attempted to lighten the mood, "It's not like I have a loving wife to return home to."
Harry could not help but laugh, he pulled out a piece of parchment, and on cue, the door opened unannounced, and Hermione walked in, muttering, "Can you believe what an incredible prat Malfoy is..."
Draco ran his fingers through his blonde locks and mused, "Quite a large one, I presume, but might I ask what merited this barrage of abuse?"
Hermione froze in her tracks. He was the last person she expected to see in Harry’s office. Her encounter with Boot had left her irritated and immensely frustrated since he was adamant that she not marry Malfoy and instead run off with him.
To further stress his point that she was better off with him, he had proceeded to snog her as if his life depended on it. The feeling of his hands on her, his lips moving over hers, did nothing whatsoever to excite her.
Sure, it was pleasurable but nowhere near as sensual as when Malfoy touched her, which infuriated her, but she conveniently blamed her body for its betrayal.
When she refused to budge from her decision, he seemed pained and tried to blame Narcissa for forcing such responsibility on her. That was the last straw, and she told him so frankly. He looked utterly defeated as he exited without a further word.
Hermione folded her arms across her chest and demanded, "What are you still doing here?" She openly leered, hoping to humiliate, "Have you stooped so low as to stalk me?"
Draco retorted smugly, "That, my beloved, would require me to be close to you and clearly, I am not."
Hermione blushed but pushed it aside and insisted sternly, "Whatever. What are you doing here?"
Draco pointed to Harry and shrugged, "Isn't that obvious?” He cocked his head to the side and quipped, “Aren't you the brightest witch of our age or have you been knocked off the pedestal?"
Hermione’s face twisted unpleasantly. She opened her mouth to hurl an insult, but he promptly interrupted to clear her confusion, "I'm applying to be an Auror."
She openly mocked, "What? That is ridiculous."
Draco narrowed his eyes. Her comment got under his thick skin, and he questioned irritably, "How so?" Did she believe he was incapable and lacked the skills to be an Auror?
Hermione tilted her head to the side and remarked, "You're filthy rich. You hardly need to work. Just sit pretty on your arse and watch the galleons pour in."
She laughed aloud, "What do you know about a commoner’s life?"
Draco mustered a smile and advised, "You should not be so quick to judge, Granger. Especially when you loathe the same done to you."
Hermione knew she crossed the invisible line of mockery, and she half wished it was acceptable to flee with her shame intact. He wasn't about to sit idly by.
At the same time, she insulted him without reason Draco insisted, "The Malfoy fortune is hardly my doing. That's generations-old gold I've inherited."
He included confidently, hoping she would see that he meant his words, "I wish to make a difference."
Before she could stop herself, Hermione spat out sarcastically, "Oh, you've done plenty."
Fed up with their childish banter, Harry injected sternly, "Hermione! This is a private meeting." They were best friends, but this was work, and both took their job quite seriously. Her untimely intrusion was not welcome.
Hermione argued, "You can't be serious, Harry! You cannot possibly consider him."
Harry took off his glasses, cleaned them and said, "Who I hire is my concern. Last I checked, I am the Head of the department, and my word is the law." He would never walk into her office and tell her how to do her job.
Hermione grilled, "What skills does he have?"
Draco purposely closed the door with a simple wave of his hand and joked, "I assure you, my pet, I am qualified for the job."
Hermione plunged her hand into her pocket, pulled out her wand, dug it into the base of his throat and snarled, "Call me your pet one more time." How dare he refer to her with such a derogatory term.
Draco was hardly intimated. He pressed himself further into the wand until it dug unpleasantly into his jugular. He lifted her chin with a finger and drawled, "You are quite a sight when pissed off."
She could smell the fresh mint of his toothpaste ghost over her face as he lewdly uttered, "It's mildly arousing."
Harry heard bits and frowned. Merlin, he had a killer to catch and tons of work to do and not witness this pathetic display of a cat chasing a mouse. Who was what was yet to be determined?
Hermione stomped hard on Draco's foot, let her heel dig in for good measure, and ordered, "What are your credentials?" She knew he had no prior work experience unless you count a reclusive escape from the world he knew.
Harry was beginning to lose his patience. He prided himself on keeping his wits about him, but her line of questioning made him feel inadequate and incompetent in his trusted position.
He countered on Draco's behalf, "Malfoy has provided them, and I am answerable only to the Minister of Magic, Madam Undersecretary."
Hermione cried in outrage, "This is preposterous."
Harry got to his feet and reprimanded most severely, "It has already been decided, and I will not have my decisions questioned by the likes of you."
Harry offered his hand, and Draco was reminded of a time years ago when he was nothing but an ignorant child trying to befriend The Boy Who Lived. He beamed and took the hand in a firm shake.
Potter returned the gesture and enthused, "Welcome onboard, Auror Malfoy. Report for duty first thing Monday morning."
Meanwhile, Hermione stood in the background, seething with her lips pressed down hard, trying hard to retain her composure. She watched the unsavoury scene unravel, turned on her heel and stormed out of the room.
Harry sighed, "I'm never going to hear the end of it. Brace yourself, Malfoy."
He added in annoyance and repeated his earlier warning, “Don’t make me regret this.”
Draco grinned confidently, "Oh, I think I can handle the elusive Miss Granger."
Chapter 24
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Chapter Text
Teddy pushed back his plate and sighed in contentment. It was his third helping of apple pie, and he could not possibly eat another bite. It was the kind of pie that was flaky and crispy on top but incredibly moist and sweet in the centre. The weather mirrored his mood, bright, sunny, and warm to suit his disposition. Ron came from behind and attempted to pick the child up as he would often do.
Teddy squealed and begged to be let down, "Let me go, Uncle Ron."
Ron groaned and settled the growing boy down before he hurt his back. Teddy was growing like a weed, "Uff, you're getting heavy, mate."
Tracey linked her arm through her husbands and leaned against him, smiling warmly. She took an instant liking to the well-mannered boy, and her heart broke when she learned the sad fate of his parents. She had decided to let her insecurities about Granger lie low for the time being and focus on building trust within her marriage.
Besides, Hermione was marrying Draco and that in itself was a somewhat comforting thought. She gently nudged Ron and told him excitedly, "Why don't you give him our gift?"
Teddy perked up, a happy smile split his cute face in half, "You got me presents?"
Ron winked, "Of course, we got all the kids gifts." The ones within earshot gathered around him eagerly.
Ginny snorted and said animatedly, "Good because all we adults got were some lousy chocolates."
Ron frowned to show his displeasure and gritted out, "You weren't complaining when you gobbled the lot."
Ginny laughed aloud, and Bill silenced her with a stern look. Tracey ignored her sister in law’s unkind comment, took out a few brightly wrapped gifts and handed them out to the eager children bouncing around her.
Molly ignored the squabbling of her two youngest children, sipped her tea and fondly said to Andromeda, "It would have been nice if Hermione and Harry could've joined us."
Andromeda bit into a biscuit delicately and nodded in agreement, "I haven't seen them since the wedding."
Ron drifted towards them and frowned, "Well, we won't be seeing much of Hermione going forth."
Molly looked visibly upset, "Whatever do you mean, son?"
Ron didn't bother to speak in hushed tones. He wasn't well versed in subtly. In a carrying voice that held the contempt he felt, he stated, "Hermione is marrying the bloody snake."
Molly gasped in shock, "Well, that's certainly unexpected."
Ron forgot about the guests and thundered, "Yeah, Malfoy took the exit clause, which would have had him scraping a living as Muggle, but Narcissa didn't take the news too well and had a heart attack."
He further included harshly, "Conveniently forcing Hermione to accept the match."
A loud crash followed. It shattered the peace, and everyone turned to stare at Andromeda, who had gone pale. Her teacup lay in pieces before her. With unsteady, trembling fingers, she attempted to pick up the broken bits of fine porcelain.
Ron cursed his stupidity, and Ginny glared at her brother's callous behaviour. She took Andromeda's hands in her, soothingly rubbed them in an effort to comfort the distraught older woman and calmly explained further, "She's fine, Meda. On her way to a full recovery."
Tears glistened in Andromeda's eyes, the tiny wrinkles that adorned the corners of her eyes relaxed when she closed them, and tears streaked down her ashen cheeks.
Teddy ran to his grandmother's side, took her hand in his and implored fearfully, "What's the matter?" He was terrified of losing her too.
Molly pulled Teddy to the comfort of her lap and reassured him that all was well. She threw Ron a look of disapproval and handed Andromeda a white handkerchief.
She took the embroidered cloth and wiped the tears before mustering a smile, "I'm fine, Teddy. I heard some upsetting news about my sister."
Teddy looked confused, "I didn't know you had a sister."
Draco chuckled as he left Potter's office. He thought of the feisty witch that was Granger and ran straight into Hannah. The smartly dressed woman regarded him with amusement, "You still here?"
She crossed her arms over her chest, looked him over sceptically and snorted, "And in one piece too. I'm shocked Harry didn't rip you apart."
Draco laughed good-heartedly. The sound carried down the same corridor he had been marched along when he’d been arrested all those years ago. It hadn't changed much except for the intimidating insignia that greeted you on arrival and a new coat of paint. He recalled whitewashed walls, now replaced by a rich mustard colour.
He leaned forward and uttered rather mysteriously, "Hmm, I'll see you on Monday," with those words, he deliberately walked off, leaving a slightly shell-shocked Hannah behind.
Hannah muttered to herself, "I wonder what that was all about."
Hermione looked up from her notes as the door handle rattled loudly. She pushed her glasses further up her nose and waited patiently for it to open. It opened a crack, and she saw a tuft of mussed hair.
Harry poked his head in and smiled guiltily, "I bring a peace offering." She recognised the bag from one of her favourite pastry shops dangling from his hand.
Hermione leaned back and questioned smugly, "Are you trying to bribe a Ministry official? That is punishable by the law."
Harry rolled his eyes but awkwardly awaited further instruction. Hermione giggled and waved him forward, "Come in, you sod."
He strode in, dropped the bag on her neat table and fell unceremoniously into the comfortable leather chair and mused, "Come on, Hermione." She was feeling rather hungry, and the untimely arrival of food was welcome. Plunging her hand in, she pulled out a sausage roll without invitation and ravenously bit into it.
Harry regarded her with an amused expression but didn't dare say anything for fear of further annoying her.
Hermione chewed on the delicious roll in silence. She thoroughly enjoyed the smokiness of the meat and the hint of cheese. Once done and satisfied that her hunger pangs had died down, she gave
Harry her undivided attention. Unable to keep quiet any longer, he blurted out in concern, "You need to eat more. You've lost quite a bit of weight."
Hermione brushed his comment aside and mumbled, "Must be stress."
Harry cleared his throat and spoke first, "Look, you might think me taking Malfoy on is troubling, but the man does have some unique skills."
Hermione reluctantly nodded. She purposely let her eyes wander towards her leather-bound books and argued, "Okay, I acted childishly but can you blame me, Harry?"
Harry quipped, "No, I can't, but did you have to stomp on his foot?"
Hermione smiled sheepishly, "Yeah, that was going too far. His shoes probably cost more than my flat." Truth be told, she regretted nothing. They started to laugh. It was pleasant and easy, as their years of friendship had always been.
Harry took a thick file out from his coat pocket, and his usually warm features twisted unpleasantly. He pushed it across the desk and said grimly, "Brenda told me to bring these along."
Hermione pulled it towards her with a sad nod, "With a lot of persuasion from me, Kingsley decided to inform the public of a potential serial killer on the loose."
Harry gritted out, "What's baffling is he hasn't abducted anyone new. The bastard’s taken four girls that we know of, and three are dead. There’s potentially one left for us to save."
He spat angrily. His eyes mirrored the confusion he suffered, "Why only four? I can’t fathom the bloody significance." His head in his hands, he grabbed tufts of hair and pulled hard, "This case is driving me insane."
Hermione reached over and squeezed his hand reassuringly. She said with determination, "You will catch him, Harry."
Letting go, she flipped open the file, finding an enlarged picture of the first victim greeting her. She stared at the photography in despair and wondered what kind of monster committed such inhumane acts. The woman was beautiful with long flowing red hair and a voluptuous figure.
She died nearly a year ago, and her death was ruled out as an unsolved murder due to a lack of evidence by Harry’s predecessor. Still, the consistency was strikingly familiar to the new cases, and Harry was convinced it was the same killer.
Hermione took down notes and stressed, "Will you take the meetings with me?"
Harry sank into the chair's comfort, replied enthusiastically and offered some vital points, "Of course, love. The public mustn't know our strategies, but we must emphasise the need for collective help. If they notice someone acting suspiciously, they should report it at once."
He bolted up as a new idea came to mind, "Maybe we could offer a reward? Most would sell their mother for galleons. We should reveal the bastards calling card too, the intricately carved silver owl and wand.”
Maybe, they would get lucky. They certainly needed some miraculous breakthrough. Engrossed in her notes, Hermione kept her eyes on the parchment, bit her lip and nodded solemnly in reply.
A loud knock interrupted the companionable silence. When Hermione kept scribbling on the parchment, Harry took it upon himself to grant permission for entry. In a loud voice, he said, "Come in." The door opened ever so slowly, and John nervously stepped into the carpeted room and stiffened when Harry smiled kindly at him, "How's it going, mate? Arthur keeping you busy?"
John kept his head down, avoided any form of eye contact and mumbled meekly, "Yes, Mr Potter."
Hermione looked up and smiled herself, "Ah, John. Please, come in."
Harry raised a curious yet amused brow, "Mr Potter?" He grinned good-naturedly, "We are all friends here, John. Please call me Harry."
John reluctantly stepped closer to Hermione. The photographs of the deceased woman were sprawled across her desk, giving him ample view of the pictures. He stared at them, mesmerised, momentarily forgetting where he was before Hermione’s voice cut through his thoughts, "Thank you again for bringing these up. I needed them for the Buxton case."
He quickly looked away and attempted a genuine smile, "It was my pleasure, Hermione."
Harry threw the rather eccentric man an odd look. His fascination with the pictures was not lost on him, but he didn't read much into it since John hurriedly left the room without another word.
Brenda stopped the flustered man the second he stepped out of her boss's room, "Hi, John." His eyes went to her beautifully dyed red hair. How he wished her locks were natural. Oh, what he would’ve sacrificed to run his gnarly fingers through the long strands.
His bottom lip quivered with uncontrollable lust, but he swallowed hard and replied offhandedly, "Brenda. How are you?" She had meant to speak to him after the altercation the other day, but he had seemed elusive.
Brenda touched his arm, but John shook her hand off and moved away at once. Though slightly offended, she apologised sincerely, "Listen, I hope you aren't mad at me. Michael can be an arse at times."
John's face twisted uncharacteristically, and an unsettling glint of anger flashed across his eyes, making Brenda step back in fear.
His voice was barely audible as he hissed darkly, "Yes, well, it's best we don't speak. I don't want any trouble."
Desperate to put some distance between them, Brenda went around her desk and nodded unsurely, “Yes, of course. Take care." She watched, perplexed, as he left the area in anger with his oversized pitch-black robes trailing behind him.
Draco finished the workout he missed in the morning. Max stayed firmly by his side as he sat cross-legged in the centre of the room and became one with his surroundings. He cleared his mind of all thought and felt the inner peace he fought so long to sustain consume him. It was the state of utter bliss he craved.
Once he was satisfied that his daily goal had been accomplished, Draco opened his eyes, and they shone brightly with the calmness that radiated from him.
Max whimpered and came close. Draco smiled fondly at the dog and spent a few minutes ruffling the dog's thick coat of pure white fur. The Alsatian was growing fast and turning into a majestic beast. It baffled him how someone could be heartless enough to abandon such a loving creature.
A shower was an absolute must, and the prospect of cool water washing over him enticed him. Draco discarded his grey jogging bottoms and underwear and stood naked in the middle of the black-tiled bathroom. He caught a glimpse of his reflection, ran his fingers through his hair and used his fingers to outline the prominent scars on his torso.
Stepping under the shower, he let the overhead shower wash away the sweat clinging to his sculpted frame from his workout. Like a possessive lover, the spray of water surrounded him whole, and he surrendered to its heaty embrace. Draco dressed in crisp white Kung Fu robes and strode into the foyer where his mother was busy reading a book.
He made his presence known, "Mother..."
Narcissa looked up from her book and smiled broadly, "Ah, just in time. I was about to have lunch. You look fresh and quite calm."
Draco ran his fingers down the robe and grinned, "Thank you, mother." He followed his mother to the dining room, and both took their respective seats at the long Venetian red table.
Dotty appeared, bowed low as was the custom and clicked her long thin fingers. Plates of scrumptious food appeared before them. Alongside stuffing, Yorkshire pudding and roasted potatoes covered with gravy, a choice of meat adorned the table.
Draco patiently waited for his mother to serve herself first, but instead, she piled his plate high with roast beef and potatoes until he protested, "Mother, that's quite enough."
Narcissa helped herself to a Yorkshire pudding, cut it in half and asked casually, "How has your day been so far?"
Draco forked a piece of potato, eyed the oil dripping off it critically and answered, "Hmm, it was somewhat productive." He popped the piece whole into his mouth and mumbled, "I, err, have some news."
Narcissa froze with her fork midway to her mouth. She set it down delicately and inquired, "Is it the pleasant kind?" Her heart rate hastened, and she struggled to remain calm.
Draco offered sheepishly, "I truly hope so." He added with what he hoped was enough conviction, "It's something I gave a great deal of thought to when I was away."
Narcissa internally groaned. What was her headstrong offspring up to now? She kept her insecurities well-hidden and probed anxiously, "Yes? Do go on, son."
Draco looked directly at his mother and didn't dare to break eye contact. He spoke with purpose and determination, "I talked with Potter today.” His mother’s face was hard to read. He paused for effect, “I'm going to be an Auror."
Narcissa breathed an immense sigh of relief. She reached over, covered his rather large hand with her petite one, gave it a comforting squeeze and gushed, "That's wonderful, darling. I couldn't be happier. It is the best profession for your newly acquired skills."
Draco raised a quizzical brow. He bemused, "I wasn't quite sure how you would respond, but this is great. It makes me incredibly happy that you are supportive of my decision, even if others aren't."
Narcissa cut up a chunk of roast beef into bite-sized pieces. She kept her eyes on the task at hand and inquired fairly curiously, "Oh, who isn't?"
Draco savagely pierced a piece of meat with his fork. It dangled off the edge unsteadily. He tore it off with his teeth and grumbled, "Granger for one."
Narcissa swallowed the laughter that bubbled to the surface. She fought to keep a straight face and probed, "Oh, how so?"
Draco recounted their meeting in Potter's room and the words Granger unfairly hurled in his direction. He concluded on a high in annoyance, "And then she stomped on my foot like a boorish troll."
Narcissa couldn't possibly hold it in any longer. She burst out laughing, "That girl is a delight. I would've loved to have been a fly on the wall overlooking the whole thing."
Draco shook his head and chuckled, "She is special. I’ll give her that."
Narcissa resumed her meal and mused, "You will have your work cut out for you."
Before he could stop them, the words slipped out, "I look forward to it."
Narcissa smiled knowingly, "You speak of her so fondly."
Draco frowned deliberately, "Mother, you are reading too much into my reactions again." Eager to divert the conversation away from his careless reply, he included pointedly, "Also, she wants no wedding."
Narcissa threw her napkin down in frustration. She was having none of it. She narrowed her eyes and scolded, "Preposterous. You are a Malfoy and my only child. A function is mandatory." Her blood boiled, and she added importantly, "We must keep up appearances."
Draco tried to be the voice of reason. He reminded cautiously, "Mother, this is not a marriage under normal circumstances, far from it. I see why Granger is reluctant to have a big bash."
Narcissa stubbornly pursed her lips and proceeded to cut the beef with more force than necessary, making her knife scrape against the expensive plate, making his hair stand on end. "Well, the two of you will just have to make do.” She stated wilfully.
Draco rubbed his temples exasperatedly. He was truly a slave to the women in his life. After much thought, he implored, "Please don't make a huge fuss." It was his balls on the line. Granger would take great satisfaction in ripping them right off.
Narcissa straightened, continued to eat her meal, and said resolutely, "I will speak with Hermione." They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes until Narcissa remembered something unsettling. She dabbed the corners of her mouth and said, "I should warn you that Astoria came by. She is still smitten with you, and I daresay a storm is brewing."
His appetite faded into nothingness. He set his cutlery down carefully and questioned anxiously, "Did you tell her?"
Narcissa nodded and replied unsurely, "Well, not in so many words, but I did hint at it, and she did not take it well."
Draco leaned back and sighed, "I honestly don't know what else to do." Maybe stop snogging her. That would be a solid start, you idiot.
Narcissa instructed decisively, "Let's see what happens and deal with it when the need arises." She truly hoped it would never come to that, and Astoria accepted the natural order of things on her own, however unlikely it seemed.
The hours coasted by, and when Brenda stepped into Hermione’s room with a tray burdened with a large pot of tea, biscuits and cake to announce the arrival of Rita Skeeter from The Daily Prophet and Xenophilius Lovegood from The Quibbler, Harry and Hermione were slumped over their chairs in exhaustion. They snapped to attention as the door closed behind Brenda.
The young witch exclaimed, "The reporters are here, Hermione. That Skeeter bitch, forgive my language, looks like a hungry shark with those dreadfully pointy teeth."
Hermione smirked with satisfaction, got to her feet and adjusted her shirt and skirt, "Well, she will have to wait because we will see Mr Lovegood first." She glanced at Harry for his approval, and he gave his consent almost at once.
Brenda nodded in agreement, set the tray down and walked out to inform the waiting individuals. She walked right past the witch dressed in a flashy purple three-piece suit seated with her legs crossed and smiled respectfully at the older man in vibrant golden robes. Brenda pointed to the door and instructed politely, "Please go in, Mr Lovegood. Miss Granger and Mr Potter are expecting you."
Xenophilius threw Skeeter a smug look, rose from his seat and followed Brenda the short way to the office.
As they passed, Rita hissed in hushed tones, "Disgraceful." Brenda opened the door for Luna's father, and once he walked in, she sat at her desk and concentrated on other matters that required her immediate attention. She purposely ignored the muttering, fuming witch glaring at her.
Hermione was already on her feet, and Harry rose to welcome the quirky father of one of their best friends. Xenophilius greeted them enthusiastically, "How lovely to see you both. It’s been far too long."
Harry offered his hand and said grimly, "We wish it were under better circumstances."
Hermione smiled weakly, "Please, have a seat, Mr Lovegood." She pointed to the silver tray and offered graciously, "Tea, biscuits?"
Xenophilius beamed, "Yes, please. A piece of that chocolate cake would be smashing." They exchanged a few pleasantries before getting to the pressing matter at hand.
Once their guest finished his second cup of warm tea and third piece of cake, Harry cleared his throat, "We are faced with a grave issue that we must make the public aware of for their own safety."
The kindly older man's usually relaxed features turned worrisome, "What is all this about?"
Hermione nervously pushed the file she had compiled for the briefing towards him, "Everything you need for the article is in this docket."
Xenophilus looked at it curiously, took it, got somewhat comfortable and flipped it open. He gasped, and his head fell in sadness, "Oh my goodness. We have a potential killer on the loose."
Harry nodded furiously, "Yes, we do."
Xenophilus went through the documents carefully and turned a blind eye when faced with more gruesome pictures of dead naked women. The Editor-in-Chief of the Quibbler, once known as a mockery of a newspaper, got to his feet with purpose.
He clutched the ledger tight until his knuckles whitened, "I'll run it first thing tomorrow and dedicate the front page to his appalling matter."
Once Xenophilius walked out, Hermione turned to Harry and grimaced, "Shall we get this over with?"
She buzzed her assistant. Brenda pushed the pulsating button on the telephone and asked, "Yes, Hermione?"
Hermione's sombre voice came through, "Send the shark in."
Skeeter heard word for word and scowled, "Bloody know it all." She got to her feet, wiggled her bottom, fixed her jacket, and walked purposely towards the door. When Brenda rose to open the door, Rita stopped her by raising a hand with painted talons and declared haughtily, "There's no need. I can announce myself, dear."
Brenda glared and waited till the snarky reporter's back was turned before showing her the finger.
Skeeter didn't bother with pleasantries. She marched into the room with an air of false importance, sat down and elegantly crossed her legs. Her quick quotes quill hovered by her ear, eagerly awaiting instruction.
She smiled sweetly and said sarcastically, "What boring drivel have you got for me today?"
Hermione roughly pushed the file forward with bared teeth behind her angrily pursed lips. The docket clearly piqued the veteran reporter's interest.
Skeeter eagerly took it, opened the immaculately put-together booklet and ran hungry eyes over the images and content.
She went through it fast, threw it down and gasped, "A serial killer? Are you serious?" Her overly made-up face twisted unpleasantly. She slowly turned towards Harry and mocked, "Clearly, your leadership isn't all it’s cracked up to be."
Harry stiffened and opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione stepped in without further ado and reprimanded severely, "I hate to remind you, Rita, what consequences lie in store if you run that absurd mouth of yours too much."
Skeeter rolled her eyes, "A high ranking Ministry official retorting to childish threats isn't very becoming, Miss Granger. That would be a much more favourable headline rather than a deranged maniac with a weird fetishism for redheads."
Harry hissed in contempt, "Do your fucking job, Skeeter."
Rita sprang to her feet and smirked, "I always do, Mr Potter." She had obviously outstayed her welcome. When she reached the door and barely grasped the brass handle, Hermione’s contemptuous voice made it to her ear, "Oh, and Skeeter, make it a good one."
Rita turned to face the accomplished woman in her early twenties glaring at her. The older woman felt intimidated by her penetrating stare.
She curtsied, "But of course, Madam Undersecretary."
The door closed with a loud thud, and Harry breathed a sigh of immense relief, "Thank fuck that's over." He straightened and requested enthusiastically, "Why don't we leave together?" He took in the many files strewn across her large table and further added, "If you're done, that is."
Hermione yawned and quickly covered her mouth, "No, no, let's. I will meet you in your office. We can use the Floo."
Harry waved, "Alright, see you in a bit."
Once Harry also left, Hermione was left alone, and she basked in the comfort of solitude. She leaned back and let her thoughts wander to Malfoy. Random thoughts of what he was doing and what their future held ran in circles within her mind.
Terry's saddened face wove in and out of her thoughts, and she truly wished he got her hot under the collar as her supposed fiancé did. She sighed, fetched her coat, slipped into it and grabbed her handbag on the way out. The sun had long since set, and steady silvery beams of moonlight illuminated Harry’s office. It fell and bounced off the many objects he held dear.
Harry was clearing his desk when Hermione walked in. She looked him over, took in the clutter and grimaced, "You really need to be more organised."
He smirked, "Shall we?"
Hermione went first and disappeared in a puff of green smoke. She hurriedly stepped out of the fireplace at Grimmauld Place, coughed and dusted the particles off her coat. Harry emerged seconds later and almost bumped into her.
He dusted himself off as well and said solemnly, "Head on to the kitchen. I'll pop in the shower and join shortly."
She walked towards the Kitchen when James came running around the corner and jumped right into her arms. Hermione cradled the toddler and smothered him with kisses. Ginny trailed after the naughty scamp in a faded Holyhead Harpies jumper and white shorts. She looked lovely as always.
Ginny grinned broadly, "This is a pleasant surprise."
Hermione carried James and followed Ginny to the kitchen. She set the small boy down and sat at the table. Ginny placed a mug of hot chocolate in front of her and took a seat herself. She asked sarcastically, "Did my darling husband come with you?" There was a certain amount of tiredness and irritation in her tone.
Hermione took a sip of the liquid and felt it warm her from within. Ginny always used the best Honeydukes chocolate in her concoction. She nodded in exhaustion and replied, "Yeah, he's upstairs."
With his hand behind his head, Draco lay back on his sizeable bed and stared at the ceiling, and with his free hand, he stroked Max's head.
The German Shepherd was curled on the free side of the bed and drifting off to sleep. His thoughts were riddled with images of Granger. He hadn't noticed it before, but there was an innate determination about her approach to life that appealed to him, except on this one occasion.
They needed to make some rather important decisions, and if she was adamantly going to refuse to speak of it, then it was up to him to address them and set them, hopefully, on the right path. He searched for his phone and when he failed to locate it.
Draco lazily resorted to Magic and summoned, "Accio phone." It shot out from under Max's furry underbelly and straight into his hand. He scrolled through the numbers and stared at the number he recently saved.
After careful consideration, he typed the message he intended and sent it off. A satisfied smirk curved his lips.
Hermione had just bitten into a fluffy marshmallow and handed a strawberry-flavoured one to James when she heard the loud ding of her mobile.
She wanted to ignore it, but the compulsive need in her took over. She pulled open her bag and rummaged through it to locate the device.
Once she had it in her hand, she stared at the screen and the name that popped up like a beacon, "Oh Merlin, it's him. I forgot he now has my number." In her haste, she fumbled with the phone, and it slipped through her fingers and hit the hardwood floor.
Ginny glanced at the fallen phone and asked impatiently, "What does he want?" She teased openly, "A secret rendezvous perhaps?"
James came skipping up to them and asked for a banana-flavoured marshmallow. Ginny lovingly handed him one and grinned, "You still haven't told me about the love bite."
Hermione appeared from under the table, with the phone clutched tightly in her hand and silenced, "Ssshhh..."
The last thing she wanted was for Harry to find out about her mind-altering snogging session with Malfoy.
She played with the already folded napkin and unconsciously folded it into a perfect swan and mumbled, "Well, umm, he bought over dinner the other night, and you know how I love Chinese food...."
Ginny interrupted harshly, "Get to the bloody point, Granger."
Hermione abandoned the swan and absentmindedly bit on a hangnail, "Things got a little out of hand, and we, erm, kissed."
She included miserably, "I'm an awful fucking bitch."
Ginny giggled, "So, you're attracted to him?"
Hermione frowned and threw a homemade, fluffy, soft marshmallow at Ginny's face, "I thought we already established that." She pouted childishly, "I'm a horrible hypocrite, and yes, I am very sexually aroused by him."
Ginny tittered, "Can't say I blame you. The man is fucking fit." She pointed to the now silent phone, "Well, what does he want?"
Oh, the message. Right.
Hermione groaned, "Probably to discuss our future plans. I've been avoiding the discussion like the bubonic plague."
Ginny advised firmly, "You’re going to have to talk soon, Hermione." She devilishly added for good measure, "Have some sort of plan before you end up on all fours for him."
Hermione grimaced, "Charming, Ginny." She clicked on the tiny, closed envelope, read the short text twice and threw her head back in frustration. A primaeval growl escaped her lips.
Ginny grabbed the phone, uninvited to read it herself.
Please do me the honour of joining us for dinner tomorrow night.
She stifled a laugh, "He does have impeccable manners."
Hermione brought her hands together and pleaded desperately, "Come with me."
Ginny winked with diabolical intent, "Wear something sensational and easy to slip out of."
Hermione broke a breadstick in half and viciously attacked it with her teeth, "Stop it, Gin. He is a foul, evil, good-looking cockroach."
She inquired rather anxiously, "Why aren't you as horrified by this as the rest of us?"
Ginny gathered her composure and replied thoughtfully, "Because I understand what it's like to be under Voldemort’s control. Malfoy is, or was, many things but never a sadistic killer."
She added thoughtfully, "Perhaps if he were raised differently, he would have turned out decent, but I think he's attempting to fix that on his own. He genuinely seems to want to right his wrongs."
Hermione stared at the gathered crumbs on the table and struggled to string coherent words together, "I, er..."
Ginny’s voice cracked with emotion, "All joshing around aside, I know how much his taunting affected you, and in no way is this easy for you, but the decision you made is so selfless. I am so proud of you."
Hermione felt her emotions get the better of her. She leaned over and pulled Ginny into a tight hug. Both women held each other close until a chirpy voice interrupted, "Something smells wonderful."
Harry took in the scene and stood behind the hugging women awkwardly. He scratched his head and asked uncomfortably, "Oh, sorry. Did I miss something?"
Hermione wiped away the tears, pulled her hair into a messy bun and quipped, "Well, if it isn't the head of the DMLE."
Harry warned jokingly, "Enough. I apologised, but you did cross a line, Granger."
Hermione mused and explained her rather unladylike behaviour, "I suppose I did, and I'm sorry. It's just that this whole situation with Malfoy drives me giddy with anger."
It nauseated her at times, quite frankly. She looked downcast and muttered, "It's like he's infiltrating every part of my life."
Harry replied firmly, "Hmm, I doubt it’s got anything to do with you. Besides, the wanker is quite talented even if I do loathe him and hate to admit it."
Ginny bemused, "Interesting. What happened?"
Harry sat down, grabbed two marshmallows, stuffed them into his mouth and mumbled, "Malfoy is my latest recruit." His mouth was so full they barely understood the words he uttered.
Ginny gasped in complete surprise, "An Auror? What?"
Harry did an elaborate karate chop, "The man’s got unique skills, Gin." Desperation punctured his following words, "Abilities I frantically need."
Hermione sat in silence as they spoke around her and gazed at the open screen of her mobile. She gathered her courage, quickly typed in her reply and pressed send before she changed her mind.
Chapter 25
Summary:
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**Warning - The first bits of this chapter include non-con rape and dubious behaviour.**
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Chapter Text
It was the early hours of the morning. The seconds passed eerily, piercing the silence with its relentless tick-tock. The morning edition of the Daily Prophet lay crumpled on the ground, the headline visible through the tear blots on the page.
‘THE DOLLHOUSE STRANGLER’
It screamed out to all who read it. Wizards and witches alike gasped in horror as they took in the distressing news about a deranged man running amock in their community. It wasn't the ideal news with which to begin one's morning. Family members glanced nervously and frightfully over the paper at their red-headed loved ones. The abductions were random, and anybody could be next.
A man cowered in the corner of his inherited house. The house was spotlessly clean, the surfaces were carefully polished, and not a speck of dust was visible to the naked eye. Its out-of-date furnishings and drapes hinted at the spectre of an older woman’s touch. His loud anguished cries filled the vacuous space. He glanced at the tattered newspaper by his feet and sobbed inconsolably.
On impulse, he grabbed the paper and stared once again at the mocking headline and doll-like dead figures and shouted, "I AM NOT A SICK RAPIST!" They were depicting him as some sick-in-the-head maniac. Didn't they understand his mother needed him to do this? It was the only way to keep her alive and save these women?.
The Dollhouse Strangler. Skeeter was exceptionally talented with the quill. The name was adept, and with three little words, she had managed to sum up his heinous crimes. The nature of his crimes and the pristine, porcelain doll-like condition he left the dead women in their houses was what had garnered the name.
He tore the paper to shreds, yelling obscenities and talking loudly to an invisible entity.
The naked woman chained to the bed shuddered in fear. She stared at the weeping man in absolute disgust. The repulsion she filled knotted inside her stomach, and she fought the urge to vomit.
She knew she had been held captive for over a month. There was no notion of time in her macabre prison.
Until a few days ago, the bastard had generally left her alone, only visiting to provide her with a daily meal and a clean water bottle and accompany her to the bathroom. He stared unashamedly as she did her business and seemed to take pleasure in watching her squirm with embarrassment.
That seemed like a better life than what was being forced upon her now. In the middle of the night, he strode in, pushed his dark brown trousers straightaway to the floor, pulled out his cock before her and began to work it to hardness. She knew it was night because, with great difficulty, she had managed to peer out the window in the hope of catching a breath of fresh air, a moment to relieve the stench she lived in.
It was then she knew what he intended, and a cold numbness descended upon her, paralysing her with absolute terror. She was allowed to wear some clothes; they were dirty, but at least they were hers.
He indicated wordlessly for her to stand with a lift of his hand. "Take off your clothes.” He drawled in a manner that made her incapable of thinking.
She began to plead, "Please, don't do this."
Her begging annoyed him. They all did the same. Hadn’t he looked after the ungrateful bitch? Without a shred of remorse, he closed the gap between them and tore the clothes off her frail body, leaving her bare and shivering.
Her hands automatically covered her more private parts in a futile, feeble attempt at shielding herself from the lunatic, but it was a valiant yet pointless attempt. He turned her around roughly, pushed her down face-first onto the bed, and she struggled, tried to fight him off, but could not overpower him in her malnourished state.
She begged for mercy as he pressed her further into the mattress, "Stop!"
His hands massaged her shapely arse cheeks, spread them wide and, without hesitation, brutally entered her without any preparation. She cried aloud in pain, revulsion, and shock, but it fell on deaf ears. She felt his disgusting member moving inside her most intimate place. The bile she held back spewed forth and coated the bedspread. It would be the beginning of a nightmare so absolute that she would wish for death.
That was two days ago.
The man balled up the remaining bits of the Prophet in his hand, got to his feet and slowly approached the petrified but beautiful woman on the bed. She lay spread out for him like an unwrapped gift. He had saved the best for last. In her former life, she had been Sarah Duncan, a posh store assistant to Madam Malkin.
Snatching her had initially proved to be a task. The woman was street-smart and did not fall for his faux disabled routine. It made him want her even more. So, he waited and followed patiently until a heavy night out drinking with her friends supplied the perfect opportunity. Drunk and disoriented, she succumbed quickly to his advances.
“Do you think I'm raping you?” He asked in pained anguish.
She quickly shook her head and moved away, but he pulled her towards him with her hair and stared into her face with widened crazy eyes, jamming the balled-up piece of paper into her gaping mouth.
Forcefully pushing her legs apart with his knee, he stared at her battered and bruised private parts in perverse fascination and simpered, "You love it, don't you, my darling? You love taking me in deep, don't you?"
The woman began to sob, silent cries muffled by the paper ball in her mouth.
He demanded uneasily, "I asked you a question..."
She nodded, yielding with no other choice. Her obedience pleased him.
He leaned forward and whispered icily, "I must leave, but I'll be back later. I have a surprise for you, darling."
He removed the paper from her mouth, and she gagged and gasped, trying frantically to catch her breath. Walking away, he glanced over his shoulder and leered, "Don't go anywhere."
The woman curled up into a ball and wept in desperation as the door closed with a loud thud.
Malfoy Manor
Draco was up at dawn, as was his usual practice. He flung his long legs off the bed, stood up and stretched to get the blood circulating. His impressive morning wood pressed stubbornly against the silky blackness of his shorts, but he paid it no mind.
Max stirred from his place in the corner and yawned, displaying razor-sharp teeth and a lolling tongue.
Ruffling the dog's head on his way to the bathroom, Draco filled the sink with lukewarm water and washed the sleepiness off his face. He walked back into the warmth of his suite, grabbed the white towel and dried off his face.
While pulling on his jogging bottoms, the small closed envelope on the top corner of his phone screen caught his attention. He reached over Max, grabbed the phone off the bedside cupboard, and clicked on the unopened message.
An amused expression lit up his face as his eyes scanned over the articulate words. He could practically hear her voice.
How formal of you, Malfoy. It would be my pleasure to accept the invitation you have graciously extended. I will arrive promptly at 7.30 pm. Please be kind enough to roll out the red carpet.
Yours cordially,
Hermione Granger
His hearty laughter confused the Alsatian eagerly awaiting his breakfast.
Hermione stood in her tiny but well-equipped kitchen wearing an oversized, baggy t-shirt she had slept in, while absently stirring a cup of milky tea. The neatly rolled-up newspapers, still with their rubber bands intact, lay on the table where she had placed them earlier.
The sun was making its presence and intent known. Harsh beams filled her flat and illuminated the living area. Grasping her warm steaming concoction with both hands, she sat at the table and warily glanced at the papers. She took a gratifying sip and decided on reading the Quibbler first.
She pulled the printed pages free from the band and spread them across the table. She scanned through a professionally written yet rather dull first half of the article. However, somewhere down the line, the total lunacy of the Quibbler took over, citing that a plague of Blibbering Humdingers had possibly invaded the ears of the killer, prompting him to go on a killing spree because they were whispering evil doings in his ear.
Hermione sighed tiredly and read the article in minutes before a rather enticing article on a newly undiscovered tomb in Egypt caught her attention. She always did find Egyptian history fascinating.
Once done, Hermione glanced at The Prophet in displeasure, "Here we go," she muttered to herself with a heavy heart and pushed the rubber band that held it together upwards and off. It sprang out of control and fell to the floor. Without bothering to pick it up, she stared at the front page and kept staring in sheer disbelief for a good few minutes.
THE DOLLHOUSE STRANGLER - The headline jumped out and smacked her right across the face. While Xenophilius had shown concern in the beginning bits of his article and warned the public to take care in their movements, Skeeter had chosen to attack the DMLE and Harry for his lack of leadership.
"Fucking marvellous," Hermione fumed and finished her cup of tea, wishing it was something much stronger.
She purposely got to her feet and tossed the paper into the bin as she walked into her bedroom to get ready. It would be a long bloody day with this mess to straighten out.
Harry walked into the kitchen, scratching his head and searching for his glasses. Ginny busied herself with fixing mugs of coffee, toast, and eggs and hurriedly attempting to hide the newspaper.
She lost her chance as a pair of strong arms snaked around her waist, and the sleepy voice at her ear whispered, "Is James asleep?"
Ginny turned in her husband’s arms and put her own around his neck, "He is. Shall we take this upstairs?"
Kissing his wife fervently, he drowned in the warmth that was Ginny. He had never known love like this, he opened his eyes a crack to look at the woman in his arms, but his blurred vision picked up a headline in bold. He stiffened, felt curiosity get the best of him and let Ginny go.
She closed her eyes and sighed exasperatedly; it would be a long bloody morning once he read the barrage of abuse Skeeter hurled his way.
Harry grabbed the Prophet with both hands, his fingers gripped the paper hard, and the edges bent with the applied pressure. Still, he squinted in a failed attempt to read the words without his glasses. Ginny fetched his glasses and cleared her throat. Harry took them, slipping them on to read the first few lines. He growled in unadulterated fury, his body shaking with the anger surging through his veins.
Ginny placed a consoling hand on his shoulder and assured him, "It's Rita, Harry. We all know what an enormous thundercunt she can be." Words like too young, inexperienced, incompetent, lazy, and the most damning one of all, selfish, hit him like a metaphorical ton of bricks.
He tossed the paper aside, sat at the table with his head in his hands and muttered, "That bloody bitch."
Ginny placed a well-needed mug of coffee in front of him, took the seat beside him and lovingly stroked his thick black hair, "She was always a vindictive woman. It means nothing. Please, let it go."
Skeeter always found a way to have a go at Harry. Scandalous headlines sold papers. If stretching the truth somewhat guaranteed sales, then so be it. Even when he made it to the top, the unethical reporter found a way to poke fun and slyly insinuate how favouritism played a key role.
Harry took Ginny’s words to heart and drank his coffee in deep thought.
The phone rang incessantly, and Brenda was thankful she kept a cordless phone by the bed. It was early, and she hoped she could manage a few extra winks before heading off to work, but that simply wasn't in the cards, apparently. She turned over and answered the phone groggily, "Hello....."
Her eyes opened wide in surprise as the voice from the other end spoke. She listened patiently and responded, "I didn't expect a call from you so early, but it is a pleasant surprise." The person on the other end spoke in hushed tones, but Brenda heard it clearly. She answered at once, "Yes, of course. It's fine. I'll meet you there shortly."
The line went dead. Brenda stared at it for a couple of seconds, pushed the covers off and made her way to the bathroom tugging at the underwear wedged deep between her arse cheeks.
Narcissa bit into a buttered piece of toast and wished she hadn't. The front page of the Prophet made her insides churn unpleasantly. Did they have to feature such pictures alongside the unfavourable article? The somewhat lewd images were cropped to hide the women's identity and respect the deceased's family, but it left little to the imagination.
"What sort of lunatic can bring himself to do such wicked deeds?" Narcissa said sadly. She was reminded of Voldemort and the evil he resorted to in the name of pureblood dominance.
Bernard raised a curious brow, "What's the matter, darling?"
He had arrived earlier, and they were enjoying a light breakfast before Narcissa’s sweet disposition became sour. She handed him the newspaper.
Bernard threw her a bemused look, glanced at the paper in his hands, and froze. His palms beaded sweat, and he read every line twice. What caught his immediate attention was the enlarged photography of the pendant. The carved wand on it particularly grabbed his interest.
"Ah, good morning, mother, Bernard," Draco greeted as he walked in and kissed his mother on the cheek.
Bernard moved the paper to the side and mustered a smile, "Good morning, son."
Draco applied a thick layer of marmalade on a piece of partially burnt toast and bit into the crunchy goodness. He enthused, "I have invited Granger for dinner. Bernard, will you join us?"
Bernard took a sip of scalding coffee and quipped, "Wouldn't us old folk cramp your style?"
Draco took another bite and mused, "I’m not courting Granger. I have asked her over to finalise the way forward."
Narcissa gave her enthusiastic approval, "Marvellous idea, son. I'll see to the preparations."
Bernard couldn't help but inconspicuously glance at the folded paper to his left.
Narcissa’s butter knife dropped clumsily out of her grasp and collided noisily with her plate, causing a loud clang. Bernard flinched, kept his hands palm down on his thighs and took a deep breath to steady his nerves.
Draco kept his eyes trained on the odd behaviour of the man before him. He couldn't fathom what would cause Bernard to act so on edge.
While cutting into a plump sausage, he inquired, "Did I miss much this morning?" Hoping to shed some light on the peculiar behaviour.
His mother answered grimly, "Oh yes, there's a potential killer on the loose, and the public has been warned to take extra precautions when travelling alone. Especially, young women with red ha....."
Bernard abruptly pushed back his chair and rose. He bowed in Narcissa’s direction and offered an unconvincing explanation, "I have an urgent matter to attend to. It completely slipped my mind."
Draco interrupted intentionally, "If you're heading to the office, may I join you?"
"NO!" Came the nervous yet forceful reply from the older man, eager to flee. He took in the surprised faces staring at him oddly and attempted to lighten the mood, "It's a personal matter, son. I'll meet you at the office later." Without so much as a goodbye, Bernard fled the Manor. Draco narrowed his eyes sceptically and stared after the man.
Narcissa was oblivious to her beloved's rather bizarre behaviour. Draco reached over and pulled the Prophet close to read the gripping article on the front page.
"Horrible, isn't it? Those poor women," Narcissa said with a burdened voice and added with optimism, "Maybe you can help them catch him, Draco?"
Draco heard slivers of his mother's words as his sharp mind absorbed the details.
He concentrated on what was written and what could be deduced by reading between the lines. He scrutinised the pendant. It was a stunning work of art and incredibly detailed. This pendant was personal. It had to hold some significance, of that he was sure. Cracking the meaning behind the trinket would lead them straight to the disturbed individual committing these heinous acts.
Hermione used the visitor's entrance. She wore black trousers, a white silk shirt tucked in and a classy black jacket. Professional, yet fashionably chic. She took the lift, finding a few wizards were already inside. They looked her over and smiled politely.
Engrossed in her notes, she almost missed her floor until a tall, rugged-looking gentleman's voice bore into her thoughts, "Miss, is this your floor?"
Embarrassed, Hermione clutched the file to her chest, blushed profoundly and muttered a quick, "Thank you," before brushing past the delectable morsel of a man.
Her heels clicked with purpose against the white marble floors. She always found the sound appealing. Once she rounded the corner and pushed open the glass doors that led to her office, Hermione found an empty seat where Brenda usually sat, and Michael anxiously paced up and down the narrow space. His face was pulled tight with worry as he absentmindedly chewed on his fingernails. He looked up eagerly at the sound of heels coming his way, but his face fell once again in despair.
Hermione thought it odd that he was alone, and it struck her as weird that Brenda wasn't in her usual place. The young witch prided herself on being on time. Perhaps her lateness and Corner's behaviour were related.
She asked impatiently the second she was within earshot, "Is everything alright, Michael?" He looked dreadful up close.
"Have you seen or spoken to Brenda in the last few hours?" Michael urgently implored, grabbing Hermione roughly by the shoulders.
Panic set it. Hermione broke free from the grasp and replied with rapidly growing concern, "What? No, why? What has happened?" Michael pulled out his phone from his pocket and clarified frantically, "I've been calling her for hours. She's not answering." He included in fear, "It's not like her, Granger. She always answers or sends a text."
Hermione felt her heart slam against her ribcage, but she composed herself and assured, "I'm sure she's fine. Maybe, she had a personal errand to run?" Her reasoning failed to pacify the troubled man.
Michael choked back a sob, "I told her to get rid of that bloody red hair." Hermione couldn't bear it. His words prompted her to act.
Pulling out her own rather battered out of date Nokia phone, she called her assistant, but it rang without answer. She tried again with the same heartbreaking results. With dread, she realised Corner was right; Brenda always answered her phone.
Something was terribly wrong.
Turning to Michael's panic-ridden face, she instantly inquired, "Is Harry in?"
Corner nodded miserably. Hermione dropped her handbag and files onto Brenda's neat desk and sprinted out with Michael close behind her. They abandoned the lift and took the stairs. The images of the dead women whirled around her mind, and a similar one of Brenda promptly inserted itself, and Hermione almost let out a cry. The two burst into Harry’s room without knocking, and the head of the DLME regarded them incredulously.
Hermione doubled over, trying to catch her breath while Michael held the stitch in his side and gasped for air. The door flew open once again, and Terry and Hannah rushed in unannounced. Harry was beside himself in anger, "Do you lot think this is Kingscross Station?"
He pointed to the door, "Knock and make your presence known before entering, or I will curse the legs off you."
Terry ignored his boss’s grumbles and approached his childhood friend, "What's the matter, mate?" His eyes fell on Hermione, they locked eyes, and he raised a questioning brow.
Harry thundered, "What the fuck is going on?" He mumbled incoherently, "This day is about to get a great deal worse."
Hermione regained her composure, adjusted her blouse and blurted out, "Harry, Brenda hasn’t turned up for work, and she's not answering her phone."
Harry visibly paled. Would the murderer be irresponsible enough to kidnap a Ministry worker? No, it did not make sense. The man was meticulous about clues and leads. There was no possible explanation for him abducting the undersecretary’s assistant unless he did so on impulse after seeing the article, recklessly lashing out to relay his outrage.
Harry exhaled to calm himself and questioned, "When did you see her last?"
Michael answered at once, "Last night. We had dinner at my place, and she went home afterwards. We texted till about one am." His voice cracked, "I haven't heard from her since."
Hannah squeezed his shoulder sympathetically. Terry eyed his best friend doubtfully because when he suggested they grab a pint, Michael had brushed him off, saying he had to help his dad with some business matters.
"Any relatives? A mother? Does Brenda live alone?" Harry interrogated further and referred the questions to Hermione. It was Michael who replied, "Her mum is a Muggle, dad passed away when she was fifteen, and yes, she lives alone for the most part."
Terry had heard enough. He gritted out suspiciously, "How the hell do you know so much about Hermione’s irritating assistant?"
It happened so fast. No one had time to blink. Michael had Terry pinned to the wall, his face shrouded in darkness.
He yelled for all to hear, "She is my girlfriend." Terry pushed Michael off him and stared at him as if he were a stranger. Since they were kids, they had shared everything. No secrets. It was the foundation of their friendship. A betrayal of this magnitude was incomprehensible. Without a further word, Terry marched out of the room.
Hermione swapped a look with Harry and followed the seething man. She heard Harry express words of comfort to Michael, "Don't worry, mate. We will find her." He mustered a half-hearted smile, "Let's hope for the best. She might turn up at any time."
Michael fell into a chair and wept. Silent sobs ravaged his body, and Hannah hugged him tightly.
Terry walked hurriedly. He pulled out a pack of smokes and took out a long thin cigarette. Hermione struggled to keep up with his long strides. When she caught up with him, he leaned against the wall sending smoke rings into the air.
The smoking area was deserted, but Hermione looked around to make doubly sure before she spat out, "How could you walk out on him at a time like this?"
Terry's face twisted unpleasantly, "If you're here to lecture me, then piss off, Granger."
She argued, "Stop acting like a bloody child, Terry." He rounded on her, came close and asked accusingly, "How long have you known?"
Hermione countered with the absolute truth, "A Day or two at the most."
"If Potter or Weasley kept something important from you, how would you feel?" Terry asked straightforwardly, took a deep drag, and waited for her to answer. Betrayed. It was the first word that came to mind. She let her anger go and stepped closer to his tall frame, "Look, you can get into it later, but right now, he needs you more than ever."
Terry took a long pull from his cigarette, "How long has she been missing for?"
Hermione shrugged, "Few hours, I suppose."
"He's my best mate, Granger. He could've told me," Terry muttered. His tone demonstrated the obvious suffering he was going through. On impulse, he stubbed his half-finished cigarette, pulled her close, buried his face in the crook of her neck and hugged her closely. She could feel his need for comfort.
Hermione put her arms around his waist and held him. The stench of nicotine on him was pungent, but she pushed it aside and morphed into the person he needed her to be—a friend at the very least. In reality, she wanted to rush back and find Brenda. Her mind was in absolute turmoil. They stayed that way for a while, rocking back and forth in each other’s arms until they reached an unspoken level of understanding.
Terry brought his head up and stared into Hermione’s voice, and when he tried to kiss her, she covered his mouth and hissed, "If you kiss me with that smoky breath, I will kick you in the nuts."
He laughed goodheartedly; all things considered, he did have a pleasant laugh. After a quick kiss on her forehead, he took her by the hand, and they walked back to Harry’s room. Hermione remembered to knock, she smirked and knocked loudly for anyone within to hear, and sure enough, Harry’s hardened voice came from within, "Come in."
Terry pushed open the door and narrowed his eyes at the gathered crowd with her hand firmly in his. It was the newest member to join the discussion that made his blood boil. The man was bent over old photographs and speaking to Harry in hushed tones.
Terry demanded in anger, "What the fuck is he doing here?"
Hermione took her hand out of Terry's grasp, unconsciously stepped away from him and stared transfixed at the tall ice blonde in dark blue jeans and black turtleneck, running his hypnotically disapproving eyes over her and sizing her up.
Draco straightened to his full height. His astute eyes had already caught his fiancé's petite hand in another man's, and whilst he felt a mild annoyance towards the blatant act of affection, he brushed it aside and said slowly, "Granger..."
Terry forgot his place. He rounded on his boss and insisted, "Potter, what is this arsehole doing here?"
Draco stiffened at the harsh word, his hands unconsciously balled into fists, but he took a deep breath and willed himself to remain calm. It was not worth his time to have another altercation with Granger’s alleged fuck buddy.
Harry rubbed his temples in exhaustion and spoke slowly. His tone made it abundantly clear that he wasn't to be trifled with, "Mind your fucking attitude. Malfoy is joining the department." A silence fell over the room, but Terry was beside himself.
He could not believe his ears. Was Potter daft? He made the grave mistake of making his displeasure vocal, "Like hell he is."
Harry had tolerated enough. He shot to his feet and warned darkly, "Go on then. Tell me what I can and cannot do."
Hannah gasped, but it all made sense. She nodded at Draco in understanding and said firmly, "Boys, do put away your cocks. We have a much more serious matter at hand." Her gaze fell on Michael, who was slumped across a chair with his head in his hands.
Boot ignored Malfoy and Harry, who were now glaring at him sternly and purposely approached his best mate, clamped him on the shoulder and reassured him, "We will get her back, mate."
Michael looked up, covered Terry's hand with his and smiled weakly, "Thank you."
Hermione held it together for as long as she was able. She silently slipped out while everyone was occupied and headed straight for her office. She had a bottle of wine hidden in a secret cabinet in her desk drawer. She did not care that it was barely noon.
All she wanted was to have Brenda back safe and sound. She tossed her jacket aside and slipped out of her high heels the second she entered the familiar space.
Going around her desk, Hermione felt around under her massive desk for the button that slid open the door to the concealed compartment. When her fingers found the elusive knob, she pressed it and fetched the bottle of wine and glass she kept well hidden.
Hermione stared undecided at the bottle at first, then uncorked it using her wand and poured a generous amount of the red liquid into a hand-blown expensive glass. She swirled it around, inhaled the rich scent and took a satisfying sip.
"You know, it's a bad habit to drink on the job," Draco drawled from his place by the door. The pain that flickered in her eyes was not lost on him, and when she slipped away, he excused himself and followed her without a second thought.
Hermione took a large gulp, swallowed hard and hurled without bothering to turn around, "Sod off, Malfoy. I wish to be alone."
She hadn't thought why he was here, but she assumed the article must have prompted a visit with Harry. He was, after all, an Auror now.
The door closed with a loud thud, and Hermione thought she was rid of the nuisance that was Draco Malfoy, but that was before the smell of his masculine cologne drifted towards her and encased her with its captivating fragrance. She felt his presence behind her. Hermione didn't dare turn around. Instead, she focused on finishing her drink and controlling the tears that were threatening to spill over.
The fine hairs on the back of her neck sprang to life as he moved closer still until his body was mere centimetres from hers. He wrapped his long fingers around her upper arms, his thumbs moving in soothing circles. Even through the barrier of her shirt, his subtle touch branded her, and she felt an awakening between her thighs.
He whispered, "Granger..." It was as if him uttering her name broke through all the defences she placed.
She fell forward and broke down in sobs. Her wine glass fell to the ground, but the plush carpet cushioned the fall, and the red contents disseminated across the white carpet like a spreading bloodstain.
Draco firmly held her arms, turned her around and hugged her to his chest in one swift movement. Hermione cried out her frustration, sadness, and fear onto his cashmere turtleneck sweater. She felt him let go of her arms and move one hand around her hip and the other to soothingly stroke her wild tussles.
His words of comfort were muffled somewhat by her hair, "Shh, she's going to be fine. Let's not jump to hasty conclusions, darling."
Hermione could hear the rapid fluttering of his heart, the sound of it beating relaxed her, and she pressed into him further to listen to it. The flutter increased with her intimate gesture, and his hand trailed down her back and came to rest on her hip. He didn't attempt to let go, and neither did she step away.
She broke down in his muscular arms and wept for what seemed like a lifetime of suffering. Once she was thoroughly spent, she braved a look at him, his eyes were lowered, and he gazed at her in genuine concern.
A small smile curved his perfectly formed pink lips, "Feeling better?" Her hand moved on its own accord; her fingers edged upwards until her middle finger brushed against his bottom lip. A look of confusion fell momentarily over his face, but before he gathered his wits, she stood on tiptoes and kissed him gently. Her lips tasted salty with shed tears and so incredibly soft.
It took him but a second to register that Granger initiated the kiss, and he moved his lips under hers and deepened the passionate embrace as she sought the comfort he ardently offered. Her fingers slipped into the silky fine strands of platinum blonde that grew abundant on his head.
"You taste unforgivable", He murmured into her mouth. Was that even a legitimate feeling? He wasn't quite sure but being surrounded by her was everything.
A sultry moan escaped her swollen lips, "I want you to take this pain away, Malfoy." It somehow seemed fitting that he was the one to do so.
His heart clenched at the words that effortlessly left her mouth. A mouth that moulded perfectly to his.
"Let me feel you," Hermione uttered lustfully. The material of his sweater was soft but an obstacle. She ached to touch his bare body.
She snaked her hands down his neck and chest and pulled him closer to her body by his hips. Close enough to feel his urgent need strain against the inner material of his jeans. Her fingers brushed over the top of the noticeable bulge, and Draco stiffened, she was all in this time around, and he would wholeheartedly give her what she desired. A daunting worry formulated in his psyche.
He hoped he still possessed his sexual prowess from his earlier life, the ability to have women moaning his name when they came crashing around this thick appendage. This wasn't some horny, inexperienced schoolgirl. Granger was a woman, and he hadn't had sex since he was a teenager.
In a bizarre turn of events, he concluded that she was more sexually experienced than him. This anxiety grew alarming, and random thoughts of not satisfying the insatiable woman in his arms punctured his mind.
Draco forcefully pushed aside his insecurities and cupped a supple breast through the white silk, and her soft gasp fed his growing desire. She was undoubtedly responding to his gentle caresses and probing tongue.
He tore his lips away from hers to lay a path of kisses down her neck. She managed to pop open the stubborn button of his jeans when a loud knock on the door echoed off the walls.
They didn't care enough to stop; Hermione arched her head back and let him continue the ministrations he diligently bestowed upon her body.
She moaned, "Yes..." His touch and tongue were causing slick desire to pool in her knickers, and she hovered on the cusp of orgasm.
A loud knock once again cut into their moment of unbridled passion. When Draco hesitated, "Ignore it...please," Hermione mewled, her voice heavy with want.
He heeded her words, unbuttoned her blouse, and pushed it off her slender shoulders, taking a few seconds to appreciate the chain he had gifted resting against her creamy smooth skin and the delicate mounds covered in lace. Hermione felt her cheeks redden. She bit her bottom lip and looked away shyly.
Draco cupped Hermione's face and claimed her lips in a searing kiss. He murmured between kisses, "You are beautiful, my witch."
His deep voice was enough to push her over the edge. She longed to touch his sheathed cock, still covered by the hard material of his jeans.
Boldly, she tugged at the belt loops and, just as she succeeded in manoeuvring his zip down, a voice from the other side of the door made her blood freeze, stopping Draco from going any further. Together they stared accusingly at the closed door and felt the rapid beating of their heart fluctuate.
Chapter 26
Notes:
A big thank you to everyone who posted a review and for everyone following! It means so much!
Trigger warning:- Hallucinations and suicide.
Enjoy Chapter Twenty Six!
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Chapter Text
The Ritz, France
Kingsley sat on the terrace of his suite at the Ritz Paris, poured himself a cup of coffee and helped himself to a piece of buttered toast. The papers had arrived earlier, and though the hotel was strictly a Muggle establishment, there were ways to sneak in bits of magic. He took a sip, spread the Prophet open, spat out the tea in a perfect arch, and hissed, "Rita fucking Skeeter."
He couldn't possibly begin to imagine the nightmare that was about to be hurled their way, but in his absence, he was confident Granger could handle it, or he desperately hoped she could.
Teddy flipped through one of his beloved comic books and spoke to his parents as if they were sitting right beside him.
"This is Batman, mum," He said excitedly and pointed to the caped crusader speaking with Robin. "Robin is so cool, dad."
He added further and then touched the boy's drawing in red, yellow, and green and sighed, "He's like me. His parents died too." It was not as heroic, but it was pointless when a mob boss saw fit to gun down the aspiring acrobats in cold blood. It paved the way for one of the greatest fictional sidekicks the world would ever know.
Andromeda wiped her hands on her apron and called from downstairs, "Darling, come down for breakfast. I hope you washed."
Teddy stuffed the comic under his pillow. His strict grandmother wasn't too fond of his reading matter at times and shouted his reply, "Coming, Gran." He wore the cutest red t-shirt with a snitch on the front and a pair of shorts. He ran down the stairs at double speed and entered the kitchen with a cheery, "Good morning."
Andromeda smiled fondly from her place at the stove and stacked a plate high with various shaped pancakes. Balancing the tray on the tip of her wand, she grabbed a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice with her free hand.
Teddy made himself useful by setting the table. He finished his task of carefully placing the plates, napkins, and cutlery and sat down eagerly awaiting the delicious pancakes.
Andromeda placed the plate in the middle, next to a syrup bottle, and sat down herself. She reached over and affectionately stroked the bright green locks on her beloved grandson.
With each passing day, he resembled Tonks increasingly. The young boy smacked his lips and helped himself to the sun and heart-shaped pancakes. He held his knife and fork awkwardly, and Andromeda reached over to help him gain a better grip.
Teddy cut the fluffy pancakes into uneven pieces, poured a generous helping of syrup all over them, coated the pieces richly with the gooey liquid and stuffed them into his salivating mouth. He managed to say, "Mmm, this is so yum. You make the best pancakes ever, Gran, even better than Molly."
Andromeda delicately sliced her pancakes into bite-sized pieces and beamed, "Thank you, darling. Eat up. We need to get started on your sums and advanced reading soon."
Teddy poured them glasses of orange juice and grinned, "I finished my homework." He became thoughtful and frowned, "Aunty Mione promised to teach me a few advanced sums, but I haven't seen her in so long."
Andromeda remembered their visit to the Burrow, and Ron's declaration and paled. She reassured, "She's been rather busy, Teddy. How about we send her an owl?"
Teddy perked up, "That would be great. I like her so much."
Andromeda smiled fondly, "And she loves you very much."
Teddy blushed and ate the rest of his meal in silence.
Bernard sat behind his desk with a drink in hand. The desk was carved out of the finest wood and handed down through the generations. The desk held many secrets of its own, and he knew many life-changing and unfavourable documents had been signed and sealed on its surface. Heavy drapes were drawn, allowing little to no sunlight into the room. With perfectly manicured nails, he drummed his fingers on top of the surface, lost in deep thought.
The article was disturbing and deeply unsettled him. To the untrained eye, the pendant of the owl and wand seemed trivial, but to him, it held some significance. There was no doubt he had seen the wand before. Someone he knew wielded it but who evaded him. He grasped at a memory of seeing it, but the person's features were shrouded. Bernard racked his brain to find the answer, as it would mean a great deal to the authorities.
Until he had some clear answers, he was hesitant to approach the DMLE with such a modicum of information. Their inquiries would needlessly open the floodgates. Aurors would probe into his affairs, and his family's more unscrupulous past deeds would most certainly come to light.
He knew his behaviour was odd and downright suspicious. He was also acutely aware of Draco eyeing him strangely, but the shock of seeing the wand associated with someone in his family truly horrified him.
With determination, Bernard knew he had to find out who. It wasn't going to be an easy task, but he would try to stop the maniac at large. He owed it to the wizarding world.
John was barely visible behind the mountains of files he carried. There had been a fluctuation in misuse of Muggle artefacts cases, resulting in some painful injuries and rushed visits to St Mungo's. Arthur Weasley and his team worked countless extra nights to contain the situation.
With Voldemort’s defeat, Wizards and witches were venturing more and more into the strange but useful inventions Muggles used, not always with the most favourable results.
Arthur slammed the Prophet down and said grimly, "As if we needed more lunatics roaming free."
Perkins chimed in his usual rather squeaky voice, "It's awful, isn't it? All these lovely girls being brutalised this way. It breaks my heart; it does."
A loud thud interrupted their dour conversation, and both turned to look at their assistant, who was massaging his arms and looking at them tiredly.
"Ah, John, good lad. You got all of them?" Arthur asked in a friendly manner.
John nodded unsurely but replied positively, "Yes, sir. It’s all here. Would you like me to help you sort it out?" He truly hoped it was all there. Another visit to the filing room filled him with dread.
Perkins quipped sarcastically, "No, you stupid sod. Just stare at us and watch us do all the work."
Arthur frowned. John had been with them for years, and while he lacked any leadership qualities, the man diligently did what was asked of him and kept to himself. Even after all this time, Arthur realised he knew absolutely nothing about the mysterious man's personal life apart from the fact that he was a squib and hated the very mention of it.
John caught sight of the newspaper on his boss’s desk and grimaced. The killer sure was making headlines, and he noted there was a hefty reward being offered too. The amount was significant and spoke volumes about how desperate the DMLE were to catch the individual responsible. His eyes travelled leisurely over the bodies; the skin was perfectly preserved. His tongue moistened his quivering bottom lip unconsciously.
Perkins leered with a mixture of disgust, "Getting a hard-on, are we?"
Arthur reprimanded, "That is enough. Shut your foul gob and get to work." He warned, "I am well aware of you slacking off and pushing work on John. See that it does not happen again."
Perkins scowled at the daydreaming man and pulled some files towards him with more force than necessary.
John was oblivious to what was going on around him. He kept his eyes fixed on the bodies. They were so beautiful that he wondered if this could really be the work of a sick man. After all, there were two sides to every story.
"John?" Arthur's voice bore into his thoughts. He mumbled, "Yes, sorry. These women didn't suffer." The words left him before he could put the brakes.
Perkins could not keep quiet, "Are you off your head? He raped and killed them."
John swallowed hard. A familiar voice spoke to him. Yes, a sick fucking rapist. But did anyone stop to think why? He turned on his heel and fled the department searching the nearest bathroom.
Arthur was busy going through the files to notice the odd behaviour of his assistant, but Perkins did and muttered, "Mental, that one," before shaking his head and pulling another file towards him.
John splashed water over his face and blinked rapidly. White spots appeared before him, and he gripped the edge of the sink hard to steady himself. The article disturbed him to the brink of mental collapse. He couldn't hold his feelings back any longer. Hurriedly pushing open the cubicle door, he stumbled into the tiny stall, doubled over the commode and vomited.
Who was this killer of whom they spoke so harshly? To him, he seemed like a loner harbouring hidden sadistic fantasies, but surely there was a more disturbing underlying issue.
The voice sliced their passionate moment like a double-edged knife. Draco reluctantly dropped his hands from Hermione’s flushed body, stepped away from her and stared at the closed door in surprise, "Is that...?"
Hermione interrupted ecstatically, "Merlin, yes," she hurriedly pulled the silk blouse back up her arms and buttoned it as she brushed past him in her haste to get to the door. She threw the double doors open, and Brenda stood outside with a sheepish grin, holding a large grande coffee and box of assorted muffins. The young witch glanced past her boss's shoulder and caught sight of the tall blonde lurking in the background with his back turned towards them, pulling up what unmistakably looked like his zipper.
Draco stayed with his back to the two women and kept his eyes trained on the book of shelves. He read the somewhat boring titles regarding legislation and law and willed his erection to simmer down. It stubbornly stayed at half-mast in protest of being denied the warmness offered.
Brenda threw Hermione an apologetic look and mumbled, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt." Her apology was clearly missed by the woman hugging her tightly.
Hermione had thrown her arms around her assistant and squeezed her with the strength equivalent to a boa constrictor attempting to squeeze the life out of her. Her arms awkwardly dangled, but she held on to the coffee and muffins until Draco approached them and quickly took them out of her hands.
"Thank you," Brenda mouthed at him and glanced at Hermione’s thick head of hair and questioned wordlessly. What the hell was going on? She let herself be held since it seemed trying to break free would be detrimental to her health.
Draco placed a consoling hand on Hermione’s back and let the tips of his fingers dig in gently to get her attention. She was so receptive to his touch that she stiffened and let the perplexed woman in her arms go. Grasping Brenda firmly by the upper part of her arms, Hermione yelled furiously, "Where the fuck have you been? Do you have any idea how worried we've been?"
Brenda leaned back as flecks of spit flew out of the deranged woman's mouth and in her direction. Worried about what exactly?
Draco interjected a tad firmly, "Let her go, Granger. I'm sure Brenda has a plausible explanation for being late."
Hermione glanced over her shoulder and locked eyes with a rather striking blonde standing behind them and let go.
Brenda rubbed her arms, and steamrolled into an explanation, "I'm so sorry, Hermione. My mother is sick and needed me to take her to the hospital." She clarified with a hint of exhaustion, "You know she's a Muggle, so I had to do every bloody thing the Muggle way."
Hermione questioned sternly, "Why the hell didn't you answer your phone? Michael's doing his nut wondering where you are."
Brenda's mouth fell open in shock. Oh, Merlin, she had honestly forgotten all about her possessive boyfriend with her mother’s urgent issue. She replied embarrassedly, "I left the flat in a hurry and forgot my blooming phone. It’s still plugged into the charger at my flat."
Hermione rubbed her temples exasperatedly, "There is a bloody killer on the loose going after redheads. How can you be so careless?" She pointed out of the door impatiently, "Go hug your boyfriend and tell him you're alright. The poor bloke was going crazy."
Brenda turned on her heel and fled. Poor Michael. The man was paranoid enough.
Hermione walked past Draco back into the office, picked up the fallen glass off the floor and waved her wand over it, muttering a Scourgify. The glass cleaned itself and stood sparkling in her hands. She grabbed the wine bottle, poured herself a glass, and as she brought it to her lips, Draco cleared his throat to make his presence known.
He closed the gap between them, tucked a tendril of curly hair behind her ear and smiled, "I think I should go. I'll see you at dinner?"
Hermione bit her bottom lip and nodded. He didn't attempt to kiss her goodbye, and it disappointed her a smidge. She watched as he walked out through the glass doors and disappeared from her line of sight.
She sipped the wine, curled her lips, and sucked on the remnants of wine that lingered. She couldn’t help but ponder lustfully over the powerful presence Malfoy commanded. It was unfortunate they were interrupted, but Hermione supposed it was for the best. Having sex in the office was frowned upon for sure but undoubtedly tempting even if it was uncomfortable.
Brenda waited patiently for the lift to take her to the desired floor, she stepped out, and her legs turned to jelly with anticipation. She honestly didn't know what to expect. If Hermione reacted in such a fearfully angry way, then Michael would be a thousand times worse. Stopping outside the glass doors that would take her right to the bowels of the DMLE, she gathered her strength, pushed the doors open and scanned the crowd of busy Aurors for her boyfriend.
It was the high-pitched loud sound of a woman she heard first, "BRENDA, THANK FUCK YOU'RE SAFE!"
Hannah pushed her way through, took her by the hand and led her down a dark corridor into a room where Terry, Michael and Harry were having a heated discussion. Their heads snapped up as the women stepped into the room.
Terry's eyes widened in shock. Harry smiled in relief, and Michael sprang to his feet, cradled his beloved witch in his arms and cried, "I've been so worried."
Brenda held onto his tall frame, pulled him close and cooed, "I'm fine, baby. Mum was sick, and I had to rush her to the emergency room." Tears gathered at the sight of her distraught boyfriend and spilt over.
She muttered while rubbing his back soothingly, "I'm such an idiot. I forgot my phone. Michael, I'm so sorry. Ssh...I'm fine. Honestly, nothing happened to me." She felt his fingers grab onto bits of her coat as he unleashed the pure torment he suffered through.
Harry and Terry got to their feet and awkwardly joined Hannah by the door, who had eyes in her tears from witnessing the emotional scene before her.
Terry patted his best friend happily on the back, "We’ll give you guys some privacy."
Harry concurred, "Yeah, take the day off, Corner. You've had a rough start and could do with some rest." So engrossed in each other, the couple heard none of it. Once they were alone, Michael cupped Brenda's face lovingly and peered at her in concern, "I have never been more terrified in my life."
He choked back a sob, "You're my everything."
Brenda wiped the tears that fell, "I love you so much."
Michael hugged her again and asked solemnly, "Is your mum okay?"
Brenda rested her head on his shoulder, hid the sniffles and nodded, "Yes, just a touch of low blood sugar. I dropped her off and came by," and added promptly as she remembered, "I have to stay the night with her."
Corner mustered a smile and requested timidly, "Can I come with you?"
Brenda kissed him gently, "That would be great. I need to head back to work before Hermione blows a fuse."
"Of course, I'll pick you up after," Michael chuckled and said with radiating happiness. She was the one for him, of that, he was sure. The thought of losing her had driven him to insanity in a matter of hours.
Hours passed, and with the article's publishing came hysterical calls from people, hoaxes, prank calls, and dozens of false leads hoping to collect on the substantial ransom offered.
The minutes ticked by painfully as Hermione, Brenda, and Nora, the Minister's Secretary, fielded the tons of calls that came their way. By quarter past four, Hermione was thoroughly fed up and disgusted with the English wizarding community. Conspiracy theories were already popping up and formulating in the corners of cafes, along the street and most probably in Skeeter's office.
Terry tossed a chocolate bar at Hannah. She caught it expertly and threw him a quizzical look.
He grinned, "Hush money."
Hannah tore the wrapper open and bit into the almost melted chocolate and smirked, "First of all, this isn't money, but I'll accept it."
She asked curiously, "What are you up to?"
Boot rubbed the subtle on his chin and winked, "I have a personal matter to attend to."
He added in disgust, "Let me know if Malfoy comes by again."
"Won't it be easier if you attempted to get along with him? We do have to work with him." Hannah chided.
Terry hissed dangerously, not bothering to keep his voice out of earshot, "I'm not working alongside that filthy Death Eater."
Hannah frowned, "You're acting like an immature fuck biscuit. Bugger off, Boot."
Terry narrowed his eyes and sneered, "Don't be a cunt, Abbott. Just cover for me."
She rolled her eyes, pointedly walked away and called over her shoulder, “Do your own dirty work.”
He didn't bother informing Harry or Michael. Besides, he wasn't too keen on elaborating what his evening plans were. He exited the Ministry, took a deep breath of the chilly air that blew around him, raised the collar of his trench coat and apparated close to Knockturn Alley. He looked around discreetly.
Once he was satisfied there was no one he knew in the vicinity, he went down the dark corridor and smirked at the man coming towards him with his hand out, "You did good, mate. Keep it up, and no one will ever know."
At half-past five, Hermione had honestly had enough. She slammed the phone down crossly, shot to her feet and stormed out, "Come on, Brenda. Let's grab a cup of coffee before these nutters drive us around the bend."
Brenda followed without hesitation, "Amen to that. I might actually hate humans after today. Why are they so fucking daft? We have a serious issue at hand, and this lot are trying to take the mickey."
They sat in the middle of an empty cafeteria nursing hot mugs of creamy, sugary coffee. The witch who ran the cafeteria had an infamously sweet tooth, but it was a welcome relief in this instance.
Hermione took a sip and sighed, "That feels bloody good."
Brenda slid down the chair and nodded in agreement, "Aye, it hits that spot."
Hermione smiled knowingly, "Michael loves you."
Brenda blushed madly, "I know, I'm crazy about him too."
Hermione said thoughtfully, "He's a good guy. Even back at Hogwarts. Decent sort of chap."
She included jovially, "Terry was always the wilder one of the duo."
Brenda shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Terry Boot. She cleared her throat and said carefully, "Hermione, he likes you a lot. Michaels told me bits and pieces. I shouldn't say anything, it's not my place, but Michael thinks Terry is in love with you but won't admit it."
Love? Merlin, forbid.
Hermione choked on her coffee and croaked, "Well, I'm marrying Malfoy. Terry will just have to accept it."
Brenda grinned devilishly, "Ahem, did I interrupt something earlier between the two of you?" She sounded so much like Ginny that Hermione did a double-take to make sure she was talking to her assistant and not her best friend of over ten years.
Hermione felt a blush creep up her cheeks. She shrugged, "Well, I guess we had a moment of weakness. He is an attractive man."
Brenda giggled. That was an understatement. She had seen some fetching young men, but the Malfoy heir stood a foot above them all. He was built for seduction.
Hermione looked around the deserted cafeteria and inquired, "Where is everyone?"
Brenda glanced at her watch and offered an explanation, "It's almost six pm, Hermione." She asked meekly, "Most have left. I was wondering if I could leave too. My mother needs me and ......"
Hermione jumped to her feet and smacked her forehead. The time had really gotten away from her, and she groaned, "Six pm? What? Fuck. Yes, let's call it a day. I need to get going myself. We can pick up this madness tomorrow."
Michael was waiting for them. Hermione waved at him and sprinted into her office and when she emerged, the sickeningly sweet couple were already gone.
She was so bloody late. By her calculation, she had an hour and a half to make herself presentable before heading to dinner at Malfoy Manor.
After leaving the Ministry earlier in the day, Draco had headed to the office and found Bernard nowhere in sight. The older man didn't turn up.
After Draco looked through the papers that needed his signature and approval, he did what was needed, not wanting to hang around any longer than was necessary. He would need to find the ideal balance between running the family company and his job in the future.
Washed and in nothing but his faithful jogging bottoms, he sat by the roaring fireplace in his room and pretended to read the book in his grasp. In reality, his thoughts were riddled by an enticing brunette with thick eyelashes and a sultry moan that made his knees quake with desire.
Would he have truthfully gone all the way in her office? Yes, without a doubt. He would've taken great pleasure in sweeping the stuff off her table, throwing her down and ravaging her body till she screamed in pure ecstasy.
Hermione entered her favourite place in the whole world. Her bathroom. The tub looked so inviting, and figuring she could probably squeeze in a few moments’ peace lathered by bubbles, she quickly filled the tub with water, added some sweet-smelling bath salts and descended into its luxurious warmth.
She rested her head on the smooth edge and thought back to Malfoy's long, seemingly talented fingers ghosting over her skin. His touch was pleasant yet electrifying. Every pleasure point awakened and begged for release.
Her fingers disappeared under the thick outer coat of bubbles and came to rest on her parted thighs, and slowly they edged inwards towards her pulsating clit. Closing her eyes, she painted a vivid picture of a certain platinum blonde's tongue teasing the heated skin of her flesh. She imagined him relentlessly kissing every inch of her body and devouring her whole.
Hermione spread her pussy lips and inserted her eager fingers within the slick folds. Her fingers moved with practised ease and came to rest on her clitoris. No one existed but her and Malfoy. She relived their steamy afternoon session with a few imaginative additions of her own.
She moved the soft pad of her middle finger over the engorged bundle of nerves, gasping and moaning in delight, and when she pushed herself off the edge, causing her toes to curl in pleasure, there was but one name that escaped her lips.
She threw her head back, came hard and moaned without shame, "Draco....."
The man walked into the room where he held the woman captive. Still, in his work robes, he greeted, "Good evening, love. Did you have a nice day?"
The woman nodded weakly, hugged her legs to her chest and averted her gaze. The monster was home, and she would have to endure him fucking her at least twice before he retired for bed.
He gritted out in anger, "We're famous. But I'll show them for printing a bunch of lies."
A tenderness fell over his partially scarred face, and he confessed, "I loved them. Each one meant a great deal to me."
Turning to her, he implored lovingly, "You know, I love you, right?" She smiled sweetly and nodded.
From the tattered bits of the newspaper he had stuffed into her mouth, she now knew they had made the front page. After he left, she had carefully tried to place the pieces together like a puzzle with missing bits. She had been able to clearly make out the lifeless, doll-like bodies of three girls and one of her in freshly pressed robes, laughing and full of life.
He said happily. There was a ludicrous giddiness to his voice, "I told you I had a surprise." Reaching inside his coat pocket, he excitedly pulled out four silk scarves. The scarves were not new, but they were in immaculate condition. Carefully, he placed them on the table one after the other, touching them almost reverently. He offered sadly, "These belonged to the other girls," but he held up a bright red one with a majestic lion embroidered into the expensive silk. The word Gryffindor was clear as day.
Coming closer, he almost purred, "This is yours, my fiery lioness." She was dumbstruck, and her surprise showed on her face, "How did you know?"
He replied with a raised eyebrow, "That you were in Gryffindor? I have my ways, darling."
"You look quite appealing tonight," He said huskily while undoing the buttons on his shirt.
She seductively drawled, "I'm so tired, baby. Can we skip tonight? I'll make it up to you tomorrow." Her words caught him by surprise. It was a welcome change. He loved the way the expressions of affection rolled off her tongue, "Are you sure, love? Didn't you miss me?"
She gushed with enough conviction, "Oh, so much, but you tired me out last night with your manly lovemaking, and I'm a little sore."
Puckering her lips, she pouted, "Please, can we skip tonight?" He was hesitant at first, but how could he refuse the woman he loved?
Tilting her chin, he kissed her hard and clumsily, "Of course, I can wait till morning. You rest up and be ready." He hardly ever kissed the other girls, but he simply could not resist giving in to temptation with her.
Rapist? How dare they call him that. He loved them, but he loved her the most. He couldn't wait for the sun to rise. The woman sighed in the darkness that was her makeshift prison. She had won a small victory. She derived a plan in his absence. From studying his behaviour, she knew he was a nervous wreck with zero self-esteem.
He was a pitiful man demeaned by his mother his whole life for merely existing. So, she played to her strengths and would, whilst enduring his advances, compliment him and make him feel like a real man for once in his life.
Survival was key. She would do anything to gain his trust. If it meant stroking his ego and feeding him false affection, then that was precisely what she was going to do.
A loud cackling filled the space, and the voice leered, "That was a good one, wasn't it, Mudblood?"
Hermione spat, "Get out of my head, bitch. I have no time for you today."
Bellatrix laughed manically, "Eager to be my nephew’s whore? You'd like that, wouldn't you, you filthy slut. To get on all fours and offer that disgusting cunt to his pureblood cock."
Hermione hugged her legs to her chest, closed her eyes and rocked back and forth vigorously, causing water to spill over the edge. She kept muttering incoherently, "No, he disgusts me. Leave me alone."
The dead woman laughed, "Disgusts you? Is that why you’re getting off to him? Filthy Mudblood, hypocrite."
Bellatrix's hallucination that Hermione projected turned violent, "Do you think I’ll let him bed you? Touch you? Bear his children?" The dead old witch leaned forward and whispered darkly in her ear, "I'm going to finally kill you, Mudblood."
Hermione slipped into the tub full of water. Her own hands held her down, such was the power of the hallucination she conjured. She surfaced, and gasped for breath but was pulled under once again.
Over and over, it kept happening. Her own hand clasped around her throat held her firmly in place under the water, but in her trapped psychosis, she was battling Bellatrix Lestrange. Her rapid movements to break the hold sent waves of water cascading over the edge of the tub to flood the usually clean and tidy bathroom.
With panicked struggling, her knuckles turned a purplish-white from gripping the edge of the tub and attempting to hoist herself up. Sinew and muscles strained and her forearms, protested as she repeatedly tried to capture the lip of the bath with pruned fingertips. Try as she might, her desperate attempts were futile, and she couldn't surface to breathe life-giving air.
Hermione twisted and flayed underwater. The veins in her neck blackened and puckered her skin like angry water snakes seeking their prey. Deprived of oxygen, her chest tightened. Sparks and spots appeared in her waterlogged vision as her blood pressure rose.
Terror-filled thoughts punctured her mind. It couldn’t end this way, not after everything she had been through, everything she had done. She had to fight, but with each thought of saving herself, the laughter grew in its intensity, drowning out every thought of desperation, engulfing her in its viscous, dark malevolence. The last bubbles of air left her lungs in a scream, and her chest felt like it was about to explode. Her heartbeat thrummed deafeningly in her ears as she fought an inward battle with herself.
“Get away from my daughter, you bitch!” echoed in the recess of her mind.
Bellatrix cackled, “Let go, deary, we will have such fun in hell, join me…”
Her breathy voice beckoned. “Think of how Draco would be better off without you. He would forget you instantly,” vitriol dripped from the dark witch's lips like black molasses. “He doesn’t want you. He’s sickened by your filth.”
They say a person's life flashes before their eyes before death, and she almost gave in to weakness as moments of remembered misery ignited in her mind.
“It’s no wonder no one can stand her. She’s a nightmare, honestly.”
“Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all.”
“No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood.”
"He called me a Mudblood ... a really foul name for someone who is muggle-born, someone with non-magic parents … someone like me."
“Harry Potter is dead!”
Finally, her parents floated into her mind and with them, what little fight she had left dissipated.
“Obliviate.”
The thought of dying appealed more than living through this miserable existence, and she suddenly stilled. A final trapped bubble of air drifted from her mouth as her eyes closed.
The heroine, Hermione Granger, sank to the bottom of the tub and lay motionless.
Draco descended the carpeted stairs. He adjusted his black dinner jacket and glanced at his watch. It was a little past 7.30 pm. He wandered into the brightly lit foyer and found his mother and Bernard engaged in a lively game of chess.
Bernard moved his queen forward and smirked triumphantly, "Checkmate, love."
Narcissa hissed in irritation, "Blast this game." They watched as the black queen pulled out a sword and ran it through the white king. The defeated severed pieces fell sideways onto the board and moved no more.
Draco looked around and asked in interest, "Mother, has Hermione arrived?"
Narcissa glimpsed at the large grandfather clock, and her features creased with worry, "No, son, but it is past 7.30. It's unlike her to be late."
Draco frowned and nodded in agreement. Granger was a stickler for time. The woman was nauseatingly punctual. He requested politely, "Would you mind calling her to see what's the matter?"
Narcissa smiled warmly, “Of course,” and requested Dotty to fetch her Muggle communication device.
Bernard felt embarrassed about his behaviour in the morning, and he sought to make amends, "How was your day, Draco?"
Draco wasn't paying much attention. He was in deep thought about Granger, but he replied half-heartedly, "It was all right. The Ministry has their hands full with a killer at large."
Bernard stiffened and inquired, "Indeed. Have they no leads on the man committing these monstrous acts?"
Draco shook his head slowly, "Not a shred of evidence. Whoever it is, is exceptionally bright."
Narcissa interrupted their conversation, "Strange. She is not answering the phone. Do you think she's alright?" First Brenda and now Granger. Why weren't these women answering their bloody phones?
Draco said thoughtfully, "They were swamped today." He suggested seriously and waited for his mother's consent, "Maybe I should stop by her flat?"
Narcissa concurred, "That would be prudent. I always worry for her safety." She added lovingly, "Hermione is much like the daughter I never had."
Bernard offered helpfully, "Shall I accompany you?"
Draco was already out the door, but he glanced over his shoulder and replied, "That won't be necessary. Besides, mother is dying for a rematch."
Narcissa’s peals of laughter followed him as he stepped into the beautiful Manor gardens and thought, Granger, where are you? It was a rather busy evening, and the cobbled streets were packed with Muggles walking to and fro going about their daily business. Most were trying to catch the last bus or tube home. Using magic in such plain sight would prove to be problematic.
Instead, Draco resorted to the Muggle way of things and walked through the hustle and bustle to reach Granger’s modest flat complex overlooking the busy streets. He tried calling her himself but was greeted by the same unanswered rings as he jogged up the stairs taking two at a time. He stood in front of the lilac-painted door for a few seconds and tried to determine if there was any movement within.
When he couldn't hear anything, Draco rang the bell and waited. The seconds dragged on, and he concluded that she wasn't home. He turned to leave with his hands in his pockets when a door opened, and an older woman in possibly her mid-fifties walked out carrying a bunch of old newspapers.
She saw Draco and smirked, "Aren't you the young man from the other night?"
Draco smiled warmly, "Yes, I am." He spoke politely and requested, "Excuse me, but have you seen Hermione today?"
The woman gazed upon the closed door fondly, "She's such a lovely girl. Always helps me with my crossword puzzle. She has a sharp mind."
Draco tried again and emphasised his point, "Yes, I know. So, I gather you haven't seen her?"
She kept the papers on the ground and smiled, "Oh no, I did, not fifteen minutes ago. She was in her bathrobe and stepped out barefoot to toss the garbage into the chute. She seemed like she was in a hurry."
Draco tore his attention away from the woman, touched Granger's door, concentrated and thought, Homenum Revelio. The spell spread from him and throughout her flat. It yielded positive results. There was someone inside, he couldn't be sure who, but it would be safe to assume that it was her.
Perhaps, she had fallen asleep, but he made up his mind to make doubly sure she was okay. He would deal with her sharp tongue about invading her privacy after he was assured of her safety.
The nosy neighbour quizzed, "Are you her boyfriend? Haven't seen anyone come by since that lanky ginger fellow." Terry's visits had miraculously escaped her scrutiny.
Draco straightened and said confidently, "I am her fiancé, Madam."
She looked him over and gave a nod of approval, "That's good. A nice girl like her deserves a handsome man."
Draco chuckled, "Goodnight." She returned the gesture swiftly, walked back into the comfort of her flat and shut the door.
Once again, he gave his undivided attention to the light purple obstacle. If Granger was home, why wasn't she answering?
Draco acted on a whim, and he whispered, "Alohomora." He was wary of wards she might have placed, but nothing stopped him from stepping into her flat. It was then he heard the distinctive loud sound of water running. Her flat was small, and it didn't take long for sound to travel. He called out her name but got no reply. A feeling of dread settled in the depths of his gut.
Pushing the ajar door open, he stumbled across a horrific sight. His eyes bulged in utter shock. She was fully submerged in the bathtub full of water and lying motionless, but the tap was open, relentlessly continuing to fill the tub. It was apparent she was drowning to an outside eye.
Was this a suicide attempt? Dark thoughts clouded his mind.
Draco sprang into action. He wasn't about to wait for answers. Completely clothed and not hesitating to remove his shoes, he hurriedly stepped into the tub, sending more water surging onto the floor and shouted her name in panic.
Hermione heard the muffled sound of her name being called, but she didn’t dare open her eyes.
This is not you, Hermione. The bitch is not there! She’s dead. Dead, dead, dead! Her mind frantically reminded her. Save yourself. It was the happy memories that flashed before her eyes of her doting parents, beloved friends and family that truly cared that prompted her to act.
She belonged in this beautiful world of magic.
Her eyes flew open, and her mouth opened wide as realization sunk in slowly. From under the rippling or surging water, she could make out the outline of a dark shadow looming over her menacingly. Was it Bellatrix? If it was, then she would deny the bitch the satisfaction. She jerked and recoiled, arching her back as she rolled violently in the water and fought with every ounce of her being. But the voice calling out her name repeatedly was vaguely familiar.
Grabbing the now hysterical woman fighting for her life around her middle, Draco pulled her out of the warm, soapy water. She did not come quietly. She fought him aggressively, pushing and beating his chest with her balled-up fists while taking gulps of air to fill her deprived lungs.
There wasn't a shred of clothing on her body, and her soft skin was slippery with soap. She slipped from his hold, and an effort to tighten his arms around her resulted in him losing balance, slipping on the pooled water on the floor, sending them both crashing onto the sodden tiles.
Hermione gasped when the dark figure morphed into Malfoy as they fell. Draco took the brunt of the fall. He held Granger possessively to his chest, shielding her from further harm. The trembling naked woman in his arms grabbed hold of his soaked black shirt and sobbed inconsolably, "She's trying to kill me."
He held on tight, moved wet strands of hair that were obscuring her face and implored, "Who is, Granger?"
She cried aloud, "Your aunt keeps trying to kill me..."
Draco looked around in alarm for a ghost of sorts of his dead aunt, any sign of another person, but an eerie silence filled the space, punctured by Hermione’s anguished cries.
He swallowed hard and muttered, "Granger, there's no one here." The bathroom was an absolute mess, and Draco thanked Salazar for acting on his instincts, failure to do so would have resulted in Granger’s untimely death. They sat on the floor as the minutes ticked by. One was fully clothed but soaked to the bone and the other was exposed on his lap, shuddering, convulsing, and leaning her head against his chest. She continued to breathe heavily, gasping for air with soft sobs wracking through her body.
Draco willed his own breathing to steady and rapidly beating heart to slow as he glanced at Hermione through a curtain of matted platinum blonde hair. When he felt her calm down, he rose to his full height with her firmly in his arms and carried her out of the bathroom, down the narrow hallway and into her tidy room. He gently laid her down on the bed. She rolled away from him, curling herself into a fetal position as she resumed crying. Fetching a thick robe from a nearby cupboard, Draco covered her nakedness. He looked over her in concern and excruciating despair.
What was happening to Granger? He would do everything in his power to help her and take away the pain.
He strode out of the room and entered the bathroom once again. His saturated clothes felt heavy on him. After shutting the door, he closed the tap and it creaked in protest. Next, he got rid of the drenched garments and stood momentarily naked as his eyes searched urgently for a clean towel large enough to cover his private parts.
Thankfully, there were a few towels that had escaped the night's events. Without hesitation, he took the largest one and tied it firmly around his taut waist. His thoughts were fixed firmly on the woman in the room. Why hadn't she sought help?
Were the nature of her nightmares and hallucinations so deadly and real, or was Bellatrix somehow tormenting her from beyond the grave? Nothing was impossible, he thought despondently.
He caught sight of the intertwining scars on his torso as he muttered a spell over the bathroom, returning it to its formerly clean and pristine state. Figuring a cup of warm tea would work miracles, he left the bathroom and headed towards the tiny kitchen and put magic to further good use. In next to no time, he succeeded in making hot mugs of milky tea.
Grabbing a mug with each hand, he strode purposely towards the only bedroom in the flat. He entered to find Hermione seated cross-legged wearing the fluffy bathrobe secured tightly across the middle. She was absentmindedly playing with her fingers while strands of her thick hair stuck to her face. Her eyes were vacant of expression, but at least she was no longer crying.
Hermione looked at him in his semi-naked state, glanced at the scars sprawled across his chest but said nothing. Even with the help of magic, she knew his clothes needed time to dry.
Draco closed the gap between them and held out the mug for her to take. The enticing smell of tea filled the small room, and vaporous spirals of steam made their way upwards from the centre of the mugs. Hesitantly but with a somewhat grateful nod, Hermione took the cup he offered and encircled it with her numb fingers. She felt the warmth spread to all parts of her body, and, bringing it closer, she inhaled the rich fragrance of the tea before taking a satisfying sip of the hot liquid.
Draco took the uncomfortable seat in the corner and watched her every movement intently. What he witnessed disturbed him on another level. It went beyond the demons he had fought so hard against. This was far more damaging and dangerous.
Hermione kept her eyes on the contents within the mug and inquired feebly, "What are you doing inside my flat, Malfoy?" He took a sip and responded slowly, "You were late for dinner. Mother was concerned, and I volunteered to check up on you." He murmured under his breath, "Good thing I did."
She sneered harshly, "Do you make it a habit of entering a woman’s home without invitation?"
Draco shot to his feet and towered over Hermione. She moved further away in fear of retribution but now kept her eyes fixed on his unpleasantly twisted features and reaction.
He snapped, "Are you expecting me to fucking apologise for saving you?"
She shuddered and choked back a sob, but undeterred, he pressed on, "You would've been dead if I hadn't done what I did, and if your pretentious arse is expecting an apology, I'm sorry, Granger, but I will not beg forgiveness for something I would repeat in a heartbeat." He didn't need this verbal abuse, especially after what happened. He moved past her to leave without another word, but she grabbed onto his wrist with slender fingers and held him back. He felt the pressure as her nails dug into his skin, forcing him to look at her face and the unmistakable glisten of tears swimming in her beautiful eyes.
"Please, don't leave," she managed to whisper desperately.
Draco felt his resolve crumble, but surely there was someone better suited to comfort her. He voiced that opinion, "Shall I ask Potter or his wife to come by?" Her fingers dug in once again, and Hermione slowly shook her head, "They don't know. Harry has his suspicions, but I've always denied them when he questioned me." She included resolutely, “He has plenty of other things to worry about, and I won't burden him further with my issues.”
Well, that was a shocker.
Draco sighed and asked curiously, "They're your best friends. Why would you hide these nightmares from them, Granger? I'm damn sure Potter faces his own demons."
Hermione nodded weakly and uttered truthfully, "He did, but it’s nothing like what I'm plagued with. I don't like appearing weak even in front of my friends."
Draco sat down beside her. She held onto his wrist, refusing to let go, "You are not weak. You have horrors in your past that most do not. Why haven't you sought professional help?"
She laughed sarcastically, but it appeared more disturbing than comical in her current state, "I tried seeing a Muggle therapist, but it didn't work out. I can't see a Mediwitch or wizard.
Hermione averted her gaze and added, "If it got out that the Undersecretary was mentally unfit, the papers would have a field day, and my reputation, along with Kingsley’s, would be ruined." It wasn’t a bargain she was willing to take.
Draco understood her hesitation, but he assured her, "There are things such as doctor-patient confidentiality and other laws to stop word from getting out. Besides, it is not that you are mentally unfit, Granger. You have PTSD."
She looked at him through hooded eyes, moved a piece of blonde hair that fell across his forehead with the tips of her fingers and mused, "I cannot believe I'm confiding in you."
Draco offered a small smile, took her hand in his and placed an enduring kiss on the middle of her palm, "I'm a rather good listener, and I know exactly where you're coming from."
Of course, he did. Hadn't Voldemort tortured him in the middle of his family home while his mother sobbed and others stared? Some even leered out of hatred for Lucius. The sick bastards.
He leaned forward until his lips lightly brushed against hers and pleaded, "Please, let me help you."
Their eyes locked, and much was said between them. They stared at each other until Hermione broke the intense moment by moving away. She bit her bottom lip and struggled with the urge to straddle his firm hips and surrender to his smouldering gaze. This wasn't the appropriate time. The space she’d put between them indicated that. He wordlessly yet reluctantly agreed.
Getting to his feet, Draco put a healthy distance between them, ran his fingers through his hair and quipped, "I'll, umm, sleep on the sofa then."
Hermione's face fell in disappointment, "Yes, I guess that's appropriate." Draco nodded curtly and turned to go fetch his dried boxers when her voice cut through the crackling sexual tension, "I, um..thank you, Malfoy."
He glanced over his shoulder and smiled warmly, "It's my pleasure."
Hermione stared at the open doorway for quite some time before sliding between the covers and hugging a pillow close. She was still in her bathrobe and completely naked underneath, but exhaustion set in, and she began to feel her muscles relax. Knowing Malfoy was sprawled across her sofa uncomfortably in nothing more than a flimsy pair of boxers was enough to keep her from falling asleep peacefully.
Was the sofa even long enough to accommodate his imposing form?
Draco eyed the sofa critically. At least it looked comfortable. He flopped down, rested his head on the armrest and stared at the ceiling with mixed emotions.
His thoughts and compassion went to the woman in the room, who was alone and probably curled up into a ball. The need to comfort her was overwhelming, but he had to tread lightly with Granger. His past treatment of her still hung heavily over both their heads. She had confided in him, and that was a rather important step in the right direction, he hoped.
Knowing the other was close by played heavily on their minds, and sleep evaded them with purpose until the wee hours of the morning.
Chapter 27
Notes:
A big thank you to everyone who posted a review and for everyone following! It means so much! :)
My heartfelt gratitude to my amazing beta Carrie! Thank you so much, love.
Aunty Irma visits, and Narcissa has a go at Astoria for badmouthing Hermione. A content chapter. Slightly slow burn. :)
Enjoy Chapter Twenty Seven!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
In the depths of despair
The woman hardly slept. The only way Sarah got any sleep was if she passed out from exhaustion. How could she when she knew the monster could walk in at any second and violate her body repeatedly? She leaned against the wall and wondered hopelessly when this nightmare would end. She stayed that way for hours.
The coolness of the walls left their imprint on her ashen, slightly hollowed cheek, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she glanced over the blood-red Gryffindor scarf he had left in the room. She couldn't be sure whether it was a foreshadowing of what was to come or he’d carelessly left it behind. All she did know was that having the scarf nearby filled her with uncertainty. It felt like an omen. As if the grim reaper himself was looming over her to snatch her at any given moment.
She unconsciously ran her index finger down her exposed slit. Her nakedness meant nothing anymore.
He treated her like an object to use, pounding into her, grunting, and groaning like a sex-crazed animal. The bastard, she truly hoped he would get what he deserved, a slow, agonising death. Even the Dementor's kiss would be too merciful. Her fingers flinched. They missed the feeling of her wand, the magic that united them. Her throat was parched. She desperately needed a drink of water to erase the scratchy sensation, but she was at the mercy of the fiend.
The loud rumble of thunder shook the wooden frame of the small window that was out of her reach. An uncontrolled tremor shook her body, and she hugged her knees to her chest in an effort to keep warm and weather the storm.
In the dark, Draco fretfully tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable. He continued to stare at the ceiling in deep thought about Granger. It disturbed him far more than he let on, and he silently cursed his dead aunt. They were children, for fucks sake, doing an adult’s job.
The immense responsibility that had been placed on their shoulders at such a young age was incomprehensible. He wanted to check up on her but decided against it after concluding that it would be rather unfavourable if she were to wake and find him looming over her like some sex-deprived creep.
He felt a sense of exhaustion throughout his body. His back and legs were sore, stiffness making their presence known after the fall earlier. The tiles were hard, and cold and had collided with his bones painfully, not that he wasn’t accustomed to pain, but the ache spread to all corners of his body. Draco closed his eyes shut, turned to the side and willed sleep to consume him.
As the sandman’s sprinkled magic pulled him towards a somewhat content slumber, his phone vibrated consistently from under the pillow where he had placed it earlier.
Groaning at the unwelcome intrusion and thinking who in their right mind was calling him at such an unforgivable hour, he snuck his hand under the pillow, pulled out the device and sleepily glanced at the screen. Beads of sweat coated his upper lip despite the coolness of the living space. How could he have forgotten to inform his mother of the drastic change in plans?
Draco ran his fingers through his hair, braced himself and answered the phone with a sheepish, "Hello, mother."
Narcissa was beside herself with anger. Hours had gone without a word. She wept for the callous attitude of the youth. When the first two hours passed by, she had wanted to send a Patronus.
Still, Bernard advised her against it with the simple explanation that she should not embarrass him in front of Hermione for being a mother’s boy. What did Bernard know about a mother’s love? He had no children. She should have gone with her gut feeling.
Without holding back and not bothering to keep her voice down, she yelled, "Where are you, Draco Lucius Malfoy? I have been worried sick. Have you no common sense?" It was then he noticed the twenty or so miscalls and countless closed envelopes. How had he not heard them before? It was an odd, unfortunate circumstance, but perhaps he was so caught up in his train of thought he drowned out all other noises.
Draco sat up straight and spoke softly, "Mother, please calm yourself. I am still at Granger’s flat. She was umm, ill, and I didn't think it prudent to leave her alone." Again, he thought sadly. The seemingly put-together Miss Granger wasn’t all she professed to be.
Narcissa listened intently and grated out, "You have a lot of explaining to do in the morning, young man. Good night!"
She did not bother with waiting for a reply. The line went dead. Draco stared at it for a few seconds and swallowed hard. It could have gone worse, he supposed.
Good night? It was nearly four am. If he were at home, he would be up in an hour or so to start his routine and meditation. A streak of lightning lit up the sky ominously, illuminating the inside of Hermione’s small home, followed by the distinct sound of thunder piercing the silence. It caused the one window in the flat to rattle unsteadily. Draco lifted his head and watched the drops of rain pelting the window despondently.
He was reminded of the raindrops falling onto the rooftops of the Shaolin temple and how Jun, along with others, made the monk's hot cups of green tea, sneaking him a sugar-covered treat her mother made. Chun, his master, was renowned for telling the younger disciples exciting stories as they waited for the rain to pass. It was such a peaceful existence compared to the whirlwind he had returned to.
Draco fondly touched the black beaded bracelet Jun had gifted him and sighed. There was a part of him that wished he had never returned. He cleared his mind of such pointless thoughts, put the phone aside, and turned away from it adamantly. Hugging one of the dozen cushions Granger kept on the sofa, he slowly drifted off to sleep.
It was early by any standards. The sun was up but barely, and it stubbornly hid its warm rays behind the abundant dark clouds that were heavy with rain. Daphne woke with a start at the unmistakable sound of thunder. Without bothering to turn over, she felt the area to her side for her husband’s arm but came up wanting. Rubbing the sleepiness from her eyes, she turned over to find an empty but warm space beside her. Blaise usually slept in, and his absence from their marital bed struck her as odd.
Their bedroom suite was like one out of a Victorian novel. A large four-poster bed with silk bedding and embroidered cushions took centre stage. The exquisite bed fit for a king was surrounded by timeless, intricately carved pieces of furniture from a nearly-forgotten time.
Daphne stared out of the long French windows that led to the balcony as the first raindrops chased each other along the clear pane of glass. Her mind pondered on where her husband might be. It was highly unlikely that he had left for work. If he had, he always made it a point to tell her. Perhaps, he was fixing himself a snack, she thought lovingly.
Blaise, like most Slytherins, had a notorious sweet tooth. Slipping into her dark blue silk robe, Daphne left the warmth of her room and decided to check on the children before searching the premises for her elusive husband. Adam particularly wasn't too keen on the loud roar of thunder. On the other hand, Carrie was often found comforting her younger brother in such times.
Daphne opened the door slowly and peered into her darling son’s room. He was oblivious to the brewing storm. Thumb firmly in his mouth, he was fast asleep with a content smile spread wide across his face. Satisfied that he was asleep, Daphne made the short walk down the corridor to her adorable daughter’s room, but Carrie's high-pitched giggle greeted her first.
Raising her brow curiously, she approached slowly and discreetly poked her head into the room to catch a glimpse of what could possibly be making her naughty toddler laugh so early in the morning. She was pleasantly surprised to find Blaise sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing a frilly bonnet, and holding a plastic teacup with his little finger sticking up in the air for that extra touch of elegance.
Daphne leaned against the doorframe and stifled a laugh, "That hat looks marvellous on you, darling." The two-spirited individuals seated on the floor engaging in a lively tea party looked up at her and grinned. Side by side, father and daughter had identical cheeky smirks.
Blaise raised the cup in her direction from his position on the ground and smiled lovingly, "Why, thank you, Mrs Zabini. I do believe pink brings out the colour in my eyes."
Carrie jumped to her feet, her nightdress of moons and stars falling to her feet as she ran up to her mother, grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her inside the room eagerly, "Come on, mummy. You can wear the blue bonnet."
Daphne sat down next to Blaise with her legs neatly tucked under her. He reached over to brush a few strands of hair out of her face, kissed her gently and muttered, "Good morning, dear."
Carrie handed her mother a cup, but there appeared to be a handful of colourful smarties inside instead of tea. In the most perfect ladylike manner, she said politely, "Thank you so much for joining us for tea on such short notice."
Daphne glanced at the smarties and threw Blaise a mild look of disapproval, "Really? It's too early for sweets."
Blaise fetched a few pebbles, tossed them into his mouth and winked, "We improvised. Enjoy your tea, my love."
Daphne rolled her eyes but followed suit, laughing while Carrie giggled and munched on a few red pebbles herself.
Hermione's flat
A sharp pain stabbed her stomach, and Hermione awoke with a slight cry on her lips. The pain was excruciating, but as it came unexpectedly, it left just the same.
She was spared a few blissful moments until its untimely return, which had her doubling over to control the bolts of pain that spread across her abdomen. Her room lacked light, and the answer why came in the form of a bolt of lightning and a loud growl of angry thunder. It was then Hermione noticed it was raining heavily, and she was sorely tempted to crawl back into bed and call in sick, but with the current situation at the Ministry, it was a farfetched thought.
Throwing the covers off, she tossed her legs over the edge and attempted to sit up. Once her legs parted, she saw the drops of blood that stained her white robe and bedspread. Hermione groaned; it was but a moment of self-pity as the previous night’s events came rushing back to her. She glanced at her closed bedroom door and thought about what or who lay beyond.
Malfoy was asleep on her sofa unless he had seen fit to leave without waking her. She supposed that was merely wishful thinking on her part. She had a far more urgent situation to attend to before she soiled the rest of her somewhat expensive bathrobe. Taking a deep breath, Hermione opened the door soundlessly and tiptoed the short distance to the bathroom. She could see an unmistakable tuft of platinum blonde and a muscular arm dangling off the sofa from where she was.
"Fuck," Hermione cursed her idiocy at not getting the necessary help and thought how ironic it was that Malfoy had now spent two nights in her flat with the sole purpose of looking after her. She felt an uncomfortable sticky wetness between her thighs, which prompted her to act. Dealing with Malfoy would have to wait.
A shower, fresh clothes and breakfast in that order sounded delightful. Silently Hermione thanked Merlin that she had stocked up her fridge with the essentials needed to make a hearty breakfast. Well, it was the least she could do for the incorrigible lout. He did save her life, she supposed. Letting her stained robe drop to the ground, Hermione stared at the porcelain tub and a good part of what transpired played back in her mind. She took an involuntary step back from the smooth edge of her beloved clawfoot tub. A paralysing fear spread through her as the horrific memories of her struggles within the shallow water engulfed her.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and spoke rationally and sternly to herself, "Bellatrix is dead. Only you bring her to life, Granger. Do not let the haggard old cunt ruin your life."
With renewed determination, she placed a foot inside the tub and then slowly the other until she was standing right under the shower. Her trembling hands grasped the knob tightly, she turned it slowly, and the overhead shower came to life. The cool water washed over her. Hermione closed her eyes and let them surround her whole for a few blissful minutes. Her behaviour of late was alarming.
She needed help, but how would she begin to approach it? Malfoy had mentioned something about meditation. Maybe he could help her escape the cage of terror she slipped into when least expected. When she opened her eyes, a fire was burning in their depths.
Only she could come out of it, and she would. A thin trickle of blood mixed with the water travelled down her leg and pooled near her pedicured feet. The rich red colour fascinated her, made her feel human and strong, and she watched, not blinking, as it disappeared down the drain. Closing her eyes once again, she gave into the sublime feeling of the loofah running over her smooth skin.
The bathroom smelled of fresh roses with a hint of lavender. It embodied her, fusing with her hair and flesh.
The door flung open violently, and the woman feared it had come off its hinges. Her mouth was devoid of spit as she tried to swallow and quench her excruciating thirst. The man strode in, rubbing his crotch over his pyjama bottoms.
She eyed his actions in disgust and croaked, "Water, please." Her voice was hoarse due to the lack of liquids, and she pleaded with her eyes for him to relieve the burning discomfort in her throat.
He looked her over, and his gaze lingered on her exposed hairless cunt. If there was one thing he hated was a hairy pussy. He had always been meticulous about hair and diligently shaved every follicle off his whitened skin. He shaved the women in his care and took perverse pleasure in moving the razor over their delicate mounds.
At times he allowed his fingers to caress their inner folds as he watched the horror that spread across their faces when their bodies biological nature betrayed them mercilessly.
Tearing his eyes away from the exposed woman, he crossed the room and fetched a bottle of fresh aqua that rested on the small table in the corner. He undid the cap slowly for effect in plain sight and took a deliberate long swig from the bottle.
His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, a trickle of water ran down his chin and fell onto the cement floor, and she watched from her place on the bed greedily while devouring what he denied her. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught sight of her staring at him with bloodshot eyes and hunger that threw him off.
Once he gathered himself, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and asked tauntingly, "I'm sorry, darling. Would you like some water?"
She nodded vigorously with the naive hope of a small child. With the bottle in hand, he sauntered over and held it out for her to take, but she was chained to the bed, limiting her movements. He held it out, so the tips of her fingers brushed the chilled condensation of the bottle's outer surface. Her struggle to grasp the bottle amused him, and he let out a hearty laugh.
Unable to take it any longer, she screamed, "Give me some water, you motherfucker." She regretted the words at once. His face darkened, and features twisted macabrely.
Grabbing her by her long locks, he pulled hard until she cried out in pain, pushed her down, opened her mouth forcefully and emptied the bottle's contents into her mouth. She gasped and spluttered as the overflow of water cut off her ability to breathe.
He stared down at her and hissed, "I've been too good to you." Thankfully, he withdrew before she choked on the excess water invading her mouth.
She rolled over and coughed. Bits of phlegm and blood mixed with water spewed out. The man looked her over in disgust, "Revolting. I had a lovely morning planned for us, and now you've gone and ruined it."
Without a shred of remorse, he threatened, "You will make up for it later, bitch. I will make sure you do." With her back to him, she cried in despair and muttered in anguish, "Help me, anyone, please."
In nothing more than a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, Hermione stood over Draco, watching him sleep. His chest rose and fell with content breathing, and a slight hint of a smile lingered on his face.
Rogue strands of hair fell haphazardly over his face, and she bit her lip hard to stop herself from brushing them off his face. Her eyes travelled down his torso, where the faded pinkish outline of a vicious scar sprawled across his chest. There could be no doubt that it had been caused by the Sectumsempra curse Harry had foolishly used without knowing its full intent back at Hogwarts.
Her sharp eyes took in a few new ones, some quite deep, and she wondered if they had been caused by Lucius, Voldemort, or his Kung Fu training.
The Dark Mark was visible on his pale skin, the bluish nerves and veins entwined around it rising to the surface in a hardened manner adding to his appeal. She always did find a man with prominent forearms quite fetching.
Draco let out a light snore, and Hermione stiffened. Merlin, if he woke up and found her scrutinising and breathing heavily over him, it would make her look utterly desperate.
Fighting the urge to peek under the cushion covering his silk-sheathed cock, she hurriedly walked over to the kitchen, tying her hair up into a messy bun as she walked. She truly wanted to get breakfast going before he woke up. Throwing open the door to the fridge, she assessed the contents within and decided on something simple and easy to make in a quick fix. Sausages, scrambled eggs and buttery toast, the breakfast of champions. They had skipped dinner the night before, and if he were anything like her, he would be ravenous too.
Trying to keep the noise low, she fetched a pan and got to cooking. It wasn't easy to keep the sound of sizzling and toaster at a minimum, so she did the most logical thing and cast a Silencio spell over the tiny kitchen. The smell was mouthwatering, and Hermione bit into a piece of toast to satisfy her hunger pangs while she threw in a few cut-up button mushrooms for good measure.
Her effort to not wake her guest was valiant. Still, it proved futile since Draco turned over and fell right off the sofa onto the fortunately carpeted floor. He completely forgot where he had camped for the night and woke, expecting to find his warm bed. He was sorely disappointed by the sofa that greeted him but pleasantly surprised by the witch with her back turned to him standing over the stove doing a little dance. She appeared to be in a world of her own, and it was as if the episode from the night before had never happened.
She looked pretty at ease and appeared to be having a jolly time by the way her hips were leisurely swaying about. He watched in fascination and amusement as her arse bounced in rhythm to whatever song she was singing. The flat smelt of a mixture of cheese, butter, and sizzling goodness. His stomach growled and knotted in protest.
Draco glanced at the time and frowned; it was nearly 8.45 am. It was unlike him to sleep in. His body must have needed it. He yawned, stood up, looked down and found a long thick obstacle obscuring the vision of his bare feet.
Bloody hell, his morning wood was impressive today. It stood pulsating, throbbing, and beading precum. He was horrified by the realisation that he was sporting a massive hard-on in the middle of Granger's living room.
An idea came to mind. Grabbing the cushion closest to him, he hastily covered his crotch, and while keeping an eye on the dancing woman in the kitchen, he made a mad dash to the bathroom. He hurriedly gargled using a mouthwash of what appeared to be a minty Muggle brand and washed as best he could. He cast a Scourgify over his only pair of boxers and slipped back into them against his will. Luckily, his constant thoughts of Quidditch managed to return his dick to its rightfully flaccid state.
Hermione plated the sautéed mushrooms, fried pork sausages, and fluffy and cheesy scrambled eggs, one of her mum’s secret recipes. She finally stacked an extra plate high with slightly but not thoroughly burnt toast.
The voice at her ear made her almost drop the plates she carefully balanced. The tip of his nose brushed along the shell of her ear, causing an automatic shiver to slither treacherously down her spine.
His husky rasp was pleasant, "Mm... smells good,"
Blimey, where did he emerge from? She had no clue he was awake and wandering around her flat in those silk boxers that barely kept him decent. She placed the plates back on the counter and turned to find herself staring right at his bare chest. His defined pecks were impressive, but with great regret, she came to one of two conclusions. Either Malfoy was inhumanly tall, or she was relatively short for a witch. She decided to go with the former.
Hermione swallowed the lump that formed and bravely looked into his curious yet amused face with a sickeningly sweet smile of her own, "Well, I'm glad you think so. Hopefully, it will taste as good."
Draco caught onto her subtle gesture of trying to hide her obvious discomfort and mused, "I wasn't talking about breakfast, but this," He pointed to the plates laden with food and finished with appreciation, "Looks and smells fantastic." Turning her back on the arresting man, Hermione went to take the plates, but he pressed purposely into her back and questioned in genuine concern, "How are you feeling? Better?"
Hermione kept her eyes fixed on the plates and responded in barely a whisper, "Yes, loads. Shall we eat?" Her voice lacked the strength it usually possessed. He was standing way too close.
His fingers brushed over the skin of her exposed arms ever so gently. The feathery touches were intimate caresses causing goosebumps to rally to the surface. The beads of the black bracelet he wore felt cool against her hot skin, leaving her flustered. She stood still and quiet, wanting him to continue. He sensed her need to be comforted, and perhaps she needed a distraction from the harrowing events that could have ended her life.
Undeterred and with renewed determination, Draco pressed on, confident that a soul would not intervene and ruin their moment this time around. He moved his hand under her flimsy cotton white t-shirt, around her waist and came to rest on the flat of her stomach.
The tips of his fingers dug in slightly. It was a minor act of possessiveness, and he further continued to trail enticing kisses and licks down her neck. Hermione closed her eyes, and a satisfied sigh escaped her swollen lips. Merlin, please forgive me for my sinful thoughts. With his body, he trapped her between the counter and his chest, her back pressed to his front.
She felt the rough pads of his fingertips brush along her awakening body, and lips and teeth tease the skin above her collarbone.
His words of lust made her knees buckle, "I'm sorry, Granger, but we need this. I want you." He drawled effortlessly, his words slipping from his lips like spun silk, "Even if it is just one time.".
She threw her back and rested it on his shoulder audaciously, allowing him more space to ravage. When she felt his fingers breach the waistband of her shorts and pull the elastic band on her knickers, Hermione stiffened at the sudden realisation of what he intended. Her fingers closed around his wrist and pulled his hand away.
Draco stopped his lips ghosting over her flushed skin and implored impatiently, "We're alone. Not a damn fool will interrupt us this time. Why did you stop me?"
Hermione sighed exasperatedly, turned in his arms and said coolly, "Aunty Irma Is visiting."
Draco looked utterly baffled, "Is that a Muggle relative?"
Hermione stifled a laugh and chuckled instead, "I’ve got my period." The look of confusion grew, and he visibly paled as it began to sink in. He widened his eyes and retorted, "Oh...OH!" He couldn’t catch a bloody break.
Pulling her close, he urged, "Are you in pain?" It was Hermione’s turn to look surprised, "Why would you ask me that?"
Draco cupped her face to emphasise his point. She winced as his fingers came in contact with her skin, "Because you keep flinching when I touch you."
Hermione turned her attention to the plates of food and declared embarrassedly, "Well, yeah, it hurts. I'm also er, overly sensitive." Resting his chin on top of her tousled curls, he inhaled her sweet scent and groaned in frustration, "You're going to drive me mad, woman."
Conceding defeat, Draco mumbled, "Let's eat. I'm starving." They both took a plate each, and Hermione carried the extra plate of toast to the small table. After taking their seats, she poured him a glass of cool pumpkin juice and said without much conviction, "Besides, it’s for the best we don't sleep together. It could get awfully complicated."
Draco quipped, "Do you really believe that?" He forked a piece of sausage, tore it off with his teeth brutally, pointed the sharp end at her, and further argued, "Sooner, or later it’s going to happen, but of course, you know best."
Hermione could not help but laugh at his rather bold, not to mention confident statement. They had plenty of close calls, but the timing was always horridly off. They ate in companionable silence until Draco interrupted the scrapping of knives and forks against porcelain, "Will you come by tonight for dinner?"
Looking up from her half-eaten meal, Hermione shifted uncomfortably, chewed on her bottom lip nervously and asked, "Did you tell your mother about what happened last night?"
Draco reassured, "No, of course not, and I won't, but, Granger, we need to talk about it." His shift in tone was noticeable, "I cannot have you putting yourself in harm’s way. If you will not resort to requesting help from professionals, then let me help you get through this."
Hermione choked back a sob and nodded in agreement wordlessly.
"Good," he enthused and helped himself to another piece of toast. He ate so frugally at home; it was a delight to see him devour her home-cooked meal with such enthusiasm. They ate in relative silence. Each caught up in their whirlwind of thoughts.
Draco glimpsed at the woman munching delicately on a piece of toast and wondered if mediation would help her as it did him. He dreaded leaving her alone after what transpired. He felt an innate caring towards Granger that he couldn't quite fathom. Maybe it was the sense of owing her that brought such intense feelings forward.
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione glanced at the man crouched over the small table. It was not large enough to accommodate his imposing frame, but not a complaint left his lips. Instead, he polished off the meal she prepared as an act of gratitude. A smile touched her lips. Was she softening towards the once Slytherin Prince?
Once done, Draco pushed the plate aside and got to his feet abruptly, "I need to get going." He reached for his empty plate, but Hermione took his plate along with hers to the sink, dumped it in and replied, "Alright. I'll see you tonight." He smirked in satisfaction and went in search of his clothes.
When Draco resurfaced, he was fully dressed in black trousers and a shirt, and she was drying off the last plate. Doing some chores the Muggle way appealed to her, especially when her head was a soggy mess of unsettling thoughts. Wiping her hands on the rag she kept handy, she joined him by the door and held it open. Without much hesitation or thought,
Draco tipped her chin, placed a gentle kiss on her sweet lips and said with a tenderness that would take some getting used to, "Be safe. Call me if you need anything, and I will see you at 7.30 pm sharp.
A smirk curved the corner of his mouth, "A minute later, and I'll be breaking down your door."
Hermione grinned and pushed him out of the door playfully just as her nosy neighbour stepped out to collect the morning paper. The older woman looked pleased, "Well, good morning, Hermione."
Draco ran his fingers through his hair and politely greeted, "Good morning."
Hermione was mortified at being caught looking guilty. She offered a quick explanation, "Good morning, Gladys. This is not what it looks like."
Gladys giggled, "Dearie, I was young once and need no explanation. You kids have fun." She averted her gaze and muttered, "Goodness knows you need it."
Hermione frowned at the unfair statement and more so when Draco laughed aloud and answered, "We most certainly will." He waved goodbye without waiting for Granger’s rebuttal and left the women to continue the conversation.
Too tired and full to aimlessly wander around the streets in the heavy downpour, he stood on the deserted stairway and disapparated with one destination in mind. Eager to start getting ready for work, Hermione politely excused herself from the ramblings of her eccentric neighbour, went inside the comfort of her flat, closed the door and leaned against it to help slow the tumultuous beating of her heart.
Malfoy Manor
Narcissa knew by Max’s behaviour that her son had arrived. The pure white Alsatian ran out of the foyer and disappeared. She heard his eager barking and affectionate whimpers.
Draco entered with Max practically bouncing at his side. Narcissa greeted icily, "Good morning, son." He walked towards her, massaged the bridge of his prominent nose and said in exhaustion, "Mother, don't start...."
Narcissa smoothed her long skirt and inquired sarcastically, "How many times have you now spent at Hermione’s?"
Draco patted the eager dog's head and kept his voice low, "Two and...."
The older and perceptive woman interrupted, "And nothing happened?" Draco sat down in the chair next to his mother's and replied firmly, "Of course not. She hates me." A little white lie for the time being. He was confident that he had managed to break the ice in his effort to make Granger realise he had changed his past ways and wanted nothing more than to make amends. Their shared moments of unadulterated passion were a welcome but unforeseen addition.
Narcissa alleged knowingly, "I wouldn't be too sure."
Draco beseeched, "You are looking for something that isn't there. She wasn't well. I was simply a gentleman."
Narcissa beckoned Max forward and ruffled his coat affectionately before turning steely eyes on her son with a firm retort, "I see. Fine, I will let it go for now, but mark my words that I will be proved right one day in the near future. "
Draco sighed, "Mother, please don't do anything rash." He truly hoped she wouldn't try to force the situation.
Her voice softened, and she asked in concern, "Is she alright? She's always so closed off about her feelings."
Draco found it hard to sound casual. His voice mirrored his feelings, "Yes, she's fine." For the moment, he thought in despair. There was a stash of magazines his mother seemed to be reading. One caught his attention, and he pulled it out from under the pile.
A beautiful witch in a stunning lace wedding gown adorned the front of Witch Weekly magazine with the heading, WEDDING WOES. Draco stared at it with a frown creasing his usually handsome features and said brazenly, "And what is this? Granger was specific. No wedding, and I gave her my word."
Narcissa had the good grace to look mildly ashamed, but she brushed it aside almost at once and reacted in a pained manner, "Would you be so cruel to deny me my only child's wedding? My one chance of happiness?" Salazar, his mother, could be a drama queen, but her words held some truth and emotion, and they went straight to his heart.
Draco tossed the magazine aside, rubbed his temples exasperatedly, and pleaded, "Mother, please."
He felt the beginnings of a headache creep up on him and struggled in vain to hold it at bay. He tried to appease her with an ill-timed joke, "I promise, when I get married again, you can throw a lavish event to your liking."
They heard the sound of heels echo through the space and a sweet voice followed, "Well, that's good to know. I do love a big wedding."
Draco straightened, swapped a look of bewilderment with Narcissa, and welcomed cordially, "Good morning, Astoria." After the night he had, this was the last possible thing he needed. The intensity of his headache increased.
Max left their side, cautiously approaching the stunning woman in tight-fitting light purple robes. She patted the dog's head and cooed, "It is a lovely morning. You remember me, don't you, darling?" She lovingly addressed the dog.
Astoria closed the gap and ran suspicious eyes over Draco, taking in attire more fitting for a dinner event than a morning stroll around the Manor. Raising a curious brow, she questioned, "Quite early to be dressed up, don't you think?"
Draco cleared his throat to reply, "I just returned from...." He stopped mid-sentence when he saw the right eye of the woman standing before him twitch in anticipation. He finished with a firm, "Never mind."
Astoria cocked her head to the side and leered, "Please, don't keep secrets from me, my love. If you were with your intended, do tell. I know you have no such feelings for her."
Draco nodded curtly and inquired, "Right. What brings you by?"
Astoria smiled warmly and touched his arm, "I haven't seen you in days. I thought we could have breakfast at the club and catch up. You might even see Theo and Luna; they visit quite often."
She added the last bit, hoping it enticed him to accompany her, but instead, Draco politely declined, "Perhaps some other time. I'm dead on my feet."
She ground her teeth to hide her displeasure and kept her true feelings on the matter well hidden. He acted impulsively, "Why don't you join Mother and me for breakfast?"
Narcissa sighed from her place by the timeless fireplace. Astoria was taken aback but pleased, "How thoughtful. I would love to."
Draco reluctantly offered a forced crooked smile, "I'll change into something more comfortable and be back soon."
His mother's irritated voice followed him up the stairs, "Dotty! Where are you?" Why had he gone and invited her? He couldn't eat another bite. Being the nice guy was becoming increasingly complex. Still, he played along as he had all those years ago to alleviate Astoria's fragile mind.
Draco showered quickly. Thanks to Astoria's unsolicited visit, he would be denied the luxury of letting the beads of cool water caress his skin. Throwing the cupboard open, he fetched his white Kung Fu robes and hurriedly pulled on the garment.
When he reentered the foyer, he was surprised to find it empty until a smiling Dotty in a bright red floral dress turned up to explain that Mistress and Miss Greengrass were having breakfast on the terrace. He followed Dotty and found both women speaking of Astoria’s painting skills while drinking steaming sweet tea.
The younger witch beamed as he approached, and a pang of guilt dented his conscience. She was lovely in her own right, but the heart and body wanted what it wanted, and he wanted Granger under him, preferably screaming his name for all to hear. The lewd image brought a smug grin to his luscious lips.
He sat down on the white chair kept available for him, and Dotty requested, "Would sir like bacon and eggs? Draco shook his head. He could not possibly eat another bite, "I already ate, but a hot cup of coffee is most welcome."
Dotty bowed and left to fulfil his wishes and returned momentarily with a mug of hot coffee and a plate of Danish pastries. She smiled shyly, "I baked a new batch, and I know Master Draco's fondness for sweeties."
Draco thanked the tiny elf profusely and, in her view, bit into the flaky goodness, sighing, "That's delicious, Dotty. Thank you." Dotty blushed and left them to enjoy their meal in peace.
Astoria ate nothing but a croissant which she munched on delicately since she didn't want to appear ungrateful of her beloved’s invitation to join him for breakfast. Still, it wasn't with pleasure that she learnt he spent the night with Hermione Granger or that she had made him breakfast. Oh, he hadn't said so in so many words, but she was no idiot. It was plain to see.
Draco queried, "How are you, Tori?"
"Better now that I've seen you," came Astoria’s crisp reply right off the bat.
Narcissa shifted uncomfortably, and her gaze fell upon her son's face. She was eager to see his reaction, and he did not disappoint. His demeanour changed to one that was fighting an inward battle.
Astoria ignored the apparent tension and pressed, "How are the wedding preparations coming along?"
Draco savoured the pastry's sweetness and replied offhandedly, "There won't be a wedding. Just a small gathering of the ones closest to us."
Narcissa scowled but hid her reaction well. Astoria found the words she heard pleasing. She laughed sarcastically, "No wedding? How scandalous, but Granger is quite the modern woman, and I suppose with her blatant refusal of this match, it makes perfect sense as to why she would want a smaller gathering of sorts."
She found it prudent to enforce her way of thinking on her hosts, "Besides, her kind are not accustomed to our way of doing things. We honour tradition, and it is rather bothersome that she would brush it aside like a stubborn child to get her way." Her words cut him through. She spoke a half-truth, but it stung just to have it uttered from her cherry-red lips.
Narcissa could not hold her tongue any longer. She was acutely aware of Astoria’s deteriorating health, but that was no excuse to act rudely, and she was not about to sit quietly. At the same time, the youngest Greengrass girl tried to throw mud on Hermione’s character.
She sat up straight and countered in a no-nonsense tone, "Hermione is quite accomplished for a woman her age. If I'm not mistaken, there's not been a younger, more talented Undersecretary than her in Britain's Wizarding history."
Narcissa reached for the butter and added proudly, "She is a certainty for Minister of Magic in a few years."
The words left her mouth seamlessly, "Hermione might have been against this union in the start, but I daresay she is warming up to Draco, and you will forgive my frankness, but I do sincerely believe that Miss Hermione Granger is a perfect match for my son."
Draco coughed to hide the laughter that fought its way to the surface. His mother was doing well, and he didn't dare interrupt, which was more than he could say for the woman glaring at them.
Astoria kept her poised composure and refuted, "I don't believe we will ever see eye to eye on this matter."
She leaned over and covered Draco's resting hand on the table with her own and gushed, "Draco needs someone to look after his needs and love him." She treasured him. It was evident in her tone, body language and gestures.
Narcissa scolded, "My son is a grown man, Astoria, not an impudent child to mollycoddle."
The headstrong Greengrass woman wasn't easily deterred, "I'm sorry if my remarks are offensive to you, but I am simply stating the obvious."
Narcissa mused, "Quite the contrary; I find your comments amusing. Please excuse me. I must tend to Max." She pushed her almost full plate aside before something unpleasant left her lips. Draco rose respectfully as his mother got to her feet and only sat back down once she reentered the Manor through the wide doors in a huff.
Astoria bit her bottom lip and looked distraught, "I've upset your mother, haven't I?
Draco waved it aside and offered a plausible explanation, "She's quite fond of Granger."
Astoria choked back a sob, "Clearly, but she hates me."
Draco took a sip of his coffee, attempted to swallow the hot concoction and shook his head, "That's not true, Tori. Mother cares for you." It wasn’t a complete lie. Perhaps, his mother had been too harsh on Astoria. Her constant praising of Granger would be a difficult pill to swallow for a woman who loved him for nearly half her life.
Astoria gritted out solemnly, "Just not as a wife for you. I can't say I blame her. I'm a damaged witch with no possible future," She tried to retain her composure and fidgeted with the napkin on her lap, fervently chewing on her bottom lip.
Draco felt her honest declaration claw away at his heart. She looked so frail and broken. He leaned forward and tried to take her hand in his, "Tori, you mustn't upset yourself. My mother holds you in high regard."
She shot to her feet and replied, teary-eyed, "Please tell Narcissa I'm sorry."
"Stop! Astoria!" Draco called out, but it fell on deaf ears as she ran down the marbled stairs wiping the tears that fell.
He could make out her figure cut across the grounds to reach the closest apparition point. He did not try to follow her simply because he didn’t want to, but her visit rested heavily on his mind. Was he destined to string Astoria along until she succumbed to the blood curse?
With an exasperated sigh, he stuffed his face with another delectable pastry and retired to his training room. He would speak with his mother later, preferably after she had calmed down and could be approached with some insightful thoughts.
Hermione breezed into the office in a stylish black dress and red heels. She halted as Nora came into view. The smartly dressed woman looked close to tears as she pushed aside mountains of unopened letters and juggled two sets of endlessly ringing phones. Brenda was already at her desk, fielding calls and scribbling continuously on her notepad.
Hermione threw Nora an apologetic look which the other woman returned and made her way towards her assistant. The young witch looked up at her boss, sighed in exhaustion and hissed, "It's going to be one of those days."
Hermione frowned, "So, the nightmare continues. Any reliable sources?"
Brenda followed Hermione into her room and replied in frustration, "Not a single bloody one, but the Aurors are going through the thousands of tips to weed out any potential suspects." After a moment’s thought, she added darkly, "I bet the real killer is loving the attention and people acting barmy."
Hermione sat down, fetched her glasses from her cramped handbag, put them on, and gave her assistant undivided attention.
She exhaled, and her eyes sparkled with purpose, "Take a deep breath, Brenda. We can handle this. Now, tell me what we are up against."
Brenda smirked. Working with Hermione was an absolute thrill when she slipped into her determined and practical work mode. She was a force to be reckoned with, and it was pure joy to see her put idiots in their rightful place.
Chapter 28
Notes:
A big thank you to everyone who posted a review and for everyone following! It means so much! 😊
The slow burn continues. Please bear with me. :)
I do love writing about the side pairings. It really is important to me to establish how they have changed after Hogwarts and offer a little insight into their lives.
Enjoy Chapter Twenty Eight!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads!
Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! 😊
Chapter Text
Longbottom Residence
Pansy stood in front of the dressing table in her lavish bedroom and stared at her reflection. She hardly recognised the refined woman staring back at her. She had come a long way since her narrow-minded years at Hogwarts.
Breakfast had been strained as it had been since Neville’s grandmother came to visit nearly a week ago. She was exhausted with trying to put on a happy face while Augusta Longbottom belittled her for past mistakes and hinted that she was barren.
She struggled with an earring, her fingers slipped, and the diamond drop fell to the white carpeted floor. She went to pick it up, but a large yet caring hand held it out for her to take.
Mustering a smile, Pansy took the earring Neville held and secured it on a delicate earlobe. She fought the tears that skimmed the surface of her eyelids. A pair of strong arms went around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. He buried his head in her black hair and nuzzled further into it.
Closing her eyes in contentment, Pansy reached back and ran her fingers through her husband’s thick locks. How she loved him, he was such a kind and brave soul you couldn't help but appreciate him for all he was.
Neville turned her around and sighed, "Grans been driving you around the bend, hasn't she?"
Pansy kept her cool and said candidly, "She has been a tad bit pushy, I won't lie."
Neville's face twisted in conflict. It was clear that a battle was raging within, but he smiled fondly, "I know my grandmother is difficult, darling, but she is all I've ever had. She raised me." He added proudly, "And you have been brilliant. You really hold your own." A smirk curved his lips, and he muttered, "You’ll have to teach me how to do that."
Pansy touched his cheek gently and gushed, "Oh sweetheart, I know she raised you." She murmured under her breath, "That's the only reason I put up with the old cow."
Neville felt a deep sense of obligation to explain. Even if Pansy already knew the story and they had visited his ageing parents at St Mungo's, witnessing Alice Longbottom showing an unusual amount of affection and wiping a few teardrops that fell on her cheeks. He pressed undeterred, "I was a baby when my parents were admitted, and grans been the only family I've had before you came into my life."
Pansy felt her resolve crumble, and tears of sadness mixed with joy slid down her pretty face, "I'm sorry, Neville. It's not that I don't want to have children. I do, but right now, I'm enjoying our time together." They didn't have a conventional pairing and were still in the stages of getting to know each other and basking in their newfound love.
Neville silenced her by placing a long finger on her lips, "I completely agree, my love. I'm not ready for kids either. I still want to be able to do things with you spontaneously."
He reached into his coat pocket with his free hand, pulled out two long pieces of stiff paper that looked remarkably like plane tickets, and beamed, "One week. Just us lounging on a secluded beach and making sweet love. Does that sound good?"
Pansy stood speechless at his well-timed surprise. She squinted her eyes to read the small print and destination. Neville cleared the air with an animated laugh, "I'm taking you to Hawaii, darling." She squealed in delight, encircling his waist with her arms and hugging him close, "It sounds brilliant. Thank you! I'll tell daddy I won't be coming in to work."
Neville stroked her hair, closed his eyes and took in her womanly smell, "I love you, Parkinson." She kept her head on his chest and listened to the beating of his heart. Placing a hand over it, Pansy whispered, "I love you so much, Longbottom."
Terry blew perfect rings of smoke towards the low ceiling.
Michael pursed his lips together and waited for his friend to break the tension. He knew Terry was deeply wounded by his decision to keep his relationship with Brenda a secret.
Terry stared at the translucent rings of his making and struggled to find the words. After much thought, he said in a strained voice, "I'm your best mate, Michael. You've never kept the broads you date a secret. What made this so different?"
A happy smile crept up on Michael’s face, and he answered truthfully, "She's different. I'm going to marry her." There was no point denying the reality. He wanted Brenda by his side. The Algorithm pairing them was a freak and most welcome coincidence.
For the first time, Terry felt envious of his best friend’s happiness. He wanted to be loved unconditionally and share intimate feelings with the one he loved, and he thought he would find it with Granger until the Malfoy bastard turned up. He conveniently forgot that Hermione wouldn't give him the time of day.
Terry raised a curious brow. He failed miserably at trying to hide his surprise, "Marriage? Aren't you rushing into things?" His eyes narrowed, but he waited eagerly for his friend's answer.
Taking a deep drag, Michael replied thoughtfully, "Well, I haven't asked her yet, but she is the one." Sooner rather than later.
Terry clamped him on the shoulder and urged intently, "Are you sure?"
Michael grinned like a Cheshire cat, "Brenda is kind, loving and a firecracker." He added the last bit with a knowing smirk. Also, a cunt, Terry thought involuntarily. He didn't have the best relationship with her, thanks mainly to her attempts to thwart his visits with Granger.
Michael lightly punched Terry’s arm and Implored, "Look, I wanted to tell you. It gutted me to keep it a secret from you, but I was afraid you would disapprove."
Terry stared baffled, wondering what he was on about. Michael shifted uncomfortably, "She's younger than the other women I've dated." A hearty laugh escaped Boot’s lips, and he winked playfully, "Gives me plenty of opportunities to poke fun at you, you cradle robber."
Michael rolled his eyes and frowned to make his displeasure clear, "Arsehole." After stubbing out the cigarette, Terry felt the stubble on his chin. He needed a shave, but who had the time with all these potential leads to check and weed out?
He said abruptly, "I'm going to pay Granger a visit. All these bloody stupid leads are getting fucking ridiculous, and I want to give her a piece of my mind."
Michael took the last few drags and chuckled, "And see her as well, I presume."
Terry bobbed his head eagerly, "I'll make any excuse I can think of." A seriousness crept into Michael's voice. Terry was rough around the edges, but the poor bugger wore his heart on his sleeve and genuinely cared for Granger, but he advised harshly once again, "You need to let that go."
Boot enthused, "All in good time." They parted ways. Michael went back to the Auror department, and Terry casually took the stairs with hands in his pockets to the upper floors. He never did trust the rickety old lift. Brenda was engaged in a heated conversation with whoever was on the other end of the phone. Terry figured he should make an effort to have a good relationship with her for Michael's sake.
He mustered his most winning smile and merrily requested, "Hello Brenda. Is Hermione in?" She barely looked up from the untidy mess of papers that cluttered her usually tidy table and grumbled, "She is but swamped."
Undiscouraged, Terry pressed assertively, "Oh, she'll see me." His confident words prompted Brenda to look up. She pushed her glasses further up her nose and glared, "Why don't I check with her?"
Terry felt anger creep upon him. If she was not going to be civil, he sure as hell wouldn't extend an olive branch—stupid child.
He crossed his arms over his broad chest and said irritably, "Did you hear me?"
Brenda pushed back her chair and got to her feet. It scraped against the floor, the sound making the fine hairs on his neck stand up in discomfort. He towered over her petite frame, but she held her own, leaned forward and retorted, "Didn't you hear me? I said I will check with her whether she is willing to spare a few moments to see you."
Terry let out a sarcastic laugh and countered cynically, "Listen, I do not care if Michael is dating you. Merlin knows what he sees in a smart mouthpiece like you, but Granger and I have an understanding."
Brenda wasn't in the least bit interested in his theatrics and made it abundantly clear, "Sod off, Boot. You won't step a foot in that office until I clear it with Hermione."
He saw little point to their back-and-forth bickering. It was truly beginning to get on his very last nerve. Purposely ignoring the warnings the young witch threw his way, Terry strode into Hermione’s room as he had done in the past with an air of self-proclaimed importance. Granger’s bark was worse than her bite, and quite frankly, he wanted her to devour him whole.
Hermione glanced his way as he walked in with Brenda close behind, a sour expression on her pretty young face.
He gave a crooked smile, "Hi, sweetheart." Taking off her glasses, Hermione massaged the bridge of her nose and demanded icily, "I'm busy, Terry. What do you want?"
Terry acted wounded by her harsh words, "For starters, I missed you. Second, I wanted to speak to you about these ludicrous leads. There must be a way to filter them better. We don't have the staffing to interview scores of people." His last few sentences grabbed her undivided attention. Why was Terry addressing them rather than Harry if it was genuinely a concern? It dawned on her that she hadn't spoken to Harry since the story broke and made it a point to do so sometime later.
Hermione straightened and quizzed bluntly, "Are these concerns coming directly from Harry or you?"
Terry rubbed the back of his neck and shifted his gaze to anywhere but the fuming woman before him. He mumbled awkwardly, "Well, mine and a few others." Leaning back into the comfort of her leather chair, Hermione narrowed her eyes, "Right. Let me ask you something. Do you have any leads?" Her tone meant business, she was in no mood to be trifled with, and Terry profusely regretted his earlier words.
He swallowed hard, "No, we don't, but...."
She nodded, studied her red-painted nails and mused, "Do you have any evidence?"
Terry tried to string words together, "I wouldn't say no, we have the chain..." Oh, Merlin, she was about to rip him a new one.
Her eyes darkened, and Terry took a step back in fear of being hexed. She hurled in outrage, "Do you have any idea if the killer is black, white or fucking orange?"
Boot stood his ground and defended, "We have a strong feeling he is white." It was possibly the one thing they were sure of in this case.
Hermione shot to her feet. Her anger radiated off her in waves at his callous attitude to something so serious.
She fired without remorse, "Women are dying, you idiot. A strong feeling doesn't mean shite.”
Pointing to the tall, heavy double doors of her office, Hermione spat in anger, "Get the fuck out of my office and do your bloody job. I have no time for your bellyaching." The absolute gall of him to question her decisions. Her resentment towards the man in her office tainted the air around them, and she wished Boot would simply take the hint and disappear before it became truly unpleasant.
Brenda chuckled but disguised it with an ill-timed cough. Terry stood rooted to the spot, shocked by her justified outburst of anger, unable to move a muscle. At the same time, Hermione further included intensely, "I have a community depending on me to hold it together in Kingsley’s absence."
Terry found his voice at last. He bit back a nasty retort, nodded curtly and said bitterly, “I'm sorry for taking your time, Madam Undersecretary. Trust me; it will not happen again. We are through here."
His short statement did nothing to penetrate Hermione’s tough exterior. She beckoned her assistant forward and instructed firmly, "Brenda, please see Mr Boot out and make sure no more unwelcome intrusions come my way. I have dinner plans that I simply cannot afford to miss."
Terry was halfway to the door and stopped as her words made it to his ear. He whipped around, causing his midnight Auror robes to swish around him dramatically, snarling, "Dinner plans? With Malfoy?"
Hermione regretted her choice of words. Despite her behaviour towards him, she honestly didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Well, so much for that train of thought. Work was work, but this was personal. She snapped, "Terry, this conversation is over. Let's speak later."
Terry closed the gap between them and invaded her personal space, "No, tell me. Is it with Malfoy?"
Hermione put a healthy distance between them, but that was after she saw the unmistakable flash of pain that swept across Terry's eyes. She replied half-heartedly, "That is none of your business." He leered but searched her face for any reaction, "I guess I had you pegged wrong. I never thought you'd go for a chap who thought you were beneath him.”
His face twisted unpleasantly, “Pity that you never showed me the type of attention you seem to be giving him.”
Hermione pressed her lips down hard to refrain from using the colourful words of profanity that bubbled to the surface. Glancing at Brenda, Terry spat, "Don't bother. I can see myself out." The two women watched the tall raven-haired man storm out, and after what felt like an eternity, Brenda muttered on her way out, "He's a glutton for punishment, that one."
Hermione used the quiet to clear her scattered mind. Her willpower crumbled around Malfoy, and it shamed her that she was possibly giving in too quickly to a man who loathed her in the past and probably still did. Why would he try to bed her at every given opportunity if that was the case? Was he merely trying to score and tick it off some list he carried in his head? All she knew was the strength she had to resist his intoxicating presence was waning with every encounter.
Terry stormed out of the Ministry, shouting a slew of curses at anyone who dared cross her path. His head felt ready to explode. How dare she pick that fucking prick over him?
He ducked into an abandoned Alley and sent a secret Patronus. The silvery wisps of his hawk disappeared into nothingness. He apparated to Diagon Alley, did the familiar walk down the stairs, and smirked as a shady man leaning against the dirty brick wall came into view.
Terry nodded curtly and smirked, "Good man. You work fast."
After Astoria’s departure, Draco caught up with his training and meditation. It momentarily helped take his mind off more pressing matters. His punches and kicks had increased in strength, and he feared he would need a new punching bag soon. He also partook in a few mundane activities, such as walking around the grounds to shake thoughts constantly plagued by Granger and the pained anguish and hurt in Astoria’s eyes. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for her. He did, but just not in the way she expected.
He even toyed with the idea of meeting up with his friends for an impromptu late lunch, but that fleeting thought disappeared into nothingness, and instead, he took to reading and playing fetch with Max to pass the time when a brilliant idea came to mind.
He hadn’t gotten a chance the try out the broom Blaise gifted. It was propped up against the wall in his room until he found the time. Well, no time like the present.
Rushing up the stairs with Max running next to him, Draco tore into his room impatiently as if he were a ten-year-old boy about to receive a gift. The sun's golden beams bounced off the surface as his long fingers closed around the handle. Taking it to the deserted side of the estate away from prying eyes, Draco looked around, mounted the sturdy broom, and kicked it off the ground. It was a feeling beyond compare.
A state of exhilaration embodied him while the wind continued to beat around him as he bobbed and weaved, and though slightly unsteady at first, it was in his blood, and within seconds he was soaring through the air effortlessly. It was the one time he felt entirely free.
Flying through the clouds and letting the air caress his body was perhaps what he had missed most in his time away. He did a few loops and practice runs from memory. So engrossed was he in his thoughts he barely noticed the setting sun in the distance.
The skies turned orange, and Draco returned to the ground and dismounted with a heavy but joyful heart. He ran a hand through his hair, now slick with sweat, sprinted up the stairs and headed straight for the shower.
While the hot water washed away the grime he accumulated from his little side adventure, Draco thought about what the evening held. Whether Granger approved or not, he would breach the topic of their pending nuptials. It had been put on hold for long enough. He wished he had not thought of her. His cock seemed to take great pleasure in bringing out his burning desire for Granger and tormenting him, especially in the shower.
His fingers encircled his stiffening appendage. As they moved with purpose, his dick grew in length and girth and before long, he was sporting a massive hard-on.
Although he missed the warmth of a woman's pussy contracting around his length, his fingers moved on their own will, increasing speed as he neared that blissful release. His thoughts left little to the imagination, but the idea of guiding his manhood into her sweet tight cunt while she was bent over the desk in the library propelled him over the edge.
Fuck, she looked good with her back arched and his name on her lips as he slammed into her repeatedly. There would be no slow lovemaking when he took her, it would be hard and rough, and hopefully, he would be able to last long enough to make her scream.
Draco felt the violent eruption his body evoked. He threw his head back and groaned aloud as his seed coated the still pulsating head and dripped down his fingers.
"Granger..." He growled cheeks flushed. A curtain of water surrounded him whole and muffled the aftermath of his pleasured ramblings.
Harry heard a knock. Without bothering to look up from the bunch of notes scattered across his desk with numerous pictures of the deceased women, he instructed firmly, "Come in."
Hermione poked her head in and smiled, "Might I have a word?" He waved her in with a raised brow, "Of course, and since when do you ask."
She reminded with a scowl, "Since you bit my head off for rushing in unannounced."
Harry chuckled, "Well, what's got your wand in a knot?"
Hermione parked herself on the one comfortable seat in the room. She always wondered why Harry opted for hard wooden furniture. Perhaps, he was trying to discourage people from hanging about for too long. An exhausted sigh escaped her lips, "The list is endless, but Terry brought up something, and I wanted to run it by you."
Harry adjusted his glasses and narrowed his eyes in frustration, "What's that insufferable git gone and done now?"
There was no point in trying to defend Boot's actions. She was fuming at the uncaring words he uttered earlier, "I got rather shirty with him in the afternoon for complaining about the number of leads we've received."
Harry gritted out, "He's a lazy wanker, but a good Auror. If he manages to get his head out of his arse, there's potential there."
Hermione asked unsurely, "So, you're fine then?"
He assured, "Of course I am. We need something," and added desperately without pause, "anything at this point." A twinkle sparkled in Hermione’s eye. She brought her fist down on the untidy table, and Harry protested weakly as a few papers floated to the ground. She smirked, "Good. Let's catch this bastard soon."
Harry nodded and looked her over suspiciously. His eyes took in the finer details of her outfit, "You're dressed up."
Hermione responded casually, trying hard to show indifference, "I have dinner at the Manor."
Harry leaned back and said solemnly, "How are you holding up? I'm sure Malfoy would understand if you refused to set foot in that hell hole."
Hermione nervously chewed on her bottom lip and looked away, "I can stomach being inside for a few hours."
Harry snickered. It was low but held a hint of sarcasm, "Ron still can't believe you accepted the match."
Rolling her eyes, Hermione questioned impatiently, "And you?" She tried to arrange the papers that littered the surface of Harry’s desk into neat piles.
He took a deep breath and exhaled. He seemed to be struggling to find the right words, but in a strained voice, he replied cautiously, "I think I understand how hard it was for you to make this decision. Some things you never forget, Hermione."
Truthfully, he had been livid that she would even consider a pairing with the snake, but Ginny had weighed in and shown him a whole new perspective on things.
"Don't worry about Ron. He'd be upset at the prospect of you marrying anyone, let alone Malfoy." He assured her.
Hermione hung her head, "I know..."
Harry said thoughtfully, "Besides, there's something about Malfoy. He seems reformed, I still don't trust him, but there is something I can't quite put my finger on."
She refuted with what she believed to be the truth, "Maybe he suffered in his own way."
Harry argued with good reason, "That's no excuse for the being the fucktard he was to us back at Hogwarts."
Hermione conceded, "True..." Harry was right. Malfoy was a horrid child, then a loathsome teenager. He seemed to sober in their last year together at school, but having Voldemort breathing down your neck with impending doom was bound to do that to anyone. She recalled plenty of times, especially during Potions, where she would glance his way, and he would seem forlorn, with heavy bags under his eyes, looking, if possible paler than usual.
Harry pressed in concern, "How's everything else? Are you sleeping well?" He always knew when something was amiss.
Hermione averted her gaze and asked innocently, "Why do you ask?" He answered honestly, "Because I don't at times. Ginny says I scream in my sleep and try to gauge out my scar. Scares her half to death." He truly hoped his declaration would prompt her into sharing the traumatic experiences he knew she was going through.
They locked eyes and his bore into hers. For a second, she wondered if he was trying to gain entry into her mind. Tell him, Hermione, her inner thoughts screamed. She couldn't possibly let anyone know she was so flawed, not even the Chosen One. In a failed attempt to appear undisturbed, Hermione replied, "I umm, sleep fine."
Harry knew she was lying, and it gutted him that she wouldn’t share her burden. He pushed it aside and smiled warmly, "You always were a horrid liar, but I'm here whenever you're ready to talk about it."
She offered a grateful smile, "Thank you, Harry," and got to her feet and stretched before saying, "I better get going."
Harry chuckled, "Yeah, you wouldn’t want to keep the in-laws waiting."
Hermione threw a balled-up piece of paper at his head and scoffed half-heartedly, "Funny." She walked away and called over her shoulder, "Give Ginny and James my love."
Draco entered the brightly lit foyer. Narcissa took his hands in hers and gushed, "You look so handsome." He flashed his flawless smile displaying a row of perfect white teeth. "And you look beautiful as always," he replied.
Looking around, he noticed his mother's constant companion was missing. He questioned warily, "Will Bernard be joining us?" The older man’s conduct had changed of late, and Draco was determined to find out why.
Narcissa thought nothing of it. She patted Max's head and answered without interest, "No, he has family business to attend to."
Rather odd, Draco thought to himself but didn't say anything that would needlessly alarm his mother. She deserved to be happy after many years of misery.
Narcissa beamed, "I wanted to speak with you before Hermione arrived."
Draco raised a curious brow, but his mother took his hand in hers and apparated them to the top of the stairs. She hardly ever used them, preferring to put her wand to beneficial use. He frowned and voiced his disapproval, "Mother, we could have walked." She ignored him pointedly and glided with an air of poise befitting a regal lady towards her room and waited for him to catch up before going in.
"Don't dawdle, Draco," Narcissa scolded impatiently. They stepped into the centuries-old room filled with hidden secrets and memories of happier times. Taking out her wand Narcissa approached the bare wall Lucius's portrait had previously occupied and waved it lucidly in a perfect figure-eight motion. She repeated this action thrice until a simmering blue outline surfaced and an ancient vault appeared. The heavy door creaked as it opened slowly to permit its rightful owners to access the riches within.
A brightly lit room lay carpeted in dark green, and display cases of the finest jewels were laid out for those lucky enough to see. Narcissa stepped inside, followed closely by Draco.
He looked around, and a wave of nostalgia surrounded him. A young boy of no more than seven held onto his mother's hand as she navigated them through the corridors within. His eyes bugged out at the sight of a rare pink diamond the size of a fist. The word "Mummy" left the child's lips, and he disappeared back into the subconscious mind of the now young man as quickly as he came.
Draco looked around in awe and grinned, "I used to love coming in here as a child. The jewels and colours always fascinated me." Narcissa's peals of soft laughter echoed through the space, "I remember Blaise, Theo, and you nicking a priceless emerald and playing with it for hours until your father screamed bloody murder and pelted your bottom for stealing."
Draco chuckled. He remembered the incident well. The jewel had belonged to his paternal grandfather Abraxas Malfoy and was rumoured to have special powers. Of course, it was probably baseless gossip created to appear superior to others. They walked deeper into the vault until they came across an intricately carved black cabinet with painted red roses and entwined snakes. Once again, Narcissa took out her wand, tapped the lock and muttered what Draco deduced as a complex spell in a foreign tongue.
His curiosity was piqued, and he wondered what his unpredictable mother was up to. She tenderly took out an expensive-looking black velvet box that he vaguely recognised.
Narcissa glanced at the closed box lovingly and opened it for Draco to see. Nestled on a bed of black silk was the infamous Malfoy engagement ring. It was a rare and exquisite piece of jewellery—one of a kind and worth its weight in gold. A clear-cut four-carat diamond rested on a bed of finer-cut smaller emeralds held together by a solid white gold band.
It was a stunningly beautiful ring. Draco hadn't noticed it before, but the emeralds shifted colour as if they had their own mind. The serpentine green it held earlier was now almost black, which intrigued him. Of all the years his mother wore it, never had he seen them do that. Narcissa took Draco's hand and placed the box in the middle of his palm.
She radiated happiness, "I want you to give this to Hermione." From her tone, it was apparent that it meant a great deal, but would Granger accept it?
Highly doubtful. She would likely fight him all the way and probably opt for no ring to signify their forced marriage vows. In all fairness, the involvement of rings had slipped his mind completely. The ring was his mother’s most prized possession. Despite the latter part of her marriage being difficult and stressed, there was a time when she and Lucius had been very much in love and treasured their relationship.
Draco eyed the ring sceptically, closed the box and replied seriously, "Mother, I couldn't. This is your ring." She wasn't about to hear a word against it. Narcissa touched her son's face in adoration and uttered, "It was, but now, it's rightfully yours." The ring had been passed down for generations. With every fibre of his being, he knew Granger wouldn't accept it, and he tried his best to make his mother see reason, "I don't think the situation is right for me to propose with this."
Narcissa pursed her lips, shook her head and argued, "That is inconsequential. The marriage is binding. You must present it to your future wife." Reluctantly, Draco took the ring and felt the smooth coolness of the metal under his fingertips. The colour of the emeralds was changing once again, and he wondered what sorcery was the cause. If his mother noticed, she didn't mention anything. He returned the ring to its original place and muttered halfheartedly, "If that is your wish." They heard the scurry of tiny feet approaching.
Dotty came close and almost collapsed at their side. Breathlessly, she croaked, "Mistress, Miss Granger arrived a while ago. She said she would retire to the library and not to disturb you and master Malfoy."
Draco pocketed the black ring box without further thought, kissed his mother on the cheek and took his leave, "I'll go fetch Granger and join you downstairs."
Narcissa smiled knowingly, "Of course, I'll see you shortly." He made the long walk towards the library, pushed open the heavy doors and found Granger with her back to the door, bent over the table reading an ancient text. His earlier escapade in the shower came to mind, and a smug grin curved his lips. The knee-length black dress she wore was perfect. It skimmed over her figure, hugging all the right curves. She tapped a lethal-looking red heel on the floor, probably in tandem with her eyes moving over the text.
Max came running after and pounced on Hermione and demanded attention. It took her by surprise, and the eager puppy nearly pulled her down to his level, but she obliged lovingly, ruffling the fur of his underbelly and neck. Max licked her hand in appreciation and attempted to lick her face, but Hermione moved away from the slobbery kisses, and Draco called the naughty Alsatian to heel. "When did you arrive?" He queried, happy to see her in one piece. He wore black trousers that embraced him at the just places and a black button-down shirt that perfectly moulded his chiselled chest. Uncharacteristically, he wore his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Hermione’s eyes flicked down his muscled arms, drinking in his heavy tendons and veins.
Tearing her eyes away from his form, she swallowed hard and managed to get out, "About half an hour ago."
Draco closed the gap between them and bent to kiss her lips, but Hermione stubbornly turned her face, and his lips grazed her cheek instead. She shuddered as the warmth from the kiss sent a prickling sensation through her tired body. Disappointment flickered in the depths of his mesmerising grey swirls, but he hid it well, stepped away and questioned in amusement, "I see. Are you enjoying yourself?"
Hermione clamped down on her bottom lip. Merlin knew what possessed her to do it, but she wanted to entice Malfoy. A sultry retort left her lips, "Immensely."
Draco's reaction was instantaneous. His eyes darkened with lust and moved down to her lips.
A low growl erupted from his chest, and he snapped, "Stop that." He hadn't meant to sound so dominating, but she brought out a rather extreme reaction from him.
She knew it was perilous to her health to tease a man such as Malfoy, but there wasn't much he could do due to her current situation downstairs.
Hermione let her eyes grow wide, portraying picture-perfect innocence. Through hooded eyes, she looked at the man staring at her bemused.
Running her teeth across her lip, she pouted, "Stop what, Malfoy?"
He stood his ground, cocked his head to the side and replied easily, "Don't tempt me, Granger. You might not like what follows." Hardly. She would undoubtedly love what followed. The insides of her mind lit up with devilish laughter.
Grinning innocently, Hermione ignored him pointedly, further adding to his irritation and returned to the book she was reading. His jaw taut, Draco glowered but kept his behaviour civil, "How was your day?"
Hermione sat at the table, crossed her legs, causing her dress to ride up a smidge and sighed in exhaustion, "It was hectic." She remembered Terry and included in anger, "Awful." Looking her over, Draco concluded that she did indeed look tired and drawn. He questioned in genuine concern, "Are you okay? You look flustered."
Hermione massaged her temples and exhaled, "Yes, I'm fine." She was no Auror, but a killer running loose threatening women sat heavy in her mind.
Draco pulled out a chair, sat down, narrowed his eyes and asked, "Did you think about my offer to help?"
She mused, "I haven't had time to relieve myself properly, let alone think of anything else." There were bigger things than her nightmares to tend to. She would get around to it when time allowed. It wasn't ignorant bliss; she knew needing help was inevitable. Her last episode threatened her life, it was a first, and it caused fear to overpower her. Not having control was the least appealing feeling.
His voice was low with warning, "Granger...."
She gritted out defiantly, "Can we just talk about this later?" Thinking it would be wise not to push her further, Draco nodded reluctantly in agreement and inquired curiously, "What are you reading?"
Hermione picked up the book and showed off the title. It wasn't an ordinary book, and her choice intrigued him, "Joan of Arc?" It surprised him that his father had such a book in his vast collection. Still, if Draco had learned anything, it was not to put anything past the eccentricities of Lucius Malfoy.
Catching the look of surprise that fell over his face, Hermione felt compelled to explain, "She wasn't a witch, you know?"
Draco was pulled back to the present by her words, and a smirk adorned his lips. While Granger was a true intellectual and could be intimidating to most, he was on par with her intelligence and could offer her a healthy debate should the need arise.
He said wisely, "Muggles distrust and persecute what they don't understand."
Hermione nodded sadly and remembered her childhood before Hogwarts. Thank heavens for her loving parents and a doting grandmother. When she attempted to move past him, he grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her back, "I thought we could talk before joining mother for dinner."
She kept her eyes fixed on the long fingers encircling her slender wrist and muttered a barely audible, "About?”
Draco let go and grinned smugly, "You know exactly what about. I'm quite happy to ignore our situation as you do, but sadly we cannot."
Hermione rubbed her wrist where his touch figuratively burned her. It sent a jolt of pleasure through her body, but she blatantly pushed it aside and retorted, "Fine, let's get it over with then."
Chapter 29
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Chapter Text
"Good evening, darling," The man was almost courteous as he slowly pushed open the door and strode in with less arrogance than usual.
Still, her instincts reacted to the predator in the room, and she instantly moved to the farthest corner of the bed. It was the most distance she could put between them since he always kept her chained to the bed's metal frame with a small leash linked to the handcuff. It was goblin made and damn near unbreakable.
She knew this from the many times she tried to break free of it, tugging and yanking till it cut into her flesh and screaming aloud in anguish. It did absolutely nothing but add to her endless frustration. Why had no one found her? Had they forsaken her to this fate?
After weeks in the same position, the tight handcuffs were now part of her, and though her wrist was bruised and reddened, she felt no pain, only numbness. It was a minor miracle she was spared the agony of bedsores. It was unnerving how his personality shifted between pleasant and monstrous.
A true Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. He approached slowly with a friendly smile that somehow made him appear more sinister if that were possible.
Carefully placing the small plate he held on the bed, he stepped back and pointed, "I bought you a ham and cheese sandwich." With his hands, he gesticulated for her to eat.
She crawled over to it cautiously, grabbed it without abandon and devoured it like an animal. Ravenously. He watched in fascination as she stuffed her cheeks and ate without leaving a single crumb behind.
Next, he handed her a bottle of water. It was clear that it was cool from the beads of condensation that coated the exterior. Just watching the tiny droplets made her stomach churn with desperation.
The man licked his lips and offered what seemed to be a genuine apology, "I'm sorry about my behaviour earlier. Please, help yourself, darling."
Warily her fingers closed around the bottle, and she felt the coolness seep into her skin. It felt deliriously good. Her lips quivered as she kept the opening to her dry lips and gulped down the bottled water, slowly savouring the taste and feel of it.
While she ate, he disappeared for a bit, and when he reappeared, a bowl of fresh water and a sponge were in his firm grasp. He waited patiently for her to finish eating before moving close, even though she flinched as his fingers came in contact with her skin.
He dipped the sponge in, let it soak up its fill of water and squeezed, letting some return to whence it came. Delicately he placed the soft material on her hand and moved slowly upwards, cleaning the accumulated dirt of two days. It was a practice he repeated every other day and something he took great pleasure in doing.
Taking his time, he sensually moved the sponge over her bruised body, and though she leaned away from his touch, he didn't notice. His eyes roved over her in appreciation. The simple act of washing her became alluring in his mind, and he felt a dangerous stirring between his thighs.
His thumb ran the length of her spine, and her breathing hastened. He whispered darkly, "I kept you for last because you're so beautiful."
The hairs on the back of her neck came to life as his words ghosted over her exposed skin. He moved the sponge over her breasts slowly, relishing the feel of her fleshy mounds under his fingers.
Water droplets treacherously hung on the pebbled nipples, and he stared transfixed as they fell onto the bedsheet and disappeared.
His want for her caressed the inner shell of her ear, "I want to make you feel good, my love." Her lips quivered, but she ground her teeth in anger behind them.
Abandoning the bowl and sponge, he got to his feet and demanded hoarsely, "Turn around and lie on your front." She did as instructed. It wasn't new. He had taken her that way multiple times, but this time felt sickeningly different.
The unmistakable sounds of his belt buckle coming loose and zip being pulled down filled the space, but what hammered into her skull was a wrapper being torn and a condom being slipped on. He slapped her arse cheek using one hand, and she knew to spread for him.
Crouching down low, she spread her legs further apart and felt a sticky coldness run down her arsehole and then cunt. A disgust so fine ran through her body that she wished for death.
The bastard had spat on her using his saliva to moisten her dry entrance. He defied a rule of his own making. Never leave behind any incriminating evidence on a victim, but with her, his senses were clouded with lust, and one thing drove him forward. If she behaved, maybe he would keep her.
She bit the insides of her cheek and reminded herself of the plan. She had to make him feel like a man. Mustering all her inner strength and picturing an old lover, she let a small squeak of pleasure. It was clear it had the desired effect.
He grinned in satisfaction and cooed, "You like that, darling?" She mumbled a reluctant strained yes and waited for the inevitable. He held his shaft and rubbed it along her spit-covered slit, and pushed in without another word. A hiss of intense pleasure escaped his disgusting lips.
Sarah detached herself from the situation offering halfhearted moans while he grunted like a horny pig, probing and invading her with his revolting prick.
You must survive, she kept thinking while biting onto the corner of the pillow in her grasp. The woman was thankful for one thing, he didn't last long, he had no control, and within minutes she felt him stiffen and groan as his despicable seed emptied into the rubber sheathing that covered his penis.
A shudder ran through his spent body, and he groaned, "I love you." She fell forwards and buried her head in the sheets to muffle the silent scream of anguish that escaped her lips.
Malfoy Manor
Draco watched in interest as Hermione sashayed past him to sit at the round table with fire-breathing dragons carved into the wood. He pointed to the chair before him and offered graciously, "Have a seat." She threw him a look of defiance and took the seat right next to the one he had pointed at.
Unwilling and disobedient to the hilt, but he assumed that added to her appeal. Draco shook his head in exasperation and muttered, "Stubborn woman."
Hermione struggled to pull out the heavy black chair, and Draco couldn't help but laugh as she grunted and heaved in a fruitless attempt to drag it out.
He watched for a few seconds and inconspicuously waved his hand, causing the chair to fly out, almost knocking her over in the process. She was unaware of his assistance. Throwing him a smug look, she sat down, neatly crossed her legs at the ankles and tucked them under the chair.
Draco watched her fidget, trying hard to keep her eyes trained anywhere but on him.
Her discomfort entertained him, and he suggested politely, "Would you like a drink?" Alcohol had the uncanny ability to put everyone at ease and lower inhibitions, but that wasn’t in the cards tonight.
Hermione nodded once and enthused, "It will help me get through the next few minutes."
A smirk curved Draco's lips, and he called out loudly, "Dotty." There was a loud crack, and the tiny elf in a brand-new blue polka-dotted dress appeared before them, beaming and bowing.
She timidly approached the table and squeaked, "Yes, sir?"
Draco kept his eyes on Granger. The way the light bounced off her skin emphasised the blush that crept up her cheeks and shimmered over her neatly pulled-back curls.
He cleared his throat, "Please bring us a bottle of our finest red wine from the cellar and two glasses."
Catching his would-be fiancé's eye, he raised a brow and quipped, "A bottle will suffice, won't it, Granger?"
Hermione scowled, "Yes, you prat." How dare the pampered fuck have the audacity to imply she was fond of drink?
Dotty bowed in acknowledgement of the task and disappeared with an ear-piercing crack. So loud that Hermione covered her ears to drown out the noise. She propped her elbow up on the table, used her hand to cradle her face and sighed in exhaustion. They might as well get it over with.
Hermione brought out her pert tongue and ran it along her lips deliberately.
She knew Malfoy was watching her every move. She swallowed hard and demanded impatiently, "Well, what should we discuss first?" The last bit of her question was absorbed by Dotty’s arrival with a bottle of Chateau Lafite 1787, two beautiful hand-blown glasses balanced on a sterling silver tray.
She placed it on the table and reached for the bottle to uncork it, but Draco stopped her, took it in his hands and expertly removed the wedged piece of wood.
Drops of deep red landed on his hand, and he licked it up cheekily. Hermione squirmed in her seat, clamped her thighs together and averted her gaze. A pink tinge appeared on her cheeks, and she hoped it was well hidden in the somewhat dim light, but she took the glass he offered with a cheeky grin.
He noticed her glowing cheeks but said nothing. Instead, he raised his glass in a toast, "To our health," it was appropriate considering their predicament.
Hermione leaned forward, clicked her glass against his, held it firmly by the stem, and took a gratifying sip.
The richness of the liquid seeped into her bloodstream. It was like drinking red velvet, and it packed a punch. She sucked on her bottom lip and stared into the glass, liquid sloshing about as she unconsciously twirled it.
Draco interrupted her train of thought, "We can start with living arrangements."
Hermione took another sip and fired, "I told you. I could never live in the Manor."
Draco looked around the library and mused, "Even if I put a bed in here?"
They were surrounded entirely by books. Most were valuable ancient texts, but some were new, and several privileged Muggle authors had surprisingly made it into the collection. The smell of parchment and dried ink on scrolls hung heavily in the air, enticing her more than anything could.
A twinkle lit her eyes, but the laughter never quite reached, "That is rather tempting."
She ran her fingers along the rim of the glass and said tensely, "But, seriously though, I could never get a peaceful night's sleep within these walls." Her nightmares would be frequent, and she would succumb to the macabre nature of the Manor, trying to thwart her unwanted presence.
Draco took a sip himself and let the rich taste linger. He cocked his head to the side and scoffed, "You assume too much. Did I ask you to live here?"
"Well, no, but I gathered that to be obvious," Hermione replied hotly.
Draco grinned, "Well, you thought wrong." He casually pointed out of the window and followed up with a quick explanation, "There is a modest cottage on the property about a mile East. It's a charming abode with all the necessary amenities." His mother had agreed that it would be the ideal living quarters to ride out the next three years. It was big enough to live separate lives instead of falling over each other.
Hermione frowned. How was this an improvement? They would still be on Malfoy grounds. She suggested without much thought, "Or we could just live at my flat."
Draco refilled their glasses and chuckled. His laughter was pleasing, and it tickled the senses, Hermione thought. She could honestly say she had no recollection of him genuinely laughing without someone else’s pain or discomfort being the cause.
He snickered, "Lest you propose sharing the one room you have, I think it's better to look for larger accommodation because I have no intention of sleeping on a sofa for three years."
A blush coloured her cheeks. She felt hot from the inside. How could she have been so foolhardy to suggest such a thing? She nodded quickly in agreement and quite literally fell over her words, "Yes, no, I wasn't thinking. We could not possibly share a room."
Draco smirked, "I can't trust you not to jump my bones in the middle of the night."
Hermione gagged, "Get over yourself, Malfoy. I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole." That was a contradictory statement, and Draco agreed. He raised a questioning brow in her direction, as if to say, oh really? You seemed to enjoy every bit of my touch earlier today in your kitchen, but he decided not to add to her growing discomfort.
He kept quiet, giving her the satisfaction of having the last word and declared confidently, "That's settled then. I will give direct instructions for renovations to start. I thought it prudent to have separate suites."
He proposed hoping to bend her to the idea, "You are free to meet with the planners and decorators and design your living quarters to your liking."
Her eyes sparkled, and this time she radiated with happiness, "Even the bathroom?" The holiest of places in a home. Her place of solitude, peace, and relaxation. Had he unknowingly stumbled upon something?
Draco replied, bemused, "Er, yes, of course." He was sure she was a massive tub person and quite welcomed the idea of making her moan in a jacuzzi tub with water jets blaring. Taking her to newer heights was certainly an alluring thought.
"There will be no wedding," her short yet abrupt statement pulled him clean out of his sinful thoughts. Hermione pointedly stated, "We can get the bloody marriage certificate at the Ministry. Harry can be my witness, and you can have anyone you wish."
Draco sighed in defeat, "I agree wholeheartedly about not making a big scene, but my mother might not." It was the one thing he knew his mother and Granger would not see eye to eye on.
"Malfoy, I refuse to pretend to be the happy bride when I'm not," she shot back frankly. She wasn't trying to be difficult or disrespectful, but how could she fake a smile and act as if everything was okay when that was a blatant lie? Yes, sure, he claimed to have changed, even treated her differently and then there was the undeniable physical attraction, but still, she had suffered so much hurt at his hands.
"Understood. I'll do what I can," Draco nodded unsurely. He knew in his heart that she was in the right, but how do you explain that to a mother looking forward to her only son's grand wedding since his birth?
A chilly gust of wind swept into the room, and Hermione rubbed her arms to keep warm from the sudden cold. He caught the goosebumps that appeared along her exposed arms and pointed his wand at the fireplace. Even though he was adept at wandless magic, it wasn't nearly as satisfying as feeling his 10" long hawthorn wand between his fingers. The fireplace roared to life and filled the space with delightful warmth.
Hermione stared, enthralled by the burning logs, and Draco was mesmerised by the reflection of dancing fire within the deep amber of her eyes.
So beautiful...
His voice was clipped, but he coughed to hide any discomfort and almost croaked, "There is the small matter of few other formalities."
Hermione tore her eyes from the fire and insisted mockingly, "Such as?" What more could there possibly be?
Draco inhaled to calm himself before reciting his mother’s words, granted some were his own, "Malfoys take marriage rather seriously, and whether this is a contract marriage or dreadful pairing is irrelevant. It is marriage in the eyes of the law and therefore binding." He hadn't run this bit by his mother, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt she would agree.
Leaning forward, Draco pressed undiscouraged, "We will maintain a joint account where you will have the freedom to make withdrawals by presenting the family key. I carry an identical one at all times." He slammed an ancient-looking black key with the unmistakable Malfoy insignia on the table.
Hermione stared at the rather large key. It was not your average Gringotts key; that much was clear.
She said in a low, lethal voice, "I don't want your money." Malfoy was wealthy. Hadn't he rubbed it in Ron's face at every passing opportunity? Did he honestly expect her to fawn all over him and thank him for his generosity? The incorrigible sod.
Draco heard the words she uttered. He also caught sight of how her features twisted unpleasantly, but without paying heed to the upcoming storm she might unleash, he asserted, "You will be my first wife and the lady of the house after my mother. In my absence, you will have every right I have to see to important matters."
There, he had explained how important her position would be even though it was just a blooming marriage of convenience. Salazar, please help her see reason.
"First wife," she repeated and snorted. However, her resentment was soaring to the surface.
She could not possibly let go of his bold statement without sarcasm. Ignoring her, Draco barreled forth, "When we divorce, a sizeable settlement will be credited to your Gringotts account. You are free to do whatever you wish with it."
Hermione cried in outrage, "Did you not hear me? I do not want a single Knut."
Her bitter words made him stop from completing his well-rehearsed speech. He tried a different approach that spoke of their ancient ways, "It is the way, Granger, and you might not like it, but there are certain traditions I will uphold." Marrying a Muggleborn was undoubtedly not tradition. Ah, but he was never one for tradition anyway, at least not since his rebirth at the temple.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared sternly, "You made that up. I am well aware that no divorces have ever been recorded under the Malfoy name."
Draco momentarily forgot who he was dealing with. Of course, she knew he was lying, and he couldn't help but admire her tenacity, "You've done some snooping."
Hermione gave the wine glass in front of her undivided attention. She looked somewhat ashamed, and the rim of the glass on her cherry-red lips muffled her words. She had gone much further than your average sneaking about.
Once she decided to go forward with the marriage, she dug up everything she possibly could about the Malfoy family. Argus's favourite booze bottle got her the necessary documents from the archives, plus quite a few interesting bits of information she was sure even Malfoy was unaware of.
Mistresses, bribery and illegitimate offspring were just a few that came to mind.
The Malfoys' were an infamous bunch that hushed up their dubious dealings by pushing Galleons in the right direction. Draco Malfoy would also be the only known Malfoy to take a non-pureblood wife.
Hermione scowled, "Fine. I'll return it then."
Draco said thoughtfully, "Hmm, why don't you contribute it to your favourite charity?" That was certainly an offer she would not refuse. There were many causes in the lesser privileged parts of the wizarding world that could do with better funding.
He wanted to look into opening a few orphanages. It was something he picked up at the temple after watching the monks feed, clean and offer sanctuary to the needy. Stunned into silence, Hermione stared hard, trying to fathom the man before him. Was she in some unimaginable alternate universe where Draco Malfoy was a caring human being? Could his time away in China have impacted his way of thinking this much?
An uncomfortable silence engulfed them as they both struggled to find the next point to address, but of course, Hermione breached the topic that sat heavily on her mind. She inquired fairly solemnly, "Must you become an Auror?" Being around him at her workplace was sure to feel suffocating, and she wanted to rectify that.
Draco poured himself another glass of wine and inhaled the rich aroma. He cherished the smell of it. A frown creased his features, "I am already an Auror, and I thought of all people, you would understand my need to do some good." Just because she understood it didn't mean she had to like it particularly. She voiced her thoughts, "I thought we could separate our work lives, at least." Hermione hoped it didn’t sound harsh.
Draco argued, "You will hardly see me and if you’re worried about Boot..." Her lover's name left a bitter taste on his tongue. A devilish hint of a smirk adorned her face, and she interrupted regardless, "I am not in the least bit worried about Terry." He hated the way the name rolled off her tongue so effortlessly.
"This is a marriage on paper. You are free to keep your…lover and see others if that is your wish," Draco informed rudely and watched her reaction curiously. Would he be able to stomach her bringing back that oaf to their home for relations? His heart slammed uncomfortably against his ribcage, but it wouldn't do to let her know his true feelings on the matter.
His tone turned deadly serious, "Although, I must add that we keep our promiscuous activities away from prying eyes and not have them adorn the front page of The Prophet every other week." The following few words were straight from the heart and a point he was pretty serious about enforcing, "That would be extremely disrespectful to mother, and I won't allow it."
Hermione, who remained quiet until then, locked eyes with him from across the table and mused, "You said our promiscuous activities." She stressed the word our. She inquired candidly, "Are you planning on taking a mistress?" Inwardly she was seething with bubbling resentment.
Draco leaned back and shrugged, "Well, I have needs. Needs I've put aside for years, if and when the need arises, I might resort to the company of a lovely woman."
Hermione tutted to make her disapproval evident, "Well, that's just...barbaric." She lacked subtlety when it came to masking her true feelings. It wasn't jealousy per se but a mild prickly irritation that gnawed at the corners of her heart.
Draco was quick to defend, "How so? I was open-minded about you continuing your affair with that buffoon." He hadn't meant it, but still, he would grudgingly entertain the notion if that was really what she wanted.
Looking disheartened, Hermione studied the engraved dragons on the table and mumbled, "I am not having a bloody affair with Terry." Well, at least on her part, but after their earlier confrontation in her office, she hoped Terry would finally understand and accept his place.
Draco was anything but convinced, yet he gave her the benefit of the doubt, "Right." He laughed low and bantered, hoping to lighten the mood, "Besides, you've made it abundantly clear that I am not welcome in your bed."
His silky tone caressed the shell of her sensitive ear in the most delightful way, but what a magnificent lie. Clearly, he was trying to rouse a reaction from her, and she would deny the arrogant lout the satisfaction of knowing he got under her skin.
She reacted with dripping sarcasm, "You know what? Fine, have it your way. Anything else?" His eyes darkened with longing. The grey was barely visible, but it was there. He leaned towards her and teased, "Are you jealous, Granger?" His fingers brushed against hers, and she quickly withdrew her hand and rested it on her lap.
Hermione was having none of it. She rolled her eyes and scoffed, "Of you and some random tart? Don't be fucking ridiculous."
"Your eyes always give you away," Draco retorted intensely. After taking another sip of wine, he added smugly, "I think we've covered the basics." Their little talk had gone far better than anticipated. Granger hadn’t tried to hex him once.
Hermione finished the wine in her glass and nodded curtly, "Good." She lost count of how many glasses she had after the second one, and since he seemed like he was done with his discussion slash interrogation, she pushed the chair back in an attempt to stand up and flee, but his sensual voice cut through the act, "Oh, one more thing."
She cried exasperatedly, "Christ, what now?" He laughed aloud at the expression of pure horror on her face and explained calmly, "Mother thinks it’s prudent to officially announce the engagement in the Prophet before the vultures get wind of it and run their lewd version."
Hermione grumbled, "Must we make it public?" He mocked, "Hmm, well, yes. Unless you plan on wearing a paper bag over your head when we are out and about together." A vivid image of Granger dressed in a long flowing gown possessively holding onto his arm came to mind. They had not discussed that.
She swallowed hard and stuttered almost, "Out? Together?"
Draco massaged the bridge of his nose in exhaustion, "Granger, you will have to make compromises. It’s for your own good." He would need further practice to control his temper if they were to last the coming three years unscathed.
Getting to his feet, he adjusted the dress shirt he wore and offered, "Shall we head down?"
Hermione got to her feet and presented a pained smile, "Yes, please. I'm starving."
Draco picked up the bottle of wine, felt its weight in his hands and grinned, "Well, that's empty."
Hermione pursed her lips together and said nothing. He kept his hand on her back as he navigated her to the living area. She knew the way but did not dare move away from his burning touch.
They walked past a few disparaging paintings that whispered and voiced their disapproval, and though it made her immensely uncomfortable, the man at her back didn't seem to give a toss. She couldn't see Draco's stern glare over the top of her head at his ancestors. His piercing glare made them cringe and fade once more into the rich colours of their aesthetically painted portraits.
They heard Narcissa’s soft laughter and Max’s affectionate whimper as they neared the foyer. Draco dropped his hand from her person and whispered before they parted ways, "You look lovely."
Narcissa said in a carrying voice before she could get a word in, "Ah, finally. I am absolutely famished." The foyer was warm, bright and welcoming.
Without hesitation, Hermione closed the gap between herself and the lovely aristocratic woman sitting by the fireplace and bent to kiss her cheek in greeting.
Narcissa took Hermione’s hands in hers and gushed, "My dear, you look stunning. I horribly miss our girly chats." Hermione nodded and felt an overwhelming surge of emotion flood her senses, "Things have been rather hectic, but I daresay it will return to normal soon, and we can gossip and shop to our heart's content."
Max jumped on Hermione to make his presence known, and she almost buckled under his weight, “Uff, he’s getting heavy.” She kissed the dog's forehead and stroked his head lovingly.
Draco whistled, and Max reluctantly abandoned Hermione and ran off towards his Master and sat patiently by his side.
Throwing her son a look of disapproval, Narcissa mused, "I thought I might wither and die waiting for you two to arrive."
Draco offered her his arm and quipped, "Let's not be dramatic, mother."
Supper, as always, was a posh affair. The finest dishes were laid out, and Hermione often wondered if that was the case every right or whether it was for her benefit. Either way, the food looked scrumptious. Dotty had outdone herself and served up a traditional roast dinner with all the trimmings. Even though it was typically served on a Sunday, it consisted of the best cuts of roasted meat and roast potatoes.
It was accompanied by stuffing, gravy, and condiments such as a tangy apple sauce that tempted the taste buds. A wide range of vegetables such as broccoli, carrots, cauliflower, parsnips, and peas glistening with melted butter was placed in hand-painted bowls.
They each took their place at the table, and Dotty served red wine, which Hermione politely refused. The many glasses she had consumed earlier were beginning to creep up on her, and she didn't want to risk getting drunk. Tipsy, however, was perfectly acceptable.
Her eyes caught the amused expression of the man sitting comfortably at the head of the table. She ignored his roaming gaze and busied herself with reaching for the vegetables.
Narcissa cut into the meat and put forward gravely, "It's terrible about that killer, isn't it?" Not the best dinner conversation, but Hermione delicately dabbed the corners of her mouth and replied solemnly, "Yes, it is awful, but we will catch him soon."
Draco weighed in, "It's a case I would love to sink my teeth into." His tone mirrored the determination he felt.
Knives and forks clinked against fine China plates, and Hermione answered knowingly, "You will be put through a month of vigorous training before any cases will be assigned. I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you."
"Hmm..." Draco responded thoughtfully, keeping his eyes on his plate while forking bite-sized pieces of beef he had cut up.
Hermione deviated the conversation toward more positive things and inquired fondly, "How is Bernard? I was hoping to see him today."
Narcissa flashed a happy smile, "He's away on business. Some family emergency."
Draco shot her a wary look, and his interest in Bernard's behaviour deepened. They ate the rest of the meal in companionable silence, with Max occasionally disturbing the peace.
Harry walked through the streets of London. He enjoyed walking among Muggles at times. It calmed him and helped clear the air. They were working against the clock. There were less than two months to catch the deranged lunatic before another body turned up.
He picked up a pattern; each murder had a gap of exactly two months between them. Harry concluded that it was at this time that the killer lost interest, which sealed the victim’s fate. He passed a flower store. It was late for the man to be still selling his wear, but maybe he was trying to make a few last-minute sales, which worked well for him.
The florist had an impressive display of flowers, settling on a bouquet of roses in the usual colours of red and white, with a hint of Baby's breath. Harry fished out a couple of quid he kept on his person at all times and paid the grateful vendor.
In a thick Scottish accent, the older gentleman kindly offered, "Would you like me to wrap them up?"
Harry nodded and smiled, "That would be great."
The man held out the neatly wrapped bundle of flowers and winked, "I'm sure she'll forgive you." Holding the spray gently, Harry walked away with an extra bounce to his step.
Ginny would love the flowers; it was a small token of his love and appreciation, and Merlin knew she deserved much more. He knew she wasn't thrilled with him working nights and hardly ever complained, but from her withdrawn body language, he knew that his job got under her skin at times.
Dinner ended on a high with chocolate mousse, strawberries, and dollops of smooth whipped cream. Draco dug in enthusiastically and polished off the mousse in three spoonfuls.
Hermione threw him a funny look before gingerly dipping a large strawberry into the fluffy cream and pushing it into her slightly parted mouth. The flavours exploded on her tongue, her eyes closed in satisfaction, and a moan rumbled low in her throat. She was pretty oblivious to the erotic nature in which she devoured the plump fruit.
Narcissa missed the seductive sound, but Draco's eyes raked over his fiancée's face and settled on the smidge of cream that stubbornly stuck to the corner of her very delectable mouth. He had the insane desire to throw caution to the wind, lap it off with his tongue and feed her the rest of the berries while she sat on his lap and whimpered in pleasure.
"Son, shall we retire to the foyer?" His mother's voice bore into his thoughts.
Draco snapped out of his fantasy and tore his eyes away from Granger, who had a knowing grin plastered on her face as she stood by his mother. He followed the women back into the warmth of the living room.
Hermione politely excused herself, "I would like a breath of fresh air and exercise to burn down some calories from that delicious meal."
Dotty beamed at the compliment and curtsied. Hermione wandered onto the expansive terrace and didn't make it any further than that. Her legs felt like lead, and her body was sluggish from overeating. She leaned into the crisp gust of wind that circulated the grounds and inhaled the pleasant earthy smell.
A deep, husky voice drifted over her ear, "It's a particularly beautiful night." He was right. Thousands of stars lit up the heavens and shimmered like tiny drops of glitter to the naked eye. The moon sat high in the sky and graced them with silvery beams that coated the immaculate gardens.
Hermione felt his presence at her side. She turned her head slowly and looked at him through hooded eyes. His eyes were closed, and bits of rogue hair blew carelessly across his forehead in the wind.
She marvelled at how well he morphed into the darkness, he was flawlessly handsome at any given point of day thanks to some stellar genes, but he indeed became one with his surroundings with nightfall. It enticed her, seduced her, and propelled her to him far more than she cared to admit.
Her eyes ran along his chiselled jawline and prominent nose and came to rest on the sparkling silver of his eyes. Malfoy had the most staggeringly gorgeous eyes, and they shone with purpose.
Not wanting to appear smitten, she responded meekly to his earlier observation, "Indeed. It is a breathtaking view."
Keeping his eyes fixed on the swaying trees, he broke the silence, "I have something for you." Hermione gave him a scrutinising look. The night was full of surprises, and she was doubtful of handling anymore. Plunging his hand into his trouser pocket, Draco pulled out the sturdy black box with patterns woven into it. Her eyes caught the gesture and widened in surprise. Surely, he wasn't about to propose? The whole idea was absurd.
Draco turned to face Hermione. Even with the lack of light, the shock on her face was evident. He kept quiet, opened the box and presented the priceless family heirloom. A gasp escaped her lips involuntarily. Nestled between black silk was the most exquisite engagement ring she had ever had the privilege to lay her eyes on. The diamond sparkled brilliantly, and the bed of emeralds glistened ominously but darkly beautiful.
She felt a strange attraction to it. A soft murmur of voices filled her ears. It was too low and gentle to make out any coherent words, and Hermione momentarily thought Bellatrix was clawing her way to the surface.
Draco raised his voice to snap her out of the trance she seemed to have slipped into. A frown was etched on his face, "Granger?"
Her eyes were vacant, but they were captivated by the ring in his grasp. Her strange reaction to it didn't sit too well with him. It seemed to have some degree of control over her.
Hermione snapped out of the daze, took a noticeable step back and said in a cracked, low voice, "I cannot accept this."
Draco sighed wearily, "Must you be difficult about everything?"
Her eyes kept darting back to the ring, and she tried to argue, "But..."
He cut her off midsentence and elucidated, "My mother insists I give this to you, and I agree."
Oh, so this was Narcissa’s doing and not his own. A stab of needless disappointment wounded her fragile ego.
"It's been in the family for generations," Draco included for further insight in mild admiration. The words slipped out before she could stop them.
"It's gorgeous," Hermione spoke reverently.
With his free hand, Draco took out the ring, closed the box and pocketed it. He held the sizable ring between his fingers and mused, "May I? Or would you rather do it yourself?" Her head was spinning.
She didn't want the ring, yet she craved it. It was like an unspoken allegiance that pulled her towards it. Her breathing hastened, and Hermione gave it but a moment’s thought and carefully held out her left hand for him to slip the ring onto her trembling finger.
The simple gesture knocked him clean off his feet. He initially thought she would grab it and wear it to establish her dislike and rebelliousness. He was expecting her to fight tooth and nail, insult and curse him into oblivion, yet she obliged without a harsh word.
Draco hesitated, not knowing what action was prudent. She honestly looked so pretty with her eyes downcast, bits of hair blowing around her face and chest rising and falling in tandem with his own beating heart. Taking her slightly shaking hand in his left hand, he slid the ring onto the finger it was intended for, using his right hand.
Draco didn't know what possessed him, but he did it slowly, feeling every slight push as the metal band travelled over the contours of her finger. Hermione visibly shuddered as the white gold band came in contact with her heated skin.
Once done, he covered her whole hand with his own for a few mere tantalising seconds, and she took her hand out of his grasp and stared at the ring, which was possessively wrapped snugly around a finger that had not previously entertained the notion of marriage.
His hands moved on their own, and he yanked her towards him, placed a tender kiss on her forehead and said ardently, "It suits you, darling." It truly did. There was no comparison.
Their eyes locked briefly for but a fleeting second.
Draco captured her soft lips that he couldn't seem to get enough of in a searing kiss. Hermione did not hesitate. She responded fervently to his intense ministrations.
The carnal desire they felt for each other encompassed them, and they embraced the yearning to fulfil the undying need. Her fingers found themselves in his hair, and she hung onto her former nemesis, wanting to feel more of his insistent tongue probing her inner sweetness of whipped cream that lingered.
He tasted faintly of chocolate, and he crushed her petite frame to him in a desperate attempt to stake a claim. She went on tiptoes, but it was futile; he was simply too tall.
Draco sensed her need and almost picked her clear off the ground. Instead, he pinned her to the white metal railing of the balcony and ravaged her inviting mouth. Sultry moans and deepened groans pierced the calm night air, but none were bothered by any intrusion. He left her lips and suckled on the sweet skin of her neck.
Pulling down the sleeve, he left his mark on her collarbone and bit into her skin, gently sending jolts of pleasure pulsating through her body.
"I could take you right here on this floor, Granger," Draco growled low and fierce. Aunt Irma’s visit was conveniently forgotten for the moment.
Hermione threw her head back. His fingers tangled themselves in her hair, undoing the elegant bun she had painstakingly pinned in place. Her wild tussles cascaded around her shoulders, and Draco cupped her face once more and moulded his lips with hers.
His husky tones elevated her, wanting to be consumed by him, “This is how I like you. Wild and free.”
Merlin, she felt heavenly. He was drowning in her essence.
They were so caught up in each other that none noticed the shift in the colour of the bed of emeralds. The dark green morphed into the shade of liquid luck, and steady beams of gold surrounded the embracing young couple.
They unwillingly broke apart as the light encasing them became prominent. Without a single wavering moment of hesitation, Draco pulled Hermione close and shielded her with his arms in a valiant effort to protect her from the unknown occurrence.
She buried her face in the material of his shirt but kept a watchful eye on the glowing strands emitting from the ring.
The strands were warm but did not burn them. The wind howled forebodingly and swept around them uneasily. When it became clear the lights were no threat to them, he relaxed his hold.
They watched the shimmering light pulsate around them before disappearing to where it came leaving them breathing hard and heavy in darkness.
Hermione touched her temple and felt a wave of dizziness, she lost her footing and almost collapsed, but strong arms caught her and implored, "Granger, are you alright?" She felt as if she was floating but managed a shaky reply, "What was that?"
He didn't quite have an explanation but tried to shed some light on the incident, "I, er...the ring is enchanted and...."
Narcissa came barging through the doors and offered calmly, "Hermione, would you like some coffee?"
Draco stared at the relaxed features on his mother's face suspiciously. There was more to this than meets the eye.
Hermione nodded weakly, "Yes, I feel lightheaded."
Draco held her, and she leaned onto him heavily as they walked back into the room where Dotty had arranged a large pot of coffee, assorted biscuits and a few slices of raisin cake.
The atmosphere was strained. Each caught up in their thoughts. Draco drummed his fingers on the armrest and pondered how to approach the topic of what happened.
Hermione longed to touch her throbbing lips but instead kept her eyes fixed on the ring where the emeralds had returned to his former dark green, and Narcissa shifted her gaze between the two with a look of bewilderment and surprise.
Even from her place by the fireplace, the prominent glow that shone through the tall glass panels was hard to miss, and while she had seen it happen before, this was much more intense.
Draco refused the coffee, though Narcissa helped herself to a steaming cup and poured one for Hermione, holding it out for her to take. She said kindly, "There's some chocolate added to the mix. It will make you feel better."
Narcissa lowered her voice so only Hermione could hear. She took her hand and gushed, "The ring becomes you, my dear."
Gratefully, Hermione took the hot cup with both hands and sipped the concoction within. It spread through her insides and warmed her from within. She felt more like herself once again.
The second her empty cup hit the glass table for Dotty to clear, Draco sprung to his feet, "I think it's best you get going, Granger."
Hermione was taken aback at being dismissed so callously after what they had shared on the terrace but held her head high and got to her feet. It surprised her further when he grabbed hold of her elbow and smiled sincerely, "Let me escort you home."
She returned the smile grudgingly and bid Narcissa a fond farewell. Once they reached the boundaries, she held his hand and felt his fingers tighten around hers. Hermione waved her wand with one destination in mind. Her comfortable sofa.
The second their feet touched the ground, she kicked off her shoes, ignored her companion and purposefully strode into the bathroom to splash cool water on her face. She stared at her reflection glumly, and then her eyes moved down to her white-knuckled fingers, gripping the edge of the sink hard before settling on the sparkling engagement ring on her finger.
Draco stood outside and heard the unmistakable sound of water running. He decided to back off and give her some space, but his impatience got the better of him.
After loud knock on the door and Draco's voice cut into Hermione’s disturbing thoughts, "Are you feeling better, Granger?" She dried her face, stepped out and almost crashed into him.
A small smile curved her lips, "Yes, just feeling rather outwardly. Like I was drugged, you know?"
Draco frowned at the comparison, "I assure you, you haven't been drugged."
Hermione sighed, "Maybe a good night's sleep is what I need." He stood his ground, looked her over intently and suggested wholeheartedly, "I can stay and sleep on the settee if you need me." Again.
She shook her head defiantly, "Don't be ridiculous. I'm fine." It wasn't a lie. She did feel normal again.
Draco conceded, "Well, if you need me, just call me, and I'll be here in a flash."
Hermione fell onto the bed fully clothed and huffed, "Yes, of course."
His eyes roved over her sexy black dress critically, “Urm, maybe you should change first.”
Closing her eyes, she grumbled, “Maybe later.”
Draco swallowed the lump that formed as her dress rode up her thighs, and the outline of her lacy knickers peaked out from under, further adding to his torment. He cleared his throat, “Can I see you tomorrow?”
Pulling a pillow close, Hermione snuggled into the comfort and mumbled groggily, “I cant. I'm spending the weekend with my parents.”
Well, that was news. He ran his fingers through his hair and enthused, “Ah, that will be fun.”
Hermione mumbled incoherently and paid no heed to the man standing in her room.
He hesitated and wondered if leaving her alone was wise, but when she buried her head in the covers and closed her eyes, he felt a sense of relief and reassurance that she would be fine.
Hermione could sense his presence hovering over her for a few minutes, she could tell he was battling with his inner thoughts to stay or leave, but after a while, she heard him stalking out of the room and the sound of the main door closing behind him.
She opened her eyes and sat up straight.
Draco stormed into the Manor and went in search of his mother. She was where they left her but in place of coffee was a hefty tumbler of scotch.
He approached at once, "Mother..."
She cut him off with a wave of her hand and went straight into explanation, "The glow represents the strength of your marital bond. I'm sure your father has mentioned it." He didn't have many fond memories of his father. Still, he did recall a time his mother had been tending to her precious roses in the garden when he was about twelve.
Lucius had gazed upon her lovingly and explained the significance of the ring and the bursts of gold that emitted from it when least expected. Of course, Draco hadn't seen it himself, and even though he pretended to listen to his father's ramblings, the true gist of what he was saying hadn’t sunk in.
He was brought back to the present by Max's affectionate whimpering. Draco argued, "But that's impossible. Granger and I are not married."
Narcissa smiled reassuringly and explained sensibly, "You presented her with the ring. You placed it on her finger. She is yours."
What a load of tripe.
Draco stated cynically, "No, she's not and never will be. The ring is malfunctioning."
A stern frown crossed Narcissa’s face, "You cannot be naive enough to believe that?"
She pressed forcefully, "It is over 600 years old. Forged in the ways of old magic by powerful wizards. The power of the ring is not to be taken lightly."
Draco threw his hands up in defeat and spat, "This is ludicrous."
Narcissa grew thoughtful, "It didn't glow so bright even when Lucius gave it to me." That piqued Draco's interest, and he questioned urgently, "What are you trying to say?"
He gritted out sarcastically, "That we are destined to be together? That Granger, out of all the bloody witches in the world, is my soul mate?"
Narcissa nodded almost at once and exclaimed, "I suppose that's one way of looking at it."
Draco shook his head in utter disbelief, "I will not entertain the notion. It is preposterous."
He said grimly, "We will divorce in three years, and this whole farce will be behind us."
Narcissa tried to soothe her only child, "Draco...," but he stopped her from going further, "No, mother, stop. I know you want to believe something special is at work here, but trust me, there is nothing."
He marched up the stairs and into his room. In frustration, he tore the clothes off his body, tossed them aside, fell onto his sizeable bed, and stared at the ceiling. He desired Granger sexually, nothing more, nothing less.
Soul mate, fucking bollocks.
“Daddy!” Carrie ran through the corridor and straight into Blaise’s arms, with Daphne following close behind. The naughty toddler hugged her father tight, and Blaise raised a questioning brow at his wife.
Daphne was red in the face and visibly angry, “She refuses to sleep because it’s her birthday tomorrow.”
Blaise hid the laughter that bubbled to the surface. He composed himself and spoke gently to his little scamp, “Carrie, if you don’t go to sleep now, how will you open your presents tomorrow? And I know there’s a lot of neat stuff waiting for you.”
Carrie brought her head out, touched her father’s face lovingly and beamed, “I’ll go to sleep now, daddy.” She jumped into Daphne’s waiting arms and snuggled into her mother’s warmth.
Daphne rolled her eyes at Blaise, and he shrugged, pulled up his collar, gave her a cocky grin and mouthed, “Hurry up.” He blew her a kiss, jogged down the corridor and disappeared into their room.
Chapter 30
Notes:
A big thank you to everyone who posted a review and for everyone following!
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A full chapter. Wonderful insight into Bernards upbringing, the Slytherins get together for Carries birthday, and Hermione comes clean about her pending nuptials to her parents.
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Enjoy Chapter Thirty! 🔥😉
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Chapter Text
It was well past eight pm when Arthur entered his department after attending to a few last-minute raids. Perkins had pushed off, promising to do the paperwork on Monday. The lazy sod. He saw the dim light in the room and one of his more dedicated staff members busily punching odd-looking keys and vigorously writing down notes after every function.
Arthur raised his voice enough to be heard, "Still here, John?"
The eccentric man was hunched over a Muggle device known as a computer. It was a bulky machine with hundreds of wires attached, and besides John, no one else knew how to work it or bothered to learn. John kept his eyes on the device and nodded timidly, "Yes, these fascinate me. Being a Muggle can't be all that bad if they have the intelligence to come with these complex systems." His last comment was said slowly enough to emphasise his train of thought.
Arthur smiled sincerely, "Muggles are not bad at all, John. They survive without using magic, and to me, that is quite the feat." It was something he had believed since his youth. Even without magic to help them along, Muggles had inventions and creations that put magic to shame in some instances.
Their metal wands were an example of just that. They could shoot you in the head twice before you even managed to get the enchantment out. They were an innovative but brutal bunch.
John informed bitterly, "I've learnt how to operate most Muggle appliances because of my illness." That was what his mother called it. It was his illness that required him to be punished daily.
Arthur dropped his bag down on his desk and raised a curious brow, "Illness? What do you mean?" John never ceased to surprise him, but the tone in which it was said saddened him, and he was eager to find the underlying cause of such depressing words.
John gritted out in self-loathing, "I hate being a Squib."
Closing the tiny gap between them in the cramped room, Arthur clamped the man nearing his fifties on the shoulder and assured, "John, being a squib isn't an illness and whoever told you that couldn't be more wrong." He knew from the man's odd behaviour that he hadn't had the most leisurely life over the years.
John kept his eyes on his trembling fingers and said in gratitude, "Only you treat me with a shred of decency, Arthur."
An exhausted sigh escaped Arthur's lips, and he inquired sceptically, "Have the boys at the DMLE been taking the piss again?" Pursing his lips, John nodded curtly. Unfamiliar darkness fell over his face as he hissed, "Those arrogant pricks think they are much better than the rest of us."
Arthur smiled halfheartedly and encouraged, "Ignore it, son. It's not worth it." He hadn't missed the contempt in John's voice. The man had clearly suffered. The newer recruits were high on power with their heads so far up their arses that common decency was neglected.
He made a mental note to have a serious chat with Harry about his team. Eager to get more insight into his reclusive employee's life, Arthur tried a more personal question to get him to open up, "Have you got a girlfriend, John?" He knew the man wasn't married.
John blushed and averted his gaze before muttering, "Oh, well, yes. I guess I do. She's beautiful, intelligent, and with me all the time."
Arthur raised a questioning brow, hoping that would garner a further explanation. What did he mean by all the time? When it became clear that there was no clarification forthcoming, he noted, "Well, that's good. It is nice to have someone to share your life with."
Slipping back into his heavy coat, the kindly man grinned, "Right. I'm heading off then. Molly's made my favourite chocolate cake, and I can't wait to sink my teeth into it.
He pointed to the rusty old door, "Lock up, will you?"
John bobbed his head in compliance, "Of course, Arthur. Have a good weekend."
Arthur smiled warmly, "You too, lad. Oh, and John, I will speak to Kingsley about a promotion for you." John could not believe the words he was hearing.
He felt accomplished and worthy and did not hesitate to make his thoughts vocal, "Thank you. I don't know what to say." His words of appreciation fell over themselves in eagerness.
Arthur waved his hand casually, "Ah, think nothing of it. You deserve it. Goodnight."
John was beside himself with happiness. He would celebrate the good news with his beloved. She was the reason he was finally recognised for his hard work, and for that, he would treat her to something special.
Hermione sat up straight with one leg propped up and stared in awe at the stunning engagement ring wrapped around her finger. The room was bright and brought every imperfection to harsh light. Malfoy had left the lights on before he left. Malfoy? Draco. Attempting to say his given name made her blush. In the dark recesses of her mind, she knew she wanted him to stay and preferably not on the sofa but in her warm bed right beside her.
The sparkling of the diamond caught her attention. There was nothing out of the ordinary. It looked like any other outrageously pricey ring, but something else entirely was at work and not knowing what painfully ate away at her brain. Everything had a simple explanation.
There had to be some reason the ring acted as if it had a mind of its own. She plopped back down, brought her hand up and through the gaps of her fingers, she could see the hideous cracks on the painted ceiling. Hermione made a mental note to have a chat with the landlord.
Curling her bottom lip with her teeth, she bit down hard and pondered, "Why did you glow?" The soft pad of her thumb grazed the white gold band, and she breathed into the empty room, "What Is your secret?"
A cackling filled her head, "Wouldn't you like to know, Mudblood?"
Hermione shut her eyes and hissed, "Get the fuck out of my head, you old hag." This wasn't the time for her mind to be playing tricks on her, but the relentless malicious voice did not let up, "Are you as shocked as I am that he gave a little nobody like you such an important piece of jewellery?"
The mocking laughter continued, "You're not worthy of it, whore. Give it back..." Hermione heard her clearly, but the taunting seemed to be coming from far away.
Bellatrix sounded faded and distant. Her presence lacked its usual dominating nature. It was bizarre. She had never been able to hold the psychotic bitch at bay before.
Then she noticed the emeralds turning turquoise, and a chill swept over her skin, causing her to tremble intensely. The prickly sensation was too much to bear. She held onto the sides of her head, closed her eyes, and rocked back and forth in an attempt to rid the drowning voice of Bellatrix tormenting her.
Teary-eyed and emotional, Hermione stared wide-eyed at the ring now pulsating on her finger. It lasted but a second, and pin-drop silence followed. The tears she struggled to hold back streamed down her cheeks, and her maniacal laughter filled her small room.
What had just happened? Did the power of the ring thwart her subconscious mind? She glanced at the now perfectly still band with a satisfied grin. Hermione struggled out of her dress and carelessly tossed it aside. She slid between the warm covers in her underwear and drifted off into a dreamless but troubled sleep, filled with never-ending questions.
The sun made its presence known, but it meant nothing to a man who was usually up at the crack of dawn and already halfway through his practice. Draco's gloved fist collided noisily with the large, black punching bag, followed by his muscled leg. He went through his morning routine effortlessly and quickly since he had planned on dedicating time to meditation.
After a quick shower, he sat cross-legged on the carpet and purposefully closed his eyes. Flashes of what happened the previous night hurtled through his mind. Her soft red painted lips, the light sparkling in her eyes and beams of golden silk but mostly his mother's formidable words.
Soul mates. Those two words could spin their lives completely out of control.
Slowly, each memory faded away until all that was left was the calmness that embodied him and made him one with his surroundings. His breathing evened, and an overwhelming feeling of peace encased him.
The Next Morning
Hermione heard the loud alarm blaring. She got up at once, shut it off by slamming her palm down hard on the top knob and took a deep breath. The large blue alarm clock made her smile. At that second, she realised how much she missed her wonderful Muggle parents. It reminded her of her dad's sarcastic wittiness, her mother's sweet and kindly disposition and how close she came to losing it all.
Energetically kicking the sheet aside, she literally sprang out of bed in her eagerness to get ready and hit the road. The weekend would be marvellous. No work, no magic and most importantly, no Draco Malfoy and any reminder of their pending nuptials.
Getting rid of the knickers that had become wedged between her creamy buttocks in the night, she stepped into the tub and turned the knob. The overhead shower came to life, but Hermione moved away from its mildly cold spray and wiggled her toes in the water to feel it.
She shuddered and giggled like a schoolgirl before stepping under the curtain of water cascading down. She relished the feeling of the spray washing away her sleepiness. The skin on her collarbone tingled as the patter of warm water came in contact with the tender area, and she moved her fingers over a sensitive lump she found. Hermione realised that Malfoy had slightly penetrated her skin with his teeth during their passionate embrace.
An unexpected shiver travelled down her spine, and she grabbed hold of the metal railing to steady herself, her legs quivering. There was no denying the perfect chemistry and heat between them. Of all the men in the world, it was an unsettling thought that the Malfoy heir was the one that got her pistons pumping and engine purring.
Oh, how she wanted him. There was no doubt there. Ron had been more than adequate in the bedroom, and few others got her hot under the collar. Terry, well, they hadn't gotten to shagging, but Malfoy trumped them all with his smouldering gaze and intense kisses that quite literally set her skin ablaze with longing.
Bundling herself in a downy towel, Hermione stepped out of the tub and shook her wild tussles of excess water. She stood by the sink and stared at her reflection. Her skin looked normal, but the mark he had branded her with was visible if you knew where to look.
It was a dark purplish bruise, fluttering and throbbing. An intense ache between her thighs reminded her of how fast she had succumbed to his advances. It was a sexual stirring, nothing else. Her eyes momentarily moved down to the engagement ring, but the loud chime of the clock on her bathroom wall stole her attention. She secured the towel around her, ran out of the bathroom, threw open the cupboard, fetched an overnight bag, and tossed it onto the bed.
Grabbing what she needed, she shoved them into a bag along with some neatly folded clothes she had kept aside earlier. Hermione quickly fetched a pair of jeans, sat on the bed, pulled them up her shapely legs and secured them low on her waist with her belt before pulling a black t-shirt over her head. She tied her hair into a messy bun, pocketed her wand, and flung the bag's leather strap around her torso. It fit snugly around her.
Instead of resorting to magic, the young witch had plans to take the bus and enjoy the lively chatter among Muggles. She missed how entertaining it could be on the top deck and how easily she could view the city from up high. She closed the door behind her and stuck the key in the keyhole to lock the door when her neighbour walked out with a knowing grin, "Good morning, dear. Going away for the weekend?"
Hermione heard the satisfying click indicating the door was secured. She straightened and offered Gladys a happy smile, "I'm visiting my parents. Would you mind keeping an eye on my flat?" Well into her seventies, Hermione doubted there wasn't much she could do except phone the police in the unlikely event the place was robbed.
Gladys picked up the newspaper and nodded in reply, "Of course, Dearie. Run along and have fun with that handsome fellow." Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but she soon realised she was pressed for time and getting into a pointless argument with her nosy but sweet neighbour wasn't appropriate.
Instead, she waved cheerfully, "Have a good weekend," The older woman was hard of hearing and muttered to herself, picked up a large tabby cat that wandered out of the flat, walked back in and shut the door.
Humming to herself, Hermione grabbed a chicken sandwich, a twirl and a Yorkie from a nearby cafe and munched on the sarnie as she walked to the closest bus stop. Her parents lived around an hour's drive from where she lived in a modest neighbourhood with pleasant enough neighbours and a glorious 1800s church at the end of the street.
She stood with the rest of the Muggles and wished she had brought a coat. The air was chilly, and the others around her were bundled up in scarves and hats of assorted colours. Hermione rubbed her hands and blew hot breath over them to keep warm, but she needn't have bothered because the bus came down the broad road and pulled up beside them. Paying the fare, she settled on a seat near the misty window. Rubbing it clear with her fist, she stared out of the window.
A small boy's voice of no more than ten interrupted her, and Hermione glanced at the child fidgeting nervously. She was instantly reminded of Teddy and made a mental note to drop Andromeda a call later.
"Hello, can I sit next to you?" The child asked innocently
Hermione moved her bag onto her lap and smiled sweetly, hoping to put the boy at ease, "Of course." He beamed at being spoken to kindly, took off his backpack and sat down hurriedly. He was careful not to invade her space unintentionally.
Hermione pulled out the two bars of chocolate she had picked up earlier and saw the boy's eyes rove eagerly over them.
She grinned and offered without hesitation, "Would you like one?"
He perked up and took the offered treat timidly, "Yes, please. Thank you." She momentarily wondered where his parents were. London was a big city filled with poverty, and it wasn't uncommon for young children to travel alone. Still, it got her thinking. He took the bar in his hand, tore the wrapper open, and took a small bite.
Hermione smiled and did the same. Malfoy and his love for chocolate crossed her mind fondly.
Draco sat at the head of the table dressed in freshly washed pure white robes, looking angelic. He ate light and opted for a bowl of fruit and two pieces of toast.
Narcissa helped herself to some oats and ate the meal with a grimace etched into her delicate features. She was not fond of meals being forced upon her, but after her last episode, Healer George had been specific. She had to lay off fatty foods. Begrudgingly she took the prescribed foul-smelling and loathsome potions.
Narcissa took one more mouthful of the thick porridge, shuddered in disgust and pushed aside her bowl.
Draco bit into a piece of buttered toast, caught the gesture and grinned, "Mother, eating healthy will benefit you in the long run."
Narcissa paid no heed to his words, "I am not some invalid, and this so-called food is for Abraxans."
Draco laughed, "Our Abraxans don't eat oats."
Narcissa huffed, "Bah, it tastes like wallpaper paste."
A hearty chuckle left his lips, and he gazed lovingly at his headstrong mother. He cleared his throat and bit into a juicy green apple. The tangy flavour erupted in his mouth, and the juice dribbled down his prominent jawline until he wiped it off with a refined swipe of his serviette.
"Granger has agreed to live out her prison sentence in the cottage," Draco informed his mother with amusement.
Narcissa glowered at his attempted humour, "Sentence? Must you joke? It's a marriage, not an incarceration!" She made her distaste towards his ill-timed joke abundantly clear.
Draco sighed. His mother was adamantly holding onto the notion of a happy marriage between Granger and him, it seemed. He said solemnly, "Mother, please don't fool yourself into believing it's real. I assure you it is not."
She ignored him pointedly and buttered a piece of toast more harshly than it deserved.
Draco informed unequivocally, "I would like to start renovations on the property at once." This appeased Narcissa, and she raved, "Of course, I'll see to it and arrange a meeting. I think Hermione would appreciate touches of red in her room."
Draco nodded in agreement, "Whatever she wants, she can have. I want her to be as comfortable as possible." He truly hoped Granger had taste and would not resort to gaudy patterns and colours that would be a guaranteed eyesore.
He concluded, "She wanted to design the bathroom personally."
Narcissa raised a brow and smiled curiously, "Interesting." She knew women were fond of their bathroom space. Men understood nothing about long leisurely relaxing bubble baths to escape their husbands.
Draco rolled his eyes but hid his reaction well and quipped, "Not in the least." But the thought of her submerged in some decadent bath caused his mind to wander.
Hermione bid her young companion a fond farewell. She learnt his name was Jason and he was visiting his grandparents for the weekend. He was mature for his age, spoke articulately and had the most pleasing manners. Her encounter with him made her miss Teddy terribly.
She hopped off the bus and started to walk towards her parents' house, taking the time to enjoy watching elderly couples chatter and link arms as they strolled along the road. She had missed this, the bustle of working people, and mums with small children headed to the large park during the day—the park busy and as enticing as it had been when she was a child—the surroundings and trees littered with shades of green and dappled in sunlight as they swayed gently in the cool breeze.
From around the corner, Hermione could make out her mother's tall sunflowers reaching for the sky, and it filled her heart with joy and sadness that she didn't visit as often as she should.
Deciding to go around the back, she pushed the wooden door that led to their backyard and overheard her parents' voices.
"Jules, I told you that cabbage patch needed more water. It's looking parched."
"Richard, you know where the watering can is and hurry up. Hermione will be here any minute."
Hermione could not hold back the chuckle that burst out of her. Both sets of semi greying heads turned her way, but it was her father that yelled happily, "Princess!" Her father was a tall, generously built man with cropped hair.
As the years rolled by, his thick chestnut brown locks were streaked with strands of silvery grey. He embraced them and often fondly referred to them as his strands of infinite wisdom. His deep brown eyes held a refined kindness in them that couldn't be matched.
Her mother was petite. She always dressed well and had a kind, understanding face that lit up a room. Her curly tresses were less wild than her daughter's unruly mess, mainly because she always wore it tightly pulled back into a neat bun. Her rich auburn coloured hair, like her husband's, had lines of grey, which she diligently covered up at the salon once a month.
Abandoning any form of grace, Hermione quickened her step and quite literally jumped into her loving father's arms and gushed, "I've missed you and mum so much." Maybe it was her period, but she was overcome with emotion and struggled in vain to keep the tears away.
Her father's large soothing hands brushed her hair to comfort his only child.
Julia came close, stroked her small hand over her daughter's back, and praised, "As we have, my darling. You look wonderful." She pointed to the kitchen and encouraged, "I just brewed a fresh pot of coffee and baked a batch of the madeleines you like." Madeleines after chocolate croissants were Hermione favourite French delicacy. She loved how the small traditional cakes were lighter than air and melted in her mouth like Malfoy's lips.
Fuck. No, clear your mind of him. This weekend was about her and not her magical match. She beamed and took her mum's dainty hand, "Lovely, I would die for a good cup. It's been so long." They sat at the table while Julia poured the coffee into mugs and filled a blue hand-painted bowl with freshly baked Madeleines. The bowl was crafted and painted by her at a "Find a hobby" class the church conducted.
Hermione leaned back in the chair and got comfortable. She looked around and inhaled the rich scent of baked goods, and freshly dug earth alongside muggle treats. It felt fabulous to be home.
Richard eyed his daughter warily. While she looked thinner than usual, her face was flushed and happy, but it was the latest addition to her person that genuinely got him thinking. He cleared his throat and queried, "So, how are you? What's new?" It was a straightforward attempt to squeeze out the truth.
Hermione shrugged, "Work has been mental, but that's nothing new. What about you? How's the clinic?"
Julia placed a mug in front of each of them and took a seat. Her eyes, like her husband, were drawn to the prominent presence on her daughter's left hand, her ring finger. Unable to contain himself any further, Richard declared slowly, "That's quite a ring."
Hermione paled. She quickly snatched her hand off the table and kept it on her lap. Bollocks. In her haste, she had forgotten entirely to slip it off, and strangely enough, she had no desire to be parted from it. Well, her parents deserved the truth, of course, and she had every intention of telling them, but did it have to be this soon?
Julia brought her mug up to her lips and questioned softly, "Is that why you decided to visit? Do you have news to share?"
Hermione shifted uncomfortably, offered a sheepish grin and answered, "Well, partially. It's quite a funny story actually about an algorithm and Ministry of Magic, but mostly I needed a break from my complicated life."
Richard did not bother to hold back his disappointment, "Yes, I'm dying to know why my only child decided to get engaged without informing her parents."
Julia slipped into a transfixed state of shock.
The older man looked his daughter over suspiciously and insisted harshly, "Are you pregnant?"
He cracked his knuckles and demanded, "Is it that Weasley boy?" Oh, Merlin. This was not going as planned. In fact, it was all going horribly wrong, and she had absolutely no clue how to fix it.
Hermione choked on her coffee and croaked, "Lord, no. Ron and I have been over for ages." Her father seemed anything but convinced, and her mother stared deadpan into her mug and said nothing.
She cleared the air with a high-pitched nervous laugh, "Oh, dad, it's nothing like that.
Julia broke out of the initial shock and snapped, "Best you start from the top then."
Richard snorted, "I'll have you know that your grandmother will not be pleased."Christ almighty, her father's mother, was the loveliest and the scariest person in her life. She was also fiercely protective of her granddaughter. It was admirable how well she balanced both sides.
Hermione flinched as if she had been struck and argued feebly, "Nobody has to tell Nana."
Julia tittered, "She's worse than a bloodhound. Besides, anyone can spot that engagement ring from a mile away."
Richard scowled, "He must be bloody well off to afford such a piece."
Hermione brought her hand up from its hiding place and looked at the glistening ring fondly before explaining, "It's a family heirloom." Her father was anything but pacified.
He crossed his arms over his broad chest and huffed, "I don't care if it's Prince William. I want to meet the man."
He demanded impatiently, "Go on then, tell us about this so-called Algorithm."
Hermione sighed, drained her coffee, and recited an abridged version of the algorithm. She explained its importance, the exit clauses, and a further shortened version of why she accepted. She was careful to leave out her horrid past with Malfoy and his treatment of her back at Hogwarts. Those excessive details would needlessly alarm and deeply concern her parents.
Richard was fuming by the time the explanation concluded. He pressed undeterred, "It's settled. You can take the exit clause and come home to us. Why would you want to be part of a sodding world that forces marriage on you? Hermione, this is unacceptable, and I won't stand for it, do you hear me!"
Julia took a deep breath to steady her nerves and rapidly beating heart, "It is a rather extreme way of dealing with a decrease in population." She wished her little girl wasn't a witch at times. Their lives had undoubtedly become more complicated since learning Hermione wasn't meant to lead a lifestyle similar to theirs.
Richard blurted out unexpectedly, "What kind of man proposes without meeting his would-be father-in-law? People were shot for less degrading behaviour."
Bugger, Hermione thought helplessly. Stupid, careless bitch, flaunting around the ring. Are you happy now, idiot? Her internal voice raged.
Hermione nervously played with the edge of a napkin and defended, "He is as helpless as I am in this situation." She requested meekly, "Can we not make a big deal out of this, please?"
Richard urged urgently, "Have you set a date?"
Hermione shook her head, "No, but I suppose it will be soon."
Richard gritted out sarcastically, "Oh, she supposes. That is a great plan." He brought his fist down hard on the table, making the women flinch and spat, "This is a marriage, not some game you play."
Hermione choked back a sob and hung her head. Her father's words gutted her. He spoke the truth because he loved her, but the words he uttered hurt so much.
Julia locked eyes with her angry husband and pleaded, "Richard, please. Calm yourself." She squeezed her daughter's shaking hand and implored, "It's obvious you've made up your mind, Hermione, but have you truly thought this through, darling?"
What was she going to say? No, she wasn't sure. That she had no clue what the next three years would bring? She would have to live with him and deal with whatever happened, but she was perfectly comfortable tongue-wrestling with him at every given opportunity, and she couldn't tell a soul about that.
Hermione smiled to hide her discomfort, "Yes, mum. I didn't come to this decision lightly. Trust me." She gritted out, "I fought so hard to have the law revoked." Hermione braved a look at her slightly fuming father. It was vital that they understood that she didn't make a rash decision.
Richard shot to his feet, threw down the napkin at his disposal and hissed through clenched teeth, "I want to meet him." Fuck. She was having a nightmare. This could not be possibly happening. She pinched herself to wake herself up, but this was no dream. Hermione would have gladly embraced Bellatrix rather than looked her father in the eye at this moment. Her palms turned clammy, and the room started to spin.
Hermione let her head drop, and her forehead collided noisily with the smooth surface of the kitchen table. She groaned and grumbled, "Daddy, please!"
Julia eyed her daughter's odd behaviour in concern and implored, "Richard?" But the headstrong man was having none of it, he argued, "How could you possibly be okay with her spending the rest of her life with some man we've never met."
Hermione interrupted unknowingly, "Three years..." She regretted her words instantly.
Both parents rounded on her. Their faces twisted with disapproval, and both questioned at once.
Her father kept it simple, "WHAT?"
Her mother's reaction was more refined, "I beg your pardon, young lady?"
She prayed a hole would open up and swallow her whole, keeping her eyes on her lap as she mumbled, "We are getting divorced when the mandatory time has passed."
Richard let out a sarcastic laugh, "How wonderful. This Wizarding World is full of crackpots. Not only has my daughter had to fight a megalomaniac, but now they're forcing her to marry! They said you were a war hero, Hermione, gave you a bloody medal. My daughter almost had to give her life!"
He stormed away and turned on his heel. "Now they are trying to control your love life. What does Harry say about this? I'll bet he's livid?"
Hermione mumbled, "He was, but accepts my decision." Harry was good at reading between the lines, while Ron only saw things in black and white. He wagged a warning finger, "Regardless, I'm having none of it. Invite this man over for dinner tomorrow. I want to know who they think is good enough for my only daughter!"
Hermione pleaded desperately, "What? Tomorrow? No." It was too soon. She had to prepare Malfoy for the unsolicited barrage of questions that were sure to be thrown his way.
Richard narrowed his eyes and recited in a no-nonsense tone, "Hermione Jean Granger, do as you're told."
Turning to her mother, Hermione implored, "Mum.." Her eyes begged her mother to see reason, but it was a futile attempt as any.
Julia shook her head firmly but smiled warmly, "I'm sorry, darling, but I'm with your dad on this one." She said positively, "Plus, it'll be fun to meet this Draco Malfoy."
Hermione buried her head in her hands and whimpered, "I highly doubt that."
Richard concurred from his place at the sink, his hands gripping the porcelain tightly, "I agree with you there."
Wales
Bernard reached his ancestral home. It had been abandoned, but the elves in employment kept the place spotlessly clean and to a proper standard. He would never live in the beautiful home.
There were acres of marshland and darkly foreboding moors to a Muggles eye. Even though magic kept away unwanted guests, intruders, and people unlucky enough to have wandered further than they should, the Manor had many enchantments placed around it that were, to put mildly, not welcoming.
He belonged to the illustrious and scared 28, a direct descendent of the Flint family, a fact he was deeply ashamed of. Unfortunately, one never gets to choose their family. He had rebelled from a younger age and went against his parents' strict teachings and discriminatory ways.
Life was far too short to be consumed by hate. Following a heated argument with his parents, he left home after graduation and built his own company. Soon enough, he gained the community's respect and had a thriving business.
After this, he visited his dying mother upon the insistence of the others in the family. That came to an abrupt halt when she tried to stab him with a poisoned dagger. His father had been brutally murdered by Death Eaters under Voldemort's orders due to a few bits of false information during the first war. Not his father's fault entirely and trivial, really, but Voldemort dealt in absolutes.
When Voldemort surfaced, Bernard knew his family would support the cause but be too cowardly to fight in the open and make their allegiance officially known, much like Lucius. He remembered a conversation between himself and his then-close friend. It would be the point of their falling out.
Bernard refused outright to have anything to do with the slaughter of innocents, while Lucius tried to convince him that it was his birthright to uphold tradition and keep pureblood magic where it belonged. Bernard had sternly refused and stormed out of Malfoy Manor without a second glance.
He had kept up a correspondence with Narcissa, and they kept their letters and meetings secret. As the web Lucius wove closed in around them, Bernard lost all contact with Narcissa, and it saddened him considerably not to know how the woman he had fallen in love with was fairing.
She hadn't returned his affections until he visited her during her house arrest, and they rekindled their friendship. It was only after her husband's passing did they become romantically involved. Narcissa was a woman of her word and would not dishonour her husband's name, despite his many shortcomings as a husband.
Bernard walked up the ancient steps, and the large oak doors opened, granting him entrance. An elderly elf with long strands of white curling their way out of his enormous ears greeted him with a sour disposition. He was more significant than your average elf and bowed low, "Master, it is good to see you."
Bernard nodded soberly, "Likewise, Albert." Being inside his childhood home made his insides twist unpleasantly and bile rise into his throat.
Albert straightened and inquired with faux politeness, "Will Master be staying for long?" Not if his life depended on it. Bernard shook his head at once, "No, I'll be leaving shortly. I need to access the archives."
The elf bowed curtly, "Of course, sir. Let me know if you require any assistance." Most of his family were dead. Few were scattered. Some members married important dignitaries from foreign lands to escape persecution on British soil because of their unwavering support of a mad man. Images and ghosts of old appeared before him as he took the flight of stairs to the upper floors. The portraits came to life and whispered hoarsely as he passed.
A young voice bore into his thoughts, "Ah, finally come home, I see."
Bernard stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned to face the sizeable tasteful portrait of his mother. She had been a beautiful woman in her time, but once her mind slipped, she became grossly paranoid, and her looks faded into nothingness. He was glad the painting was from her youth.
His voice cracked, "Mother..."
She wasted no time with pleasantries, "What are you doing here, Bernard?" His mother wasn't known for her hospitality.
Bernard answered bluntly, "I need to visit the library and go over the family tree."
She raised a perfectly painted eyebrow suspiciously, "Is that all?"
Bernard fixed his tie, clicked his heels together and nodded curtly, "Yes, mother. That is all." The manners instilled into him were hard to break. She was the woman who gave birth to him, and presumable suckled him at her breast.
Her porcelain-like features twisted with disapproval, and she spat harshly, "Be gone with you. I don't wish to see you walking these pristine halls that your father died to uphold."
He held his tongue and didn't bother trading insults with a dead woman. He walked away as she moaned and complained behind him.
The library wasn't exclusive. The Flints were not known for their intellect. Still, brute strength was their forte. His mother was meticulous about keeping the family tree updated in a large leather-bound book, and it was that book that would offer him insight into the Dollhouse Strangler.
Bernard ran his fingers along the rigid, dusty spines of the books until he found what he desired hiding among other manuscripts. He lugged the heavy book to the small table and flipped it open. It dated back to four or five generations, but he was sure he had seen the wand carved by the lunatic in his youth which would mean the wand's owner was a living or deceased relative of his line.
They were a few blackened marks, and Bernard sighed. It was customary to disown family members for going against the family's wishes, birthing squibs, and doing anything deemed unacceptable by the family's patriarch. One foreign name caught his interest. It wasn't British and sounded like it could be Russian. The man mentioned was not one of the family. The name linking him with the familial golden lines was burnt away, along with the name that appeared below. It was a child's name.
This intrigued Bernard, and he wondered if either one was the owner of the mysterious wand. It was also the only blackened mark within a century. He was grudgingly served tea and spent a good portion of the afternoon looking around the library for any leads or explanation into who the Russian man was but came up empty. He wrote down the name on a piece of parchment in looped writing and pocketed it for further investigation.
Slightly disappointed at not learning much, Bernard returned to his modest home and fixed himself a much-needed drink. Caught up in his thoughts, he sipped the fiery amber liquid and stared into the distance in deep thought.
Visiting his ancestral home awakened some disturbing feelings in him.
Theo's dulcet tones cut through Draco and Narcissa's pleasant conversation about possible improvements that could be done to the cottage, "Good afternoon, Narcissa, Karate kid."
Draco glared sternly, "Kung fu, you ignorant slob." Max reared his head from under Narcissa's chair and growled. The hair on the back of his neck stood up intimidatingly, and it was a clear sign to stay away.
Theo eyed the dog cautiously and muttered, "That dog hates me, I swear."
Draco reached over and ruffled the white Alsatians head to calm him and reflected, "He's an impeccable judge of character."
Narcissa stifled a laugh and inquired politely, "What brings you by, Theodore?" Theo placed a hand over his heart and acted wounded by her words, falling dramatically into a chair and feigning a swoon, "I'm hurt that you would ask me such a question. Can I not visit an old friend and his lovely mother?"
Draco massaged the bridge of his nose and demanded impatiently, "Theo!" The lanky man put his hands up in defence, "I have been tasked with whisking you away to spend a day of leisure and relaxation at the Count Baltimore Country club. Blaise and his zoo will be joining along with Pansy and her oaf."
Narcissa shook her head exasperatedly and scolded, "Theo, mind your manners."
Theo had the good grace to look mildly ashamed, "My Apologies, Narcissa. Old habits die hard." He added with little to no interest, "It's also Carrie's birthday."
Narcissa questioned, "Carrie?" She waited patiently for an answer.
Draco answered with a slight smirk, "Carrie is Blaise's adorable daughter, mother." He was reminded of Jun's naughty younger sister. At the temple, he had often rescued the mischievous scamp from her elder sister's sharp tongue for nicking food out of the clay pots.
Narcissa smiled affectionately, "What a delightful name. How I wish I could have named a Malfoy daughter," she said wistfully.
Taking a seat away from the irritated dog, Theo enthused, "We might even find a woman for you at the club, Draco." He inquired callously, forgetting Narcissa was among them, "How long has it been since you got some action?"
Draco muttered, "I'm not interested." There was only one woman he wanted to take to bed.
Narcissa coughed to make her presence known, but still, Theo went on without a care. He seemed lost in his thoughts, "Some beautiful women come by the club."
He mused, "The bathing suits are to die for. You got to love Muggle clothing. Luna picked up this hot little number and..."
Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat and hissed warningly, "I'll kill you and slowly this time."
Theo frowned and moved his eyes critically over his best friend's attire, "Go change into something appropriate."
Draco ran his right hand over the soft material of his white robes and argued, "What? This is perfectly acceptable."
Theo snorted, "You look like a bloody monk. The objective is to get you laid, not offer spiritual advice." Unfortunately, the wanker had a valid point.
Narcissa almost choked on her tea. She covered her mouth and coughed to relieve the discomfort.
Draco rolled his eyes exasperatedly, "Fine. I'll change." Turning on his heel, he directly addressed Max, "If Mr Nott says anything vile, you have my permission to attack."
Theo passed the time by entertaining Narcissa with his baseless gossip and amusing jokes.
Draco reentered in black linen pants and a white shirt buttoned down casually within a quarter of an hour. He ran his fingers through his wet hair and insisted, "Good enough, Nott?"
Theo cocked his head to the side, pouted his thin lips and winked, "I'd shag you." The words were barely out of his mouth; Draco put Theo in what looked like a painful headlock while the man squealed like a girl and begged to be released.
Narcissa widened her eyes and quickly shoved them off, "Goodness. Yes, take him and leave but promise never to return, Theo."
Draco let go with a hearty chuckle, and Theo rubbed his neck, bent to kiss Narcissa on the cheek and croaked, "I'll have him back at a reasonable hour."
After trying for a further half an hour to change her parents' minds about meeting Malfoy, Hermione conceded defeat. Instead, she focused on having a pleasant weekend until the dreaded dinner. It dawned on her, what if Malfoy refused to entertain the idea? That would work well, except her parents would hate him, but she would've done her part to honour her parents' request.
Did she feel right about throwing Malfoy's rather delectable form under the bus?
A vivid image of her sitting on his beautiful face came to mind. Completely unrelated.
Hermione blushed. What the fuck was wrong with her? She plopped down on her childhood bed among her soft toys and numerous shelves jammed with books and toyed with her wand, making sparks fly off the tip as she thought hard about how she would go about inviting her would-be husband to her parent's house for dinner.
A sense of dread filled her insides to the brim. This was a terrible idea and, hopefully, one that didn't backfire on her.
Blaise sat by the pool in a dark blue t-shirt, khaki shorts and dark shades, sipping a golden-brown blend. His lips curved into a smirk at the sight of his best friends. He addressed Theo directly, "Ah, I see you managed to complete the task I assigned you without a cock-up."
Theo threw Draco a dirty look and gingerly rubbed his neck. Draco looked around the area and took in the finer details. The exclusive club sure had changed over the years and for the better.
Everything down to the elegantly arranged furniture around the Olympic size pool was modern and appealing, and for once, Theo was indubitably right. There were some fine women in attendance, and by the looks, they threw him, it was clear they were interested.
Theo leered, "I find your lack of confidence in me disturbing, son."
Blaise ignored the reply, got to his feet, and clamped Draco on the shoulder, "It's good to see you, mate."
Theo frowned at the wrapped gift in Draco's grasp, "Forgive our tardiness, but Malfoy here insisted on stopping to buy a gift."
Blaise took the artfully wrapped present and spoke, "You didn't have to. It was last minute, I'm afraid. Just got the family together and decided on making a day of it."
Draco shrugged it off nonchalantly and replied, "I hope Carrie likes it." He wished he had called Granger and gotten her input. She knew a thing or two about what a toddler would fancy.
Pansy wore a modest purple bikini that hugged her perfectly at the right curves. She held a glass flute filled with what looked remarkably like orange juice. Neville had his arm around her waist, and both smiled as Draco came into view. Abandoning her husband, Pansy sauntered over and kissed Draco on the cheek in greeting.
Neville trailed behind and offered his hand, which Draco took without hesitation in a firm shake, "Longbottom. Well, the whole gangs here then?"
Blaise leaned in and muttered, "Fair warning, Tori is arriving shortly."
Draco sighed deeply, "Great." Well, it might not be so bad, but then he remembered the last time he saw her. She ran away from the Manor in tears. All she seemed to do around him was confess her undying love and cry. For fucks sake.
He looked around and noticed the children were nowhere in sight, "Where's the birthday girl?"
Blaise pointed to the pool, and a loving smile touched his face, "Swimming with Daphne and Luna. Sit down, mate. What would you like to drink?"
Pansy took a sip of her concoction and moaned in delight. She suggested heartily, "Have a mimosa, Draco. It is divine."
Draco waved it off, "Bit too early for me. I'll get something later." She drained her drink, laid down on her front, and Neville squirted a generous portion of sun cream onto her back and began to massage it into her skin. At the same time, Pansy mewled seductively, utterly oblivious to the people surrounding them.
Luna came bouncing up to them in a florescent pink, one-piece bathing suit with frills and a mermaid sprawled across the front. She greeted in her usual whimsical manner, "Draco, how lovely to see you. How are you?"
She stood close and shook her long blonde hair, resembling his, sending water droplets flying in all directions. Draco tried to avoid the falling beads unsuccessfully and replied kindly, "Fine, thanks and you?"
Luna grinned broadly and hugged herself, making her boson almost spill out, "I'm wonderful, but that's expected. We are in the middle of Nargle mating season. Pheromones are in the air, and it's a time of great joy."
Draco looked perplexed but didn't dare question, "Well, that's good to know."
Luna walked as a child would towards the bar, and they saw her order a pink strawberry drink with a large umbrella in it.
Theo glanced her way and his face relaxed into a sappy mess, "She's amazingly unique. I've never loved another so much."
He nudged Draco and winked, "I have plans to whisk her away to some exotic island and spoil her rotten."
Pansy picked up on what was said, sat up, crossed her perfectly tanned legs, and stated with an elevated level of excitement, "Speaking of exotic gateways, Neville is taking me to Hawaii next week. Isn't it marvellous?"
Daphne dried her hair and sighed, "Lucky you. I honestly cannot remember the last time Blaise and I did anything alone."
Theo brightened as a brilliant idea came to mind, "Pans, can Luna and I join you guys? We've never been to Hawaii."
Pansy beamed, "That would be wonderful." Neville seemed equally pleased and somewhat relieved. She invited the others enthusiastically, "Blaise? Draco? How about you guys? It'll be nice if the whole gang could go."
Blaise seemed eager and more than willing. Salazar knew they needed a holiday, especially Daphne. He shrugged, "Sounds like fun, but up to the Mrs though."
Daphne wanted to accept without a second thought. It would be smashing to relax on the beach and take in some of the more breathtaking views, but her kids were a handful, and she reluctantly voiced her thoughts, "We wouldn't want to ruin the fun with our screaming children."
On cue, Adam let out an ear-piercing cry. His ice cream had fallen to the ground and splattered all over his feet. Daphne hurried off to tend to her youngest child and possibly buy another to calm him down. She kept a watchful eye on Carrie splashing in the baby pool, but she needn't bother since Luna was keeping the toddler company.
After Daphne left with Adam, Theo leaned forwards and asked Blaise, "Can't you get someone to watch them for a week?"
Blaise chuckled, "That's not how parenting works, mate. I will see what we can do. No promises, though." A week was a long time, and the only available or willing grandparents to watch them would be the Greengrass's. Though he loved her to bits, his mother was a reckless soul more concerned with her latest conquest and squeezing him dry of Knut, Sickle and Galleon.
Pansy snapped her fingers, and a waiter appeared at once. She ordered another mimosa and quizzed, "Draco, what about you?" He had been listening intently to his friends' back-and-forth banter while admiring a gorgeous raven-haired beauty doing laps in the pool. She cut through the water effortlessly, wiggling what he could only assume was a perfect bouncy arse.
Draco laughed aloud and pondered openly, "You buggers want me to accompany you sodding couples on a romantic getaway?" He snorted, "Yeah, that sounds bloody fantastic."
Pansy offered in an effort to be helpful, "You could hook up with someone holidaying."
Theo urged, "Ask your fiancé to accompany you. I, for one, would love to see Granger in a bathing suit."
Pansy punched his arm hard, and Theo winced and bellowed, "That's going to fucking bruise. What did you do that for?"
Draco warned, "That's enough, Theo." His foreboding tone mirrored his true feelings about the inappropriate comment. It pricked his heart and lit it on fire. He didn't take kindly to men commenting on Granger's appearance.
Theo knew he crossed an imaginary line and swiftly apologised, "Sorry, mate. I didn't mean anything by it."
"Luna will be going. That will offer Granger some comfort," Blaise weighed in. It was a valid selling point.
Draco ordered a scotch on the rocks. The conversation had undoubtedly taken a turn for the worst. He said exasperatedly, "I think you lot have lost your minds or been out in the sun too long."
Pansy rolled her eyes, "Well, at least ask. What is the worst that could happen?
Blaise shrugged, "She could say no, or she might surprise you and agree to it." Neville kept mum on the matter and let the Slytherins argue it out. He was almost one hundred per cent certain Hermione would kick Malfoy in the nuts for suggesting such an atrocious thing.
Theo snickered, "Well, she could humiliate him by reminding him how much of a loathsome cockroach he was to her and that he's barmy to invite her on a romantic getaway."
Blaise groaned, "You know that little voice inside everyone's head, Theo?"
Theo raised a curious brow, "Yeah?"
Blaise mocked, "Yours is in your arse."
Pansy stifled a laugh and pressed, "Ask her, Draco. It might work out."
Draco shook his head and explained further, "I doubt it's a good idea. Besides, I start work on Monday and will be on probation for a month. I'll hardly make a good impression if I push off work to party with you lot for a week.
Pansy grimaced, "Work? Like out of the family business? She looked revolted and queasy at the prospect.
Blaise couldn't hold back his surprise, "What?"
Theo crudely said what they were all thinking, "You're the richest one here. Why the hell do you need to work? It dawned on him that he hadn't shared this development with his closest friends.
Draco defended his decision. It wasn't like their opinion would sway his thinking, but they were his best friends and deserved a logical explanation, "I didn't earn a single Knut in the Malfoy vault, now did I?" He balled his hands into a fist, making the veins pop out on his hardened arms, "I want to make a difference."
Blaise, as always, was quick to see reason being the most levelheaded one of the group. He encouraged, "That's admirable, mate. Where did you apply?"
Luna joined them with another fruity drink in hand. Daphne had taken her place with the children, and they splashed and giggled in delight.
Draco replied, "I spoke to Potter and joined the DMLE."
Theo bellowed, "Are you fucking serious?" Witches and wizards passing by with children threw them disapproving, irritated looks.
Pansy scolded, "Keep your voice down, Theo. We have an image to uphold."
Blaise said thoughtfully, "That was unexpected, but now that you've told us, I can't say I'm surprised. It seems fitting."
Luna sat on Theo's lap, adjusted her silver ankle bracelet and chimed in, "I think it's fantastic. I'm sure you will be a good Auror."
Draco was grateful for the kind, supportive words, "Thank you, Luna."
Once she got over the initial shock, Pansy uttered, "Well, aren't you full of surprises, but are you sure you're cut out for that sort of work?"
Draco regarded his best friend with an amused expression, "I'm quite used to hardship, Pans. He did not miss the concern in his friends' eyes and awkward body language, he knew they meant well, but his decision was final. Theo's left eye twitched, and he almost stuttered, "An Auror?"
Draco mused, "Close your mouth, Theo. You're drooling."
Hermione miserably followed her father into the local supermarket. Julia had given them an extensive list of items needed to prepare dinner for their almost son-in-law.
She dragged her feet and grumbled, "Is this necessary?"
Richard frowned, "Yeah, it is. Now, where is the list your mother gave?"
Hermione waved a piece of paper in her father's face and hurried off towards the meat section while her father picked the vegetables. She stopped by the processed cheese aisle, took out a pack of mozzarella and flipped it over to check out the expiration date.
A deep, confident voice made it to her sensitive ear, "Hello love, how are you?"
Was she getting hit on in the bloody dairy section? How pathetic.
She faked a smile, "I'm alright, thanks. Sorry, umm, can I help you?" The man wearing snug jeans looked like he worked out religiously. His bulging biceps were a testimonial to that.
He rubbed the back of his head and grinned sheepishly, "Can I buy you a coffee?"
Without much thought, Hermione clumsily flashed the engagement ring in his face and blurted out, "I'm married, but thanks. I really am flattered."
She blushed crimson and tried to hide the colour that tainted her cheeks. With an embarrassing lopsided grin, she left the humiliated man standing alone before he could utter another word. Her father was still sorting out the best vegetables to buy, and Hermione rolled her eyes. It was an absolute nightmare shopping for groceries with her dad.
She frowned, "Hurry up, dad." He studied the difference between two ripe tomatoes and chuckled, "Patience, sweetheart." To her, they both looked the same.
Hermione stormed her foot down like a toddler throwing a tantrum, crossed her arms over her chest and impatiently tapped her foot until her father was done.
Richard inquired grudgingly, "So what does the moneyed prat like? Caviar and chocolates flown in from Switzerland?"
Hermione couldn't help but laugh. Her dad's sense of sarcastic humour cracked her up, but it never sat well with Ron and, in a way, that contributed to their breakup as well. Mr Muscles, in barely fitting jeans, walked by and purposely ignored her, and she busied herself with looking for a few plump carrots. Plump, the exact word her father used.
It would be another hour before they got the stuff they needed and headed home. Malfoy better enjoy dinner and polish off every morsel after the effort she had gone through, or so help him. She would make him miserable for the duration of their marriage if he didn't.
Draco sat back and watched the situations around him unravel. Pansy and Neville exchanged secret glances, quick pecks and lounging leisurely on the posh sun loungers. Theo and Luna horsed around in the swimming pool and embraced hard, despite the looks of disapproval the other patrons threw them.
Blaise, Daphne and their adorable children seemed so content that it filled his heart with immense joy to see his friends leading such happy lives, but he felt a deep void in his. He thought of Granger. She would undoubtedly make a wonderful mother and wife to the man who truly held her heart. Their kisses and touches were locked away in his head. He couldn't get enough of breathing the sweet scent that was Granger.
His gaze wandered as he thought of her, a slight blush highlighting his upper cheeks. His heart rate rose, and a feeling of emptiness rolled around his belly.
Earlier, he had wanted to text her to see how she was fairing and if any more unprecedented events had followed but thought against it. The last thing he wanted was to suffocate her with his presence dogging her every step.
A voice of jagged steel cut right into his thoughts, "Fancy seeing your ugly mug here."
Chapter 31
Notes:
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A bit of background on Hermione as a child. More details about her wonderful Muggle parents and the importance of friendship.
Enjoy Chapter Thirty One!
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Chapter Text
A remote part of London
He barely uttered a word in the morning, rushed in at first light, handed her a cheese sandwich while she cowered in the corner and walked off without so much as a how are you? His indifference alarmed her, and disturbing questions ran rampant in her fragile mind.
Had she served her purpose? Was he getting ready to do the deed? She wept silent tears of frustration.
The man seemed to be in a good mood. She had sat silently after relieving the burden of her full bladder in the bucket by the bed, stewing in her insecurities until the sun was high in the sky, and he walked in without announcement. Not that he ever made his presence known before barging through the door and forcing her to succumb to his needs.
The smile on his face was further proof of his cheery disposition, and he chirped, "Good afternoon, darling. I thought you might like something special for lunch."
He placed a sizeable tray on the table. She could scarcely make out fried chicken, mashed potatoes and peas peeking out from under the covered cloth. A mouthwatering aroma filled the room. She was reminded of her mother's cooking and the happiness, she once knew.
Shortly after arranging the table, he left the room and reappeared with a large bag of sorts. He took out what lay within with a broad grin before bolting the door.
A navy blue, high-collared cotton dress an ageing witch might wear was in his grasp. It was horribly outdated, and she wondered where he purchased it. Having worked at the finest dress robes store in Wizarding Britain, Madam Malkin's, she knew a thing or two about fashion and the latest trends. She had appeared in Witch Weekly Magazine sporting new outfits once or twice before her employment at the shop.
He held it out proudly, "Surprise," she almost laughed in his face but bit her tongue and held back the urge to mock his horrid taste in clothes. Not like it mattered, an empty potato sack would have been a welcome change after months of lying around in her birthday suit, but the garment could not possibly be for her. He had expressed how much he enjoyed watching her bare body and cunt spread for his pleasure on more than one occasion.
Closing the gap between them, he held out the dress for her to see better and gushed, "Shall we get you dressed and then we can have lunch?" He looked over to the table suggestively.
Panic flooded her, and her legs turned numb with fear. Why was the maniac presenting her with clothes? Her lips quivered, but she managed to ask shakily, "Why are you doing this?" Her voice was hoarse with lack of use. He did not skip a beat. His eyes clouded over, and his face relaxed before he answered, "Because I love you."
His sudden proclamation stunned her into silence, but what really made her skin crawl was the sincerity of the tone. He honestly believed he was in love with her. The words seemed so terrible coming from his chapped lips. The unhinged lunatic eagerly closed the space between them, but she moved away unconsciously and anxiously watched him eye the chain that held her in place and restricted her movements.
He cautioned ominously, "I'm going to unchain you. I trust you, but I'll kill you where you stand if you make a run for it." There was no hesitation, no remorse in his words or features. There was no doubt he would carry out his threat.
He raised his voice and demanded, "Is that clear?" A shudder slid down her spine, and she nodded vigorously. With a swift movement that infuriated her, he used an ancient-looking key to unlock the bracelet around her wrist that had kept her chained for months. Her eyes darted excitedly towards the door; it was so close, but how far would she make it? She presumed from the chilly breeze that swept through her makeshift prison at night that she was being held somewhere on the city's outskirts.
Should she make a run for it? His harsh voice cut into her thoughts of escape, and she flinched, "Put your hands up." Her body slumped with defeat, and she obediently did as instructed.
Slowly, she lifted her arms over her head, causing her breasts to rise and her nipples to stiffen. The man couldn't help but stare at the rosy pink buds that pebbled involuntarily at his touch. He swallowed hard and concentrated on the task at hand, but an aggressive tightening in his trousers distracted him. He shook his head of vulgar thoughts, put the dress over her head and carefully held it for her to slip her arms into the long sleeves, smoothing the dress down her stomach until it fell to her ankles.
A sexual stirring once again awakened inside him. She looked so pure and innocent in the old-fashioned garment that not taking her while she looked so delectable seemed like a crime. The woman touched the fabric and whimpered in mock gratitude, "Thank you. It's a lovely dress." It was the most hideous thing she had the misfortune of laying her eyes on. A feeling of pure joy spread through him. It was the first time he would ever hear such kind words from a woman he cared about.
He raved, "You look breathtaking, much like my mother in her younger days." She grimaced. Did he have some sort of sick infatuation with his mother? She didn't think he could disgust her anymore. Clearly, that was an incorrect assessment. Newfound feelings of repulsion settled in the pit of her belly. He took her hands in his and noticed how her nails were long and chipped. Some fingers, especially her forefingers, were chewed on until raw and resembled bald men.
A feeling of momentary disgust erupted from the depths of his being, but he pushed such feelings away, given her situation. He assumed she bit on them when he was not there to satisfy her, and he felt the remaining nails dig into his flesh but paid no heed to it. Instead, he led her over to the rickety wooden table and helped her sit down. She still wore no underwear; he hadn't presented her with any undergarments naturally. She stared deadpan at the empty plate before her and continued to rub the bruised skin on her wrist. It was raw, reddened and sore to touch, and thinner than the other.
A chair scraped loudly against the floor, causing her to jump, but she soon released that her captor was taking a seat. He removed the bulky, embroidered serviette covering the tray's contents and pushed it towards her. Her expression turned solemn with despair. Was he presenting her with a last meal? His face was devoid of any dubious intention. He encouraged happily, "Please, help yourself to anything."
It wasn't an extravagant spread, but a simple meal. She had already deduced he was more a pauper than a well-to-do gentleman from his attire. Despite the feeling of nausea, her stomach churned with hunger, and she timidly helped herself to a chicken breast, a spoonful of mashed potatoes and a few green peas. They had never been her favourite.
She watched intently as he piled his plate high with food and beamed, "This is a celebration." Keeping her eyes downcast and now firmly on the plate, she wondered what he could possibly have to celebrate. Maybe her death? She was only provided with a spoon; he would've thought a knife and fork were dangerous, and he was right.
At the first opportunity, she would strike without regret, but she prayed for rescue or fortune to smile her way until that time came. It wasn't easy to eat the chicken without proper utensils, and she was forced to resort to more primitive measures. She tore the meat off with her teeth and wolfed down piece after piece ravenously. The mashed potatoes were much too salty for her liking, but she managed to swallow the clumpy mess without uttering a word.
His fingers kneaded her thigh under the dress, and she squirmed at his disgusting touch. Putting on a brave face, she surrendered to all the repugnant monstrosities he bestowed on her with his below-average dick after the meal. She had come to realise that every kindness came with a hefty price.
Hermione lay on her stomach, flipping through an almost forgotten baby album of hers and wondered why parents were legally allowed to dress their children in frills. Still, she did look rather cute compared to her awkward years at Hogwarts with beaver teeth and bird nest-like hair. A particular picture of her playing in the mud while her mother looked horrified in the background brought a happy laugh to the surface. Another of her sitting on her doting grandmother's lap in a purple smock dress while she read Rapunzel made her feel nostalgic and emotional.
Things hadn't always been easy. Once her ability to use magic had manifested, it resulted in a few unfavourable incidents at the Muggle school she attended, and her parents had been summoned to come in for a discussion about her supposed unruly behaviour. This was despite her excellent grades making her top of the class. Muggle or wizard, she had always excelled in her studies.
She touched a few photos of a ballet recital in school, preschool picnics and a toothless younger version of herself and smiled fondly. The year before she started at Hogwarts had been particularly rough. After strange episodes of uncontrolled magical bursts knocking things over resulted in a general air of unrest surrounding her, Hermione's peers resorted to bullying to cope with what they did not understand. They mercilessly taunted her with cruel names and dubbed her an absolute freak. Only her parents and grandmother's unwavering support got her through the days, and she regularly rushed home from school in tears.
A distinctive knock on the slightly ajar door distracted her. Hermione looked up at the yellow door adorned with painted sunflowers and said softly, "Come in."
Julia pushed the door open with her shoulder. In her hands were two large mugs. Spirals of heated vapour filled the room with an irresistible aroma. Hermione took a deep inhale of the familiar scent and sat cross-legged on the bed. Julia handed her cup and smiled warmly, "Hot chocolate." She sat down next to her headstrong daughter and crossed her legs at the ankles before holding the mug with both hands and taking a gratifying sip.
She looked around her daughter's pretty room. Not much had changed since Hermione was a child, and she quite preferred it that way. The only additions were pictures of her friends from Hogwarts and a Gryffindor scarf hanging on a hook next to the white-painted study table crammed with books.
Hermione felt the warmth from the cup seep into her skin and spread across her body pleasantly, "Mmm, that's yummy."
Julia smiled knowingly, "You know your father loves you."
Hermione sighed, "Of course, I know, mum. His bark is far worse than his bite."
Julia recited what was in her heart, "I'm awfully worried about you." It was all she felt since learning of her daughter's untimely and unexpected engagement. She truly feared for her child's safety. What if this Malfoy was a maniac?
Hermione, however, seemed disturbed, that was true, but she also appeared at ease. Her daughter wasn't a blithering idiot. Apart from that one time, she altered their memories to save them from certain death. As a family, they were past that, and all was somewhat forgiven. On cue, Hermione responded after taking another gratifying sip, "I'm fine, mum."
Julia glanced at her daughter and raised her eyebrows as if to say, I know when you're lying. She urged, "The truth, honey."
Hermione kept her eyes fixed on the chocolatey concoction. Sloshing it around in her mug, she answered truthfully, "I'm a little scared, I guess." Scared would be an understatement. She was terrified of finally succumbing to Malfoy and his insatiable dedication to making her knees quake.
Without fear of judgment or ridicule, she said, "Even though it's not a real marriage, it's still binding, and I never thought I'd marry someone I didn't love, let alone like."
At this point, she didn't quite know what to make of this so-called reformed Malfoy. It was pleasing, but it also sent her suspicions about him hoodwinking her into overdrive.
Julia listened intently. She could hear the worry that laced her daughter's words, but she offered sensibly, "Life works in mysterious ways, Hermione."
Hermione exhaled in frustration, "It's also unfair, mum."
She changed her tone, eager to speak of anything else than her enforced fiancé, "Anyway, enough about me. Tell me about you and daddy."
A hearty chuckle escaped Julia's lips, and she quipped, "Growing old, managing the clinic, and tending to our garden. Not much has changed."
Reaching over, Hermione felt a rogue curl of her mother's hair that touched her shoulder and raved, "I love the new hairstyle."
Julia flipped her hair dramatically and laughed, "Thank you. I saw it in last month's edition of Vogue. An article about how to style your hair when you're fifty and over."
Hermione complimented, "You don't look a day over forty."
Her mother had aged well. She was fit and active with a sharp mind and flawless skin.
Reaching over, Julia squeezed Hermione's hand and said woefully, "I miss this."
Hermione was reminded of how similar Narcissa was to her mother. Both were refined, well-brought-up women, and even though her mother lacked the wealth and stature, Narcissa had inherited, both were formidable in their own right. She held onto her mother's hand and applied pressure to emphasise how much she loved her and gushed, "Me too. I'll try to come home often."
Julia took her hand out of her daughter's grasp, used it to cup her heart-shaped face and shone with newfound contentment, "I would love that." A devilish smirk twisted her usually pleasant features, "So, what's this Malfoy like?"
Hermione bit her lip and muttered, "Complicated. Everything about him is problematic." She wondered if she should share how wonderful Narcissa was but thought against it. One Malfoy at a time was about all her parents could stomach at this point.
She grew angry and punched a pillow in frustration, "He's like a puzzle I can't figure out." And if there was one thing she prided herself on, it was her intelligence.
Julia grew thoughtful, "Hmm..." An old memory crossed her mind, and Hermione queried, "Do you remember the Rubiks cube daddy got me?"
Julia chuckled, "Oh yeah, you drove us mad trying to figure it out." So crazy, in fact, Richard had resorted to extreme measures and hidden the cube under the sink. Of course, Hermione had found it only a few hours later and proceeded to grumble and shed tears because the solution evaded her.
Hermione emphasised bitterly, "Well, Malfoy is like that, but ten times worse." Without another word, Julia got to her feet, approached the cupboard, pulled open the drawer and took out a battered-looking, but solved Rubik's cube with each side sporting a single colour.
She tossed it from one hand to another and grinned proudly, "You solved it eventually. Give it time, and maybe you will understand him better too." Hermione flopped down on the pillow she had earlier used as a punching bag, stared at the ceiling in thought and conceded, "I guess you're right. As always."
Julia closed the gap between them, took Hermione's hands in hers and attempted to pull her up and onto her feet. She said fondly, "Come on. Dad's watching a football game."
Hermione got to her feet and frowned, "Liverpool vs Manchester United?"
Julia laughed goodheartedly, "How did you know?"
Hermione chuckled, "I can hear him yelling at the top of his lungs."
Julia frowned, "Manchester is leading two goals to one." Football wasn't just a sport. It was a way of life and since she could remember supporting Liverpool was in their blood.
Hermione didn't pretend to know much about football, she knew nothing about Quidditch either except for having a weak spot for dating players, but she knew enough about her dad and what a sore loser he was.
She mused, "Merlin, I hope Gerrard works some magic and secures a Liverpool win, or we're going to have to put up with dad's sour face all through supper." They laughed as Richard cussed aloud and threatened to toss the TV out the window. Closing the door behind them, they made the walk down the stairs to join the irritated man.
A voice of jagged steel cut right into Draco's vivid thoughts of Granger, "Fancy seeing your ugly mug here."
Tracey's stern voice made it to his ear, "Ron, can you not make a scene."
Draco turned around slowly and regarded the fuming redheaded man standing next to his wife. A triumphant smirk curved his lips, "Looked in a mirror lately, Weasley?"
Ron hurled sarcastically, "Ah, the Slytherin in you still exists despite your portrayal of being a redeemed prick. Glad to see your balls are intact." Draco ignored the apparent jab to arouse a violent reaction from him and instead turned to Tracey and greeted, "Trace, good to see you."
She closed the gap between them, went on tiptoes and brushed his cheek with a light kiss, "And you. You look well."
Draco returned the gesture keeping his eyes fixed on Weasley, looking positively murderous, and responded with a genuine, "Thank you, so do you. I daresay married life agrees with you." He muttered under his breath, "Even if your husband is a fucking wanker."
Tracey took hold of Ron's hand and tried to pull him away, "Come on, Ron. Let's say hello to the rest of the gang and wish Carrie a happy birthday." He kissed her hand and dropped it before adding firmly, "You go on, love. I'll catch up. I want to have a word with Malfoy here."
Draco rolled his eyes, "Lucky me." He reminded himself not to let Weasley's pathetic insults goad him into doing something drastic.
Tracey eyed the two men nervously and pleaded, "Ron, please behave."
Draco grinned, "Don't worry, Tracey. I can look after myself."
She mumbled but loud enough for both men to hear, "It's not you I'm worried about." Ron looked positively scandalised by her comment. Did she honestly believe a wimp like Malfoy could beat him in a fair fight? With great satisfaction, he recalled the times in Hogwarts he had physically put the smug Slytherin prat in his place, but the man before him wasn't the boy at school. He was a man and a man who had picked up some valuable and lethal skills in his time away.
It was best to tread lightly and not humiliate himself, Ron wisely thought. Tracey grudgingly left the men behind but continued to throw anxious glances over the shoulder at them.
Ron waited until his wife was out of earshot before he spat out, "She's too good for you."
Draco narrowed his eyes. The transparent grey clouded over, and he retorted truthfully, "If you mean Granger, then yes, I wholeheartedly agree with you." He looked over to where Tracey was hugging Carrie and presented the excited toddler with a gift. He said without remorse, "I could say the same about Tracey. She's always been a good person, and she deserves much better than a man who is still hung up on his ex."
Ron's ears glowed. They resembled the shade of overripe tomatoes. He gritted out, "Mind your tongue, Malfoy." His flushed face added to his embarrassment.
Draco pressed forcefully, "Do you deny it?" How could the man deny what was plain to see? He felt sorry for Tracey since she was doggedly trying to make the marriage work.
Ron purposely ignored the allegation and demanded, "Why don't you leave Hermione alone?" Weasley was making it far too easy, and Draco felt the dormant snake stir in him. He countered outright, "Why would I let the best thing that's happened to me slip out of my grasp?"
Ron was livid, "Cut the shite, Malfoy. If you hurt her, you will answer directly to me."
Draco took a step closer and hissed, "I'm shaking in my boots, Weasley. Unbelievably, I mean her no harm." That much was true. He genuinely cared for her well-being.
Ron threw caution to the wind, jabbed Draco hard in the chest, and mocked, "You might have this lot fooled but not me. Once a snake, always a fucking snake."
Draco moved his eyes down to where Weasley's finger touched his person. His hands balled aggressively into fists, but he kept his cool and warned, "Run along before you hurt yourself, mate."
He rubbed salt on the gaping wound in Weasley's heart, "Besides, what happens between Granger and me is none of your business."
Draco tried to move past, but Ron grabbed his arm. His fingers wrapped themselves around hardened muscle in a futile attempt to stop Malfoy from taking another foot forward and insisted brazenly, "Everything about Hermione concerns me, ferret." His blood was boiling.
Draco effortlessly broke free from the ironclad hold. He saw streaks of red cloud his vision, but yet again, he managed to compose himself enough to retort, "Not anymore."
He touched his lips and faked a groan, "She tastes divine, doesn't she? Faintly of strawberries." Granted, it was a cheap shot, but he wanted to cause Weasley emotional pain in his enraged state. So much for letting past prejudices die.
Ron's eyes bulged out of his head in disbelief. No, the snake had to be lying, but how else would he know the taste of the ridiculous lip gloss she swore by?
Hermione wouldn't. She just wouldn't. Oh, Merlin, would she? Had Malfoy tricked her, or worse, hexed her?
Ron tried to grab Draco by the collar but anticipating a violent reaction, Draco stepped neatly out of the way, and Ron snarled, "You bastard. How dare you touch her?" His breathing was laboured as he struggled to keep his rapidly rising temper at bay.
After taking a deep breath to calm himself further, Draco growled low, "My patience is wearing thin, Weasley. Touch me again, and you'll regret it."
Ron's voice lacked its former arrogance, "Is that a fucking threat?"
Draco dropped his voice to an intimidating low, "No, it's a promise."
A calm yet motherly voice cut through the tension, "Draco, son! How lovely to see you. My, you look as handsome as ever."
Victoria Greengrass came towards Draco and hugged him surrounding him with her warmth and pleasant perfume. He returned the gesture while Ron stared at the exchange with a sour expression. He hurried off to join Tracey, who was engaged in a lively conversation with Neville and Luna. The group was oblivious to the heated exchange that occurred between the men.
Draco willingly returned the hug, "Mrs Greengrass, thank you. It is lovely to see you too. I've been meaning to stop by." This was a woman he'd known since birth, and he meant his words, except there had been no time simply because his life had gone to shite since he returned.
Victoria let go, held him square by the shoulders and gushed, "Think nothing of it. Astoria informed me of your unfortunate predicament." Her tone turned motherly, "Narcissa must be thrilled to have you back?"
Draco smiled kindly, "She is glad." That was an understatement. His mother was thrilled to have him by her side once again. The Greengrass Matriarch bestowed a look of fondness upon him, politely excused herself and went in the direction of her beloved grandchildren, who squealed in delight and ran towards her happily with open arms. They heard a loud chorus of grandma.
A melodious voice caressed the shell of his ear, "Hello, Draco."
Astoria made her presence known. Blaise had given him fair warning. She was dressed for comfort in blue jeans and a simple black shirt. Dark shades hid her startling green eyes.
Draco grinned, "Tori, you're looking well."
Using perfectly manicured fingers, she brushed away particles of dust that clung stubbornly onto his shirt and requested boldly, "Would you care to join me for a drink?"
Draco complied and offered his arm as a gentleman would, "Yes, of course. Lead the way."
Ron kept his eyes on Astoria and Draco making their way to the bar and snorted loudly. He lacked any form of subtlety, and Tracey asked in annoyance, "Why do you act up, Ron? He brushed her question aside and snapped, "We have history, Tracey. There's a great deal of animosity between that lot and us."
Tracey pointed out harshly, "Well, I think it's time you grew up and come to terms that not everyone is who they used to be."
She pointed to Luna, hugging Theo around the waist and giving him a thoroughly smitten look, "Look at Luna? See how well she adjusted."
Ron chuckled, "Luna always had the uncanny ability to be kind to everyone."
Tracey sighed exasperatedly, "We could all learn a thing or two from her." This Slytherin Gryffindor rivalry had gone on for centuries, and she, for one, was utterly fed up with it, especially since their paths were bound to cross more often with their unconventional pairings.
Astoria slid onto a barstool and ordered a vodka cranberry while Draco settled for a Firewhiskey.
She paused momentarily and said solemnly, "I'm sorry about the other day. I shouldn't have left like that."
Draco turned sideways to look at her and answered, "My mother never meant to hurt you, Tori. She has a soft spot for Granger. As I told you, they have bonded in my absence."
Astoria struggled with her words, "It's difficult for me to watch you marry someone else." Her declaration was heartfelt, and the words were proverbial daggers at his heart. He offered in an attempt to lessen her pain, "You know it's not a conventional marriage."
She choked back a sob, "That doesn't make it any easier." Reaching over, he covered her petite hand with his and felt her fingers tremble under his touch. Even in the slightest, their physical contact evoked such strong feelings in her, but it didn't excite him in the slightest.
Draco declared truthfully, "I care about you. I've always cared deeply for you." He stretched the truth to appease her troubled mind and wondered where the bloody bartender was with their drinks.
Astoria sighed, "But you never loved me."
He took a deep breath, and weighed a multitude of answers in his head before replying and settled on the less hurtful one, "Love isn't a word to use lightly." He neatly dodged the true answer to her probing question.
She inquired abruptly, "If I wasn't dying, do you think we could've had a future together?" Her vulgar words made him cringe. Was she that accustomed to her condition that she could speak of her death without so much as care?
He voiced his thoughts, "I wish you wouldn't speak so insensitively about your wellbeing." She waved his answer aside and demanded impatiently, "Please, answer the question." She needed to know, even though she knew it was a firm no. Still, she wanted to hear him utter the words.
Thank Salazar, the bartender returned and served them their drinks. Draco grabbed his and almost drained the fiery liquid without a second thought, while Astoria waited unwaveringly for his response.
He swallowed hard to rid the blazing sensation now trickling down his throat and retorted, "I haven't felt that way about anyone, to be honest." It was the absolute truth. He had never loved another woman. Sure, he had sex with many in his youth, but he didn't love them and was careful to make it apparent to his sexual partners that it was a shared moment of coitus and nothing remotely more than a good shag.
Astoria smiled. Her smile lit up her pretty face. It always had, "That happens when you've been living in what I assume is a monastery."
Draco drained the rest of his drink and offered eagerly, "Tell you what? Let us forget all this and have a pleasant day." He grinned broadly, displaying his flawless white teeth, "We were always good friends, Astoria."
Astoria nodded in agreement, "Yes, we were. I mean, we are."
"Come on then, Malfoy," She gushed and hopped off the stool, pulled the t-shirt over her head and wiggled out of the jeans. A black bikini on a well-maintained body was underneath that quite literally knocked his socks off.
Astoria was a stunningly beautiful woman with voluptuous breasts that the bikini cups could scarcely contain, slender hips, round, firm buttocks, and long smooth legs. Nearly every man and most women turned to unashamedly stare at her as she shook her head, prompting her long black hair to cascade down her back. She was charming and easy on the eyes, but Draco felt nothing more. He craved things beyond mere physical attraction.
Dainty hands on her hips, she cocked her head and mused, "You approve?"
His eyes roved over her body, and he swallowed hard, "Yes, umm, you look....lovely." She tossed the remaining of her drink back and strode towards the swimming pool. Astoria glanced over her shoulder and drawled sensually, "Are you coming in?"
Draco tapped the rim of his glass and requested another. He stood up, leaned against the bar counter with his back to it and quipped, "Not really. I just got my hair done."
Astoria laughed. Her peals of soft laughter travelled, "Chicken," she joked and dived gracefully into the pool.
Draco watched intently, as did others, while she smoothly cut through the water and effortlessly swam. She seemed much like her older self and in remarkable shape for a dying woman. Loving her would have been simple, but like any hot-blooded male, he harboured a permanent hard-on for the one woman who loathed him. Ah, the essence that was Granger was an enticing aphrodisiac. It hit like the Hogwarts express that he missed her. He pushed it aside as his libido acted up in the presence of gorgeous women.
Draco kept his eyes on the pool, but his senses clouded over, and an image of Granger in an enticing red string bikini sprang to mind. Red, the ultimate cliché. Her wild wet curls bounced on her head and teased the lightly freckled skin of her bare shoulders. The red cups of her bikini moulded to her perfect-sized breasts and nipples, which strained so hard against the material he feared they would cut through. His eyes travelled further down her covered mound, how he longed to gorge on her hidden sweetness, but as his eyes took in her smooth tanned legs, she spoke his name, except it wasn't her voice.
The voice was deep and that of a male. Again, he saw her luscious lips move, "Draco!" He felt large hands grab him by the arms and shake him. Draco snapped out of his intense daydream to find Theo peering at him with an amused expression plastered on his face and Blaise looking concerned.
Theo quipped, "Having a pleasant dream, are we?"
Draco rolled his eyes, reached for his drink and took a sizeable gulp to hide his discomfort. He truly hoped his hormonal-driven fantasy of Granger spared him an embarrassing hard-on.
Blaise ordered an orange juice, and Theo requested a scotch neat. Their drinks arrived, and the three ex-Slytherin men sipped their drinks in companionable silence and took in the situation around them.
Astoria caressed her wet hair back over her head and made a show of getting out of the pool. Many eyes fell on her. She was a rare beauty, even more so when her bikini clung to her wet skin, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Theo swallowed the formed lump and cleared his throat, "Well, she's a looker."
Blaise looked disgusted and appalled, "Can we not? That's my bloody sister-in-law."
Theo shrugged, "I'm just stating the obvious." He nudged Draco, "Malfoy agrees with me, don't you, mate?"
Draco was still preoccupied with his earlier depiction of dream Granger but mumbled, "Yeah, but she's not my type."
Blaise snorted, "A certain Gryffindor, who can go toe to toe with you, is your type."
Draco rolled his eyes, "Shove off, Blaise."
Blaise put his hands up in surrender, "Alright, mate. Don't get cranky, but in your dazed state, you whispered her name. Just thank your lucky fucking stars that Theo didn't hear anything." A blush crept up Draco's cheeks. He buried his head in his hands and groaned.
He was acting like a horny teenager with a major itch to scratch. For years he had gone without, not sparing a thought to the physical activity and only resorting to masturbation when the need arose, which wasn't often. Now, he was being bombarded by scantily clad women. Still, he kept his urges under control except when faced with Granger's formidable force. His resolve crumbled to dust around her, and he shamelessly enjoyed every second of it.
"I've been thinking about her more since I gave her the ring," Draco defended. It was a good excuse as any.
Blaise bemused, "Ring?" His eyes widened to the size of a Galleon, "You gave her the famous Malfoy engagement ring?"
Draco nodded without hesitation, "Yes, of course, I did. I'm going to marry the woman." He breathed, "The ring seems to adore her."
Blaise looked impressed, "That's interesting."
Draco's tone hardened, "Yes, it is. I don't quite know what to make of it." Meanwhile, Astoria laid down on a sun lounger and slipped on her dark shades even though they were unnecessary. The dying embers of the late afternoon sun licked their skin before it took its leave.
In deep thought, Ginny sat in the kitchen alone, holding a cup of steaming tea with both hands. When had her life become so mundane and depressing? She was Ginny Weasley, star Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. Named Witch Weekly's woman of the year twice in a row, or she used to be. Now, Ginny Weasley was a mother with bags under her eyes, patches of jam on her t-shirt and wife to Head Auror Harry Potter, The Chosen One. She felt horrid at the bitter thoughts that invaded her mind, but it was not done consciously.
Harry had owled earlier with a note that he was running late. It was the third weekend in a row that he would be working.
The resentment she held back bubbled to the surface, and she fought back angry tears. She knew when she married Harry that things would not be easy. It never was with him, but she loved him fiercely. When the tears she held back lined her eyelids, James's frantic voice travelled down the corridor and made it to her ear. With practised ease, Ginny placed her full cup of tea on the sink and went to tend to her young son.
The flowers Harry got days prior were sitting on the kitchen counter, still untouched and in their wrapping.
"All set, darling?" Andromeda asked after popping her head into her precious grandson's room.
Teddy was at his desk, doodling on a piece of paper. Curious to see what he was drawing, Andromeda crossed the space between them and peered over his shoulder. Sprawled across the paper in rich watercolours was an identical depiction of a Golden Snitch flying through the sky.
Andromeda praised, "That's lovely, Teddy."
Teddy put down the brush and yawned, "Thanks, Gran. I think I'll go to sleep now."
Andromeda nodded and encouraged as Teddy pushed the wooden chair back, scrambled onto his bed, and got in between the covers, "Good idea. We need to leave early for Uncle Harry's, and a little owl told me that Ron has a bag full of goodies for the children."
Teddy beamed. Not having parents was one thing, but he was surrounded by many people who loved him and genuinely cared. Uncle Ron always had sweets and toys from the shop, especially after expanding operations to include confectionery items.
Andromeda tucked him in and kissed him lightly on the forehead. The young wizard was growing more handsome by the day, and she suspected it was Black genes flowing in his blood that contributed to that.
Ted, bless his soul, was an average-looking man with a heart of gold. Tonks followed in her father's footsteps, and Remus was always sicklier looking than healthy, but his tall, build and kind eyes added to his pleasantly appealing appearance.
She watched as Teddy drifted off to sleep. Careful not to wake him, Andromeda quietly stole out of the room.
The private club hosted a legendary nightclub, and the group, especially the more adventurous of the lot, Pansy and Theo, were eager to stay back and indulge. Daphne looked dead on her feet, and Adam was fast asleep in his father's arms. Blaise kissed his sleeping son's forehead and whispered, "I'm going to call it a day, mates. We need to get them tucked in, and I want to draw a soothing bath for my amazing wife."
Daphne held onto a sleepy Carrie's hand, "I'll hold you to that, Blaise." The toddler yawned and leaned heavily onto her mother.
Draco patted Carrie's head affectionately and chimed in, "Yeah, I think I'll push off too." Theo was having none of that. He goaded, "Come on, Grandpa. What's your excuse? More training?" His jab had little to no effect on the blonde man, who wanted nothing more than to head home and get some well-needed rest. Perhaps, even slip Granger an impromptu text message asking about her wellbeing.
Astoria linked her arm through his and pleaded, "Yeah, Draco. Hang out for a bit. One dance and you can leave, I swear.
Tori tried to drag him away, but Blaise muttered low enough for Draco to hear, "Careful, mate."
Draco nodded in exhaustion, "I know. I won't push my luck."
Goodbyes were exchanged, and Blaise and Daphne left with their kids in tow. Mrs Greengrass had left ages ago. Neville made it his mission to stick by Ron and ease his transition into the group of Slytherins.
Still, unlike his humble self, Ron's temperament was utterly different, and he showed blatant indifference to fitting in. Even for the sake of his wife. Instead, he sulked in a corner with a glass of Firewhiskey while the others danced and enjoyed themselves. Tracey ignored her husband's childish complaining and refused to accept his selfish behaviour. Hadn't she tolerated and even come to like being around his friends and family?
She even extended an olive branch toward Hermione for his sake. She understood there was bad blood between the two groups, but wasn't it time to put past issues aside and come together?
At least, thankfully, Ron kept away from Draco and both studiously ignored each other's presence. There was little to no hope of bridging that gap.
Granger Residence
Liverpool had secured a narrow win by playing as a team possessed in the second half. Richard was in a jolly mood, chanting with his wife and drinking beer. Their off-key singing drifted up the stairs and into Hermione's room, causing her to giggle at her parents' wonderfully adolescent behaviour. She laid back on her bed and stared at the ring on her finger. It grew more exquisite with each passing day. She dropped her hand, and her fingers brushed against the pendant that hung snugly around her neck.
Bringing it up to eye level, she studied the carved dragon and flashes of Malfoy drowning her in his empowering kisses sprang to mind. Images of his tender caresses and fingers ghosting over her skin caused her eyes to flutter shut, throw her head back, and relive a percentage of the passion they shared on the terrace.
Astoria was a talented dancer, and she moved in perfect beat to the music. She invaded his personal space, placed her hands on his hip and pulled him closer.
Her womanly fragrance invaded his senses, and though the light was dim and colourful rays of laser sprinkled over them, her eyes sparkled with the yearning to be kissed, touched and consumed. He was left with little choice but to place his own hands on her slender waist, and he did so reluctantly, hoping the song would end soon.
The music was loud, but the distinctive vibration of his phone burnt a hole in his pocket. Glad of the untimely intrusion, he dropped his hand from Astoria's person, plunged it into his pocket, and pulled out his trusty Nokia mobile phone.
The name that flashed across the screen made his heart flutter and slam against his ribcage. He feared he was having a panic attack, but it was just his frazzled nerves.
He yelled over the blaring music, "Excuse me. I have to answer this." Astoria wasn't too keen. She pursed her lips and looked perplexed as he left her standing on the floor alone.
A moment later, a rugged man with an impressive physique came up from behind and invited, "Would you like to dance?" She turned on her heel and assessed the man before her grinning hopefully, but she wasn't interested and made it abundantly clear to him, who took the hint and disappeared into the crowd.
Draco held onto the phone for dear life and navigated through the crowded dance floor, unceremoniously bumping into strangers and apologising for his clumsiness. His feet carried him away from the club and towards the serene calmness of the swimming pool, though the music was still loud enough to be heard. He connected the call, kept it to his ear and drawled huskily, "This is a pleasant surprise." Her crisp reply came right off the bat, "Not really." There was a smidge of amusement to her tone.
Draco could hardly resist. He rasped, "Are you missing me, Granger?"
She rolled her eyes as if the arrogant prat was in the room with her and scowled, "In your dreams, Malfoy."
His silky tones wrapped themselves around her ear, "Dreams? Hmm, I've noticed that reality is much more appealing when it comes to you." Desire tugged at her core, and his left mark on her shoulder throbbed.
Hermione could hear him, but there was a significant disturbance from the pumping music of a popular Muggle song she recognised. She pressed her battered phone into the shell of her ear and hollered, "What Is that noise?"
The sickly sweet sound of a woman's voice came through, "Draco darling, come on. I love this song." The tone of whoever it was sounded desperate.
Hermione had half a mind to cut the call without warning, but instead, she demanded a tad bit more forcefully than she intended, "Who is that?" It could have been any floozy he was hooking up with for the night.
Draco pointedly moved away from Astoria. She had come out of nowhere and purposely whispered into his ear, knowing that he was on a call.
He gnashed out in annoyance, "That was Astoria."
A strained silence encased them, but Draco cut through it with a concerned, "Granger?" He double-checked to see if she was still connected. Not only was she still online, but she was also breathing hard.
Her short reply was laced with malice, "Well, I'm sorry if I interrupted your date." How could he after what they shared on the balcony? She conveniently forgot that they weren't committed. God, men, were such fucking pigs.
Draco chuckled, "I'm not on a date, darling. Just out with a bunch of friends." His mocking tone caused her blood to boil.
He teased, "You're in a pissy mood."
Hermione scoffed, "I am not!" She fired back without a second thought, "You owe me no explanation. Besides, we agreed that you could satisfy your needs elsewhere." He was taken back by what she flung at him. They were his words she repeated, but they prickled his insides spitefully.
Draco insisted harshly, "I'm guessing you haven't called to have a chat." The woman always had a purpose.
Hermione struggled at that moment to string the right words together, "No, listen, I..."
Draco interrupted impatiently, "What's the matter, Granger? You're mumbling."
She blurted it out, "My parents want to meet you." Sometimes it was best to rip off the band-aid and get the unpleasantness over with. Draco fumbled with the phone, and the smooth device almost slipped out of his hands and crashed to the wet floor near the pool.
He brought it to his mouth and muttered a barely audible "Oh..."
Hermione asserted, "You can say no." Please say no, she thought desperately. After a moment of thought, Draco gathered his wits and reacted, "Why would I refuse when I think it's a great idea?" Of course, he would.
He asked eagerly, "When?"
Hermione was reeling from the shock of his enthusiasm for the situation. She almost stuttered, "Er, tomorrow. Is six pm, okay?"
Draco enthused, "Brilliant. Text me the address." She pressed adamantly, "Again, you really don't have to." He shot her suggestion down directly, "Yeah, but I want to. I'll see you then."
Hermione muttered sarcastically, "Great."
Draco mused, "Oh and Granger?"
She asked in annoyance, "What?"
He dropped his voice to a seductive low, "Sweet dreams."
She made her displeasure clear, "Argh, you are such an incorrigible git." The last thing Hermione heard before she cut the call was Malfoy's infectious laughter. It curved her lips upwards in amusement.
Draco ran his fingers through his hair and looked to the heavens for an answer. He was sailing in unchartered waters, and hopefully, he would not sink and die. His phone vibrated, a small envelope appeared, and he opened it without hesitation. Granger's address stared him square in the face. He pressed his lips together and started formulating a plan to win over her parents. He wandered towards the bar where everyone had gathered to quench their thirst. Theo nursed a scotch, looking tipsy but in control.
Astoria followed his movements sceptically. Her gorgeously shaped eyes roved over him despondently. From her rigid body language, it was clear she was far from pleased by the turn of events.
Theo slid a drink towards Draco and raised a questioning brow, "What was all that about? Is everything all right? You look spooked, mate."
Draco cleared his throat, "I, umm, have to meet Granger's parents tomorrow." He downed his drink and looked thoughtful. The liquid burnt his throat on its way down, but he paid no attention to it. His mind was an unswerving mess of random thoughts and scenarios.
Theo clicked his fingers, "Oh, fuck."
Pansy shrugged, "I guess it's normal procedure." Astoria hovered in the background with a glass of wine in her hands. Her fingers tightened around the stem, and she sipped the rich liquid before a nasty retort left her mouth.
Ron put his arm around Tracey's waist, pulled her close and smirked smugly, "Her dad's an intimidating bloke. Good luck, snake."
Tracey nudged him in the ribs, but Ron laughed aloud and kept quiet. Malfoy was in for a rough time, and he couldn't be happier that the once arrogant prick would get what was coming to him. Even though he harboured resentment towards Hermione's outspoken father for taking the piss out of him, he was glad of the tongue-lashing Malfoy would receive.
Neville encouraged, "I'm sure you will be fine." He didn't mean it, but it always helped to offer soothing words, and despite his earlier hesitation, he was forced to admit that the Malfoy before them was a creature he hadn't encountered in the past. The man had not only changed but changed so drastically that his former vile self was a fading memory.
Draco wiped the sweat off his upper lip, "I'm shitting metaphorical bricks."
Theo ordered a round of tequila shots, downed one, offered the rest to the group, and enthused, "Yeah, get drunk. That will help."
Hermione came bouncing down the steps and announced to the gathered group in the room, "Well, I asked him and..."
Richard scowled, "He said no, didn't he? I knew he was a dodgy bugger."
Hermione looked thoughtful, buried her shaking hands in the pockets of her jeans and rocked on the balls of her feet, "Actually, he said yes, and he's looking forward to it." She faked excitement, "Yay."
Richard scoffed, "Smug prat."
Julia stifled a laugh, got to her feet, and walked towards the kitchen with an empty mug. She stopped as she passed Hermione and patted her on the head as if she were a child, "Good girl."
Hermione sighed, "Malfoy is pretty decent by agreeing to come." She defended her fiancé without thought.
Richard smirked, "Let's see about that." He raised his voice so his wife could hear, "Jules, where's my shotgun?"
Hermione stomped her foot on the ground and cried indignantly, "Daddy!"
Julia's voice rang out from the kitchen, "In the shed by the rose bushes if you need, darling." Her footsteps grew closer, and she re-entered the living room with an entertained expression carrying a tray of biscuits and coffee.
Hermione frowned, "Mum, we are not encouraging this behaviour." She wanted to get through dinner with minor infractions if possible.
Julia laughed pleasantly, "Relax, sweetheart. We will be perfectly civil towards this boy."
She was anything but relaxed, so much for a peaceful weekend with her parents.
Chapter 32
Notes:
A big thank you to everyone who posted a review.
It means so much! 😊
A longish, emotional chapter. I've gone a bit into Harry and Ginny's relationship dilemma, and a surprise visit knocks Hermione's socks off.
Enjoy Chapter Thirty Two!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! 😊
Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! 🥰
Chapter Text
Draco glanced at the time on his watch and decided it was the opportune moment to call it a night. The stale taste of salt and lime lingered unpleasantly on his tongue from the many tequila shots Theo had forced upon him to lighten his mood in lieu of what lay ahead. His eyes lazily moved over his drunken friends. They had indulged far worse than him and looked it.
Neville held Pansy close and peppered her neck with clumsy kisses while she giggled uncontrollably. Luna whispered in Theo's ear, and despite his drunken state, his cheeks reddened, and his hold on his wife tightened.
Tracey had finally succumbed to Ron's pestering. In plain view of the others, she had bid them all a fond farewell and proceeded to drag her husband away, muttering obscenities under her breath and promising never to bring him again.
The only person holding her own was Astoria. The woman seemed to have hollow legs. She had draped herself around a tall, well-dressed man, who gave her his undivided attention, but she kept glancing his way over the poor man's shoulder in an effort to make him jealous, Draco assumed. Fed up with her trying to rouse a reaction out of him, he raised his glass in her direction and encouraged her to pursue the smitten man.
Theo slurred, "Leaving so soon?"
Draco pointed out the time. It was nearing midnight. He had spent the entire day at the club, and now his body craved the comfort of his large bed.
He yawned deliberately, "Yeah, mate. I'm knackered." Waving to the others who were far too sloshed to notice him leaving, Astoria seemed to have disappeared with her mystery man. He put his hands in his pockets to keep them warm from the sudden chilly gust of wind that swept around them and strolled to a designated apparition point with one destination in mind.
He arrived near the angelic fountain that always seemed more sinister but beautiful under the moon's silvery rays. Taking his time, Draco walked the familiar curving path up to the Manor. He jogged up the marble steps, pushed open the glass door that led from the terrace into the warm foyer and heard animated laughter.
Narcissa's peals of laughter filled the space pleasantly. Her happiness filled his heart with unfathomable joy.
Draco wondered what his mother was doing up so late. His answer came in the form of Bernard bent over a chessboard, deep in thought as he contemplated his next move.
He interrupted the happy couple, "Bernard! Good to see you. Mother said you had an emergency."
They turned towards his voice and their faces relaxed. Bernard nodded soberly, but from his tone, the disappointment he felt was obvious, "I did. It was an utter waste of time, I'm afraid." He gazed upon Narcissa lovingly and smiled warmly, "I thought I'd pop by and have dinner with this wonderful lady."
Narcissa felt a blush creep up her defined cheekbones, "You are making me blush in front of my son."
Draco placed a hand on her shoulder and told Bernard, "Make sure she stays off the red meat and wine. Healer's orders."
Narcissa scowled while Bernard nodded in agreement and fought the urge to poke fun at his beloved. Hoping to stir the conversation in a more positive direction, she queried curiously, "How was the club, son?"
Draco sat on the chintz chair closest to the fireplace, kept his eyes fixed on the burning embers that resembled Granger's molten lava-coloured pupils and exhaled, "Quite fun until Granger called and destroyed it." That piqued Bernard's interest. He momentarily abandoned the game of wizard chess and raised a brow, "What's happened now?"
Draco took a deep breath to steady his frazzled nerves and alcohol floating through his system. Once he calmed himself enough, he replied with worry lacing his every word, "Her parents want to meet me." Narcissa brought her hands together in a loud clap that caused the men to stare at her oddly. She gave voice to her excitement, "How wonderful."
Draco was anything but convinced. He grimaced, "Is it? They probably hate my guts."
Bernard regarded him kindly and offered soothing words, "They don't even know you, son."
Narcissa said thoughtfully, "Well, normally, a wizard would visit his girlfriend's or betrothed's home and ask the parents' permission to wed their daughter."
Draco shrugged, "I'm pretty sure it's the same among muggles."
Bernard encouraged, "Go with it, Draco. There's not much you can do at this point except be on your best behaviour." It wasn't like the boy decided to elope. He had no choice in the matter.
Draco urged, "I feel like I should take something." The idea had been formulating in his head, though what to take evaded him. He desperately needed his mother's expert advice on the matter.
Narcissa gave it but a moment's thought waved her hand dismissively, and suggested with an air of importance, "Take a bottle of our most expensive wine. The Cheval Blanc St Emilio 1947 is perfect with half Cabernet Franc and half Merlot composition. That should be good enough to impress.
Draco wasn't persuaded that flashing their wealth was the way to go about impressing Granger's parents. He said in deep thought, "If Granger's parents are anything like her, then wealth won't mean a thing. They might even consider it insulting."
His head in his hands, he groaned helplessly, "This is hopeless."
Narcissa fought the primitive urge to roll her eyes and scolded instead, "Let's not be melodramatic."
Bernard inquired from the sidelines, "What do her parents do?" Perhaps, that would give an insight into where their interests would lie.
Draco's eyes widened at the realisation that he knew nothing about her Muggle parents. He panicked, "I don't know much about her Muggle life." That was an understatement. The truth was he knew absolutely nothing and hadn't bothered in the least to find out. Bernard stifled a laugh and motioned for the mortified ice-blonde youth before him to calm himself.
He concurred with a few insightful additions of his own, "Your mother has a point. A bottle of wine is a good start but maybe not one that costs over a thousand quid. Something reasonable will work just as well."
Draco felt the room spin precariously. The tequila running rampant in his veins made its presence known. He cursed Theo and his stupidity and slowly got to his feet. The last thing he needed was a throbbing headache to dampen the mood.
He massaged his temples, made a mental note to ask Dotty to fetch him a hangover potion and muttered, "I'm calling it a night."
Narcissa asked in growing concern, "Have you had dinner?"
The very mention of food made his insides twist nastily and bile to rise in his throat. He managed to keep it down and mumbled, "Yes, but I'll combust if I eat another bite." He had eaten various things as the day progressed, from an assortment of Muggle pub food to oodles of caviar with crème Fraiche to indulge his finer tastebuds.
Narcissa smiled affectionately, "Goodnight, darling." He touched his mother's shoulder on the way out but left with amusing departing words, "Goodnight. Bernard, please let mother win at least once. She is quite a sore loser."
Bernard's hearty laugh echoed through the space as he moved his queen closer to Narcissa's King.
Narcissa frowned to show her disapproval and shooed, "Hush now. I'll beat him soon enough." Bernard took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. The gesture was missed by the young wizard hurriedly jogging up the stairs. He thankfully ran into Dotty and quickly requested the potion that would offer immense relief. She nodded at once and hastily disappeared to attend to her task.
Draco burst into his room, fell on the bed and tried to control the blurry images of his room, clouding his vision and closing in on him.
Dotty apparated directly into Draco's room without bothering with the usual pleasantries and clumsily ran over to him with a vile clutched tightly in her hand. It wasn't a matter of life and death, but to her, it was significant.
After seeing his fallen, seemingly lifeless form, she squeaked in horror and poked him without hesitation, "Master! Wake up! Dotty has brought the potion, sir. Please wake up." The panic in her voice prompted him to sit up and take notice of the tiny elf shivering in fear.
He spoke kindly, "Dotty, I'm hungover. Not dying." The poor elf was beside herself.
Dotty held out the vessel with purple liquid splashing within and whimpered, "I know, sir. But Dotty was worried."
Draco tossed the contents of the glass bottle back and closed his eyes as the potion ingredients rushed through his system, infused with his blood and spread to all corners of his body.
It swiftly worked its healing magic, and he opened his eyes a new man and sighed aloud, startling the elf in the room. His headache, discomfort and most importantly, dizziness disappeared. He grinned broadly and began to unbutton his shirt when he realised Dotty was still in his room and nervously edged towards the entrance.
Draco smiled gratefully, "Thank you so much, Dotty. You may retire to your quarters. I shan't bother you again."
"Dotty is happy to serve Master Draco," She bowed so low that her large nose brushed the plush carpet that adorned the floor of his room.
He waited till the anxious creature left, tossed his shirt away, discarded his trousers and the boxers and strode naked into the bathroom. If anything sounded remotely enticing at that moment, it was a long-lasting, leisurely shower. The overhead shower spluttered to life and fell over his weary frame gloriously. He always did his best thinking in the shower.
Random thoughts of what would happen at dinner danced around his consciousness. He didn't emerge favourably in any of them. His own bloody mind was turning treacherous.
Hermione toyed with her wand. She always practised a few spells before bed in her youth, and somehow the ritual had stuck with her.
She lay on her back in cotton pyjamas, green woolly socks and unruly messy hair, thinking about the dinner the following night, but primarily and to her utter dismay, she found herself thinking incessantly about Malfoy and Astoria.
Despite his steadfast resolve that she meant nothing, Hermione wondered if he was presented with the opportunity of sex with a beautiful woman, would he have the willpower to refuse? Her answer came in the form of a text message.
Curious about who would message her so late, she reached for the mobile and opened the neatly closed envelope that appeared on the small screen.
The typed words stared at her square in the face. They were bold and to the point.
I look forward to dinner.
She felt a sense of relief wash over her shamelessly. Clearly, he was home and probably in bed wearing those black silk boxers that fit snugly around his tight waist.
Hermione didn't bother replying. It wouldn't do well to appear desperate. Let him wait, she thought shrewdly and regretted her earlier thoughts of him in boxers.
The image caused desire to coat her knickers, and with great difficulty, she brushed away such feelings and thought once more about the dreaded dinner. She imagined so many different scenarios, and most were disturbing at best.
Her mother wasn't the problem, but her dad couldn't be trusted to behave. He was educated and knowledgeable about most topics and not in the least bit afraid to hold his tongue. Why was she even nervous? It wasn't like it was a real marriage. Her parents' opinion of Malfoy hardly mattered. They could hate him for all she cared because, in three years, it would be over. If that was the case, why was she caught in a nerve-racking indecisive state between wanting them to like him and hate him?
She buried her head in a fluffy pillow and muffled her screams of frustration.
Draco carefully kept the phone on the nightstand. It was late, and he wasn't expecting a reply at this hour, but a part of him missed that sharp tongue of hers, always looking to scold him at every possible opportunity. He pulled a pillow close, rested his arm behind his head and stared at the ceiling until exhaustion pulled him into her welcoming bosom, and he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
Ginny woke up early, a mussed head of thick black hair nuzzled into the crook of her neck, and a hand slipped across her waist and pulled her towards him.
She heard him whisper her name almost in pain, "Ginny..." His hardened cock pressed into her backside, and she encouraged him by rubbing herself on his stiffening appendage. There was no foreplay. He clambered on top of her and pushed her nightdress up her body until it bunched around her middle. He was already naked and throbbing, and he moved the soft material covering her pussy to the side and entered without a further word.
A hiss of intense pleasure tore through Harry's lips, and Ginny wrapped her fingers around his arms as he pounded into her like a man possessed and denied intimacy. There was a time when sex was enduring and exciting when Harry took his time to make her delirious with pleasure, but now it was over before it began. She barely reached her climax, but after a few grunts, groans, and so intent on his pleasure, he missed the unresponsive woman under him staring at the wall with a blank expression.
Ginny managed a few fake moans to satiate his ego as he came thundering around her and filled her with his seed. The sun's warm rays entered the room through the parting in the blinds. Another day was upon them, and with it came the mundane activities and growing uselessness she felt with each passing day.
Exhausted, Harry fell forward and grazed his wife's neck with his teeth. A sappy satisfied grin split his face in half before he rolled off her and got to his feet. He reached for the closest towel and tied it around his waist. Ginny turned away from him, hugged her legs to her chest and stared at the beams of sunshine coating the wall. She felt his semen drip down her thighs, and it momentarily filled her with despair that he was oblivious to her needs.
Harry glanced over his shoulder and recited in a dead tone, "I have to go to work. I'll be back soon." Ginny felt anger consume her. Never had such atrocious feelings plagued her in their marriage. She leapt out of bed and hurled, "It's Sunday. Can't you get anyone else to fill in?"
Harry shook his head determinedly, "No, Gin. I need to be there. I don't trust the others to cover the areas we need." She cried in absolute outrage, "That's a load of tripe, Potter. Why do you need to be there?" Her bottled-up feelings and resentment soared to the surface one by one. Harry kept his temper in check and explained slowly, "Because I want to interrogate the suspects myself."
Ginny massaged the bridge of her nose and gritted out, "I am so sick of this."
Harry closed the gap between them and tried to touch her to reassure her, but Ginny stubbornly stepped away. Her rejection of him hurt, but deep down, he knew she was somewhat justified. He attempted a weak smile, "I'm sorry, darling. I swear I'll make it up to you."
Without a smidge of compassion, she accused, "No, you won't," and added helplessly, "In a couple of hours, everyone's coming over." Their Sunday brunch brought everyone in the family together. It was an event to look forward to and an excellent way to stay connected. Teddy, in particular, loved the little get-together.
Harry sighed, "I'll be back in time for lunch. I promise."
Ginny pleaded desperately, "It's one day, Harry. Why can't you take one fucking day off?"
His temper spiralled out of control, "BECAUSE SHE COULD BE DEAD BY THE END OF IT!"
He grabbed tufts of his hair and pulled them hard in frustration. His loud voice bounced off the walls, "I HAVE NOTHING. NO LEADS, NO SOLID SUSPECTS. WHY CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND MY DESPERATION TO CATCH THIS MADMAN?" It fitted that he would use the word madman since his pupils were dilated, flecks of spit flew out of his mouth, and he looked utterly unhinged.
Ginny took an involuntary step back, but her temper matched his own, and she yelled, "YOU'RE LOSING OUT ON JAMES'S LIFE. YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT YOUR SON!"
Harry countered in sheer disbelief, "I AM TRYING TO MAKE A BETTER WORLD FOR HIM." Her remark stunned him into momentary silence. She had blatantly accused him of being a bad father.
Ginny locked her arms but kept screaming, "YOU'RE SO HUNG UP ON SAVING THE BLOODY WORLD YOU'RE MISSING OUT ON EVERYTHING ELSE!"
Before he managed to reach a reasonable retort, she pointed to the bed where they'd laid and spat without much thought to the consequences, "DO YOU THINK AN UNSATISFACTORY SHAG MAKES UP FOR ALL THE TIME YOU'VE BEEN AWAY?"
Harry stood rooted to the spot, unable to move a muscle or comprehend what was happening. He knew he was working more than usual, but he had also made the grave mistake of thinking his loving wife understood his immense sacrifice.
James ran into the room, hid behind his mother, and peered anxiously at his father. His small face was pinched with fear as he held on tight to her soiled nightdress. Ginny intentionally ignored her husband, picked up the trembling child and soothingly cradled him, cooing words of comfort.
Harry's heart bled at the horrified expression on his son's face and the anger that radiated off his wife of many years. The child looked terrified and shied away from his father's touch. He kept his palm face down on James's back, used his thumb to rub soothing circles and almost muttered in unimaginable pain, "I'm sorry, James. Daddy loves you so much."
Ginny pursed her lips and refused to acknowledge his empty words and unwanted presence at the moment. Taking a step back from his beloved family, Harry hung his head but declared firmly, "I need to go. Let's talk about this later."
In contempt, he spoke directly to his wife, "I'm sorry I can't be the husband you want, Ginny."
Ginny scoffed, "Yeah, run to the office like you always do." With his hand on the door to the bathroom, Harry turned on his heel and said in anguish, "That's not fair. I'm not trying to flee; I'm doing my job."
Ginny brushed the hair out of her face and spat without remorse, "It's just a job."
Harry exhaled, and a sad smile curved his lips, "Not to me. This is who I am." He heard the bedroom bang shut loudly as soon as the bathroom door closed behind him. He leaned against the door, looked around the small tiled space, and fought back the tears.
Draco punched the air and did a few midair roundhouse kicks to loosen up. A night of debauchery did not discourage him from his morning routine.
He was halfway through his workout when he spotted Dotty standing nervously near the rim of the mat, contemplating whether she should step onto it or not. She carried a silver tray, and on it was what looked remarkably like a large ivory-coloured envelope with a red seal.
His curiosity got the better of him, and temporarily abandoning his regime; Draco jogged over to the edge and took the envelope Dotty presented by holding the tray above her head.
It bore the wax seal of the Ministry. He flipped it over and found that it was indeed addressed to him. Eagerly but gently, he popped the seal open and took out the parchment with perfect looped handwriting.
Auror Draco Lucius Malfoy - Please report to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at noon to be fitted with Auror robes.
It was signed by Stacy Jane Hopkins, Head of Logistics. The name sounded oddly and vaguely familiar, but Draco paid no thought to it. He kept the opened letter back on the tray, dismissed Dotty and returned to his vigorous workout.
Ginny went through the motions. The light in her was extinguished, but her child needed her, and so did the half-dozen guests expected in a few short hours. She had half a mind to cancel the damn thing, but Teddy's loving face floated by, and she couldn't bring herself to cause yet another child grief in one day.
She put on a happy face, buttered a piece of toast and handed it to the now cheerful toddler, who took it from her eagerly and bit into the crispy goodness smearing butter all over his face. He giggled and laughed as he licked up the oily substance stuck to his lips, and Ginny marvelled at the uncanny ability of children to forget so quickly and forgive just as fast.
The angry words she threw at Harry prickled her insides, and a dull sense of remorse engulfed her. He was right. It was his job, and whatever else was there for the great Harry Potter other than saving the wizarding world from unscrupulous characters. An apology would have to wait. It was a jam-packed day with only so many hours to get everything done. The owl needed food, and so did the turtle swimming in a glass bowl on the counter. Ginny cleaned the breakfast dishes and tickled her adorable toddler, "Are you ready to go out, darling?"
James squealed with laughter and nodded, "Yes, mummy." She bundled him up in a scarf, slipped into her jacket, took his chubby hand in hers and stepped into the Floo network connected to Diagon Alley. Mother and son walked along the paved streets hand in hand. James jumped excitedly and pointed at a wizard carrying what looked remarkably like a bright blue dragon's egg.
She was instantly reminded of her brother Charlie. The stupid sod had promised to visit, but he could not bear to leave behind his gorgeously tanned Romanian boyfriend.
They neared their destination. It was still early, and the shop was almost deserted, except for a few desperate people like herself. The Magical Menagerie was a one-stop shop for all pet-related needs, and it was always bursting at the seams with children peeping through the window to catch a glimpse of some exotic creature or other.
James tugged on Ginny's sleeve urgently and forced her to look at a giant lumbering down the way. He casually strolled by, and everyone stepped out of his way for fear of being flattened like a pancake. She pulled her son out of harm's way and bumped into a smartly dressed olive-skinned gentleman holding onto the hand of a sweet little girl. Ginny straightened and apologised for her clumsiness, but the voice she heard come out from him caused her to freeze momentarily.
Blaise beamed. His hypnotic eyes sparkled, "Ginny, is that you?"
Unconsciously, she brushed her hair back, adjusted her white blouse and hoped everything was in place. She returned the smile with one of her own, "Oh, hello, fancy meeting you here. I'm sorry I bumped into you."
Blaise grinned, "Yeah, it's the last place I'd expect to run into you, and don't worry about it."
He teased, "You stepped on my foot. I'll live."
Carrie made her presence known. She pulled on her father's black coat and demanded, like the diva she was, "Daddy! Can we get the blue-collar? Mr Buttons would love that."
Blaise patted her head affectionately, "Yes, darling. We can get anything you like, but first, come meet one of daddy's, umm...friends."
Carrie looked Ginny over as a curious child would and gushed, "She's so pretty, daddy."
Ginny blushed, "That's the best compliment I've received in a while."
Blaise averted his gaze, felt incredibly uncomfortable and muttered under his breath, "She is." He was sure no one heard him, but when Ginny raised a questioning brow, there was nothing more to do than grin sheepishly and hope he would disappear.
Instead, he introduced, "Carrie, this is Miss Weasley."
Ginny timidly interrupted, "Umm, Potter. It's Mrs Potter now." A bitter pill to swallow considering how hopelessly in love he had been with her before she dumped him without so much as a valid explanation.
He gave a lopsided smirk, "Of course. How could I forget?"
Ginny smiled sweetly at Carrie, "Hello, darling. Don't you look lovely?" She pushed her shy son forward and said, "This is James." James shifted his tiny feet and looked at Carrie in awe. The headstrong toddler took centre court and hugged him tightly, "Hello, James. I like your coat and black hair."
Blaise injected, "He looks just like Potter."
Ginny couldn't help but roll her eyes, "So I've heard." If she had a Galleon for every time someone mentioned how remarkably similar the two were, she would be wealthier than Blaise. By the looks of things, he seemed to be doing quite well for himself, and if she hadn't been desperately in love with Harry, Blaise would've been that special one to whisk her away into the sunset. He was still strikingly handsome. She wondered if all Slytherin men were blessed with good looks, deep pockets, and the uncanny ability to make a woman's knees quake in a matter of seconds.
Ginny realised she was gawking openly. She quickly snapped out of the haze that consumed her and opened her mouth to say something witty and true to her character, but the melodic sound of Carrie's voice beat her to it, "Daddy, can James come with us for ice cream?" In the few minutes that she had been staring at her ex-boyfriend, the children had bonded and were now the best of friends.
Blaise smiled to appease his daughter but shifted his feet awkwardly, "Umm, that's up to his mummy, darling."
He raised an eyebrow, "What do you say, Red? Want to join Carrie and me for ice cream and a cup of coffee?" She wished he didn't refer to her by his old nickname for her. It brought back some rather fond memories that she had suppressed. Only he had ever called her Red, and because she liked him so much, she let him get away with it.
Ginny sighed and conceded defeat after taking in the children's pouting faces, "Sure, that sounds like fun." James was an only child, and she always encouraged him to make friends and took the initiative to arrange playdates so he wouldn't feel lonely.
They got what they needed from The Magical Menagerie, and laden with bags hanging from their wrists, they made the short walk to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and coffee shop. The coffee bit was a new addition by Fortescue's son.
Years after his father's disappearance, the young man took over the family business, reopened and introduced a few Muggle delicacies to the menu. A bubbly server in a bubblegum pink uniform led them to a table by the window where they could keep a watchful eye over the children playing in the newly fitted indoor playground. She took their plain order of coffee black with no milk and sugar on the side and went off to fulfil the request after failing to entice them into adding a piece of chocolate to their order.
Blaise leaned back, got comfortable and cleared his throat, "So, how are you?" He kept an eye out for anyone he knew passing by. It wouldn't work well for him to be seen out with a married woman even though he had much history with Ginny.
She anxiously played with the fingers on her lap and answered, "I'm good, Blaise. And you? How is Daphne?" A tenderness spread across his face that wasn't missed by her. He recited adoringly, "She's good, a full-time mum now since we had Adam."
Ginny attempted to smile. She was genuinely happy for him, but why was resentment bubbling to the surface? Envy was a fickle thing designed to ruin even the toughest of people.
She soldiered through, "That's nice. I saw you guys on the cover of Witch Weekly magazine a few months back. She looks lovely." The waitress arrived with their coffee, and Ginny stirred two spoonsful of sugar into hers while Blaise drank his plain. She was sure it tasted bitter beyond words.
She couldn't help but tease, "You still don't add sugar." He laughed, mainly because she recalled such a minute detail from their torrid romance, "Never touch the horrid stuff. Do you have any idea what sugar will do to this body?"
Her eyes moved down his broad chest audaciously, taking in the chiselled chest that peaked through the open top buttons of his light blue shirt, but she quickly tore her eyes away and coughed in a pathetic attempt to hide what she had done.
Blaise took a sip of his coffee, leaned forward and asked in concern, "Erm, are you okay?" He had been studying her odd behaviour. She was still pretty, but subtle things like heavy bags under her eyes and slightly pale skin made him question her well-being.
Ginny bemused, "Yes, I'm just having a tough morning. It's nothing important."
Blaise reached over and covered Ginny's hand with his. It was a daring move and one he did not regret in the slightest. He pleaded, "Talk to me. We weren't a perfect couple back at Hogwarts, but you could always talk to me."
Ginny took her hand from under his and choked back a sob, "I really shouldn't." It felt sinfully good for someone to ask her about her happiness.
He reached over and fearlessly brushed away her tears and persuaded, "Come on, love." A figure passing by with his collar pulled up and dark shades adorning his bloodshot eyes immediately halted outside the cafe. He watched the intimate exchange with a permanent scowl etched onto his face and stormed away towards Knockturn Alley without a second glance.
Ginny repeated firmly, "I'm having a rough day."
Blaise mused, "We all have those."
Ginny held the mug with trembling fingers and continued to sip the scalding liquid to pass the time, but Blaise interrupted the silence abruptly, "You know, Potter is remarkable. I could never do what he does." He guessed some altercation caused her distress with her Auror husband.
He pressed adamantly, "We have it bloody easy. He's got so much responsibility riding on his shoulders."
Ginny couldn't believe the words Blaise uttered. It was surreal to hear him speak of Harry in such a respectable way. She always figured he despised Harry simply because she dumped him for the Chosen One.
He shook his head and mumbled, "It's not easy being him."
Ginny interrupted bitterly, "Well, being his wife isn't a walk in the park." She regretted her words at once. It was one thing to live in Harry's overbearing shadow, but when she was expected to put on a happy face and be grateful for all he was all the time was a gruelling task. She had been her own person with accomplishments that were hers, and with each passing day, she yearned for the person she once was.
Blaise sighed, "I'm sorry."
Ginny avoided his gaze and mused, "You have nothing to be sorry for."
His fingers lightly brushed against hers, and Ginny felt a stirring she hadn't in years, but the fleeting sensation was gone as soon as it came.
She shot to her feet unexpectedly and beckoned James. The toddler protested as he abandoned the toys and obeyed his mother. He glanced at Carrie unhappily and sulked that he was being torn away from his new playmate.
Grabbing her purse, Ginny said shortly, "I think I should go."
Blaise offered with good intention, "We can meet again if you like. Bring James over. He can play with Carrie and Adam. You know, make a day out of it." Her suffering caused his heart to ache. You never forget your first love, more so when faced with the insatiable witch that was Ginny Weasley.
She would always be Weasley to him.
Ginny thought twice, but Blaise was a temptation she could not afford. She shook her head and declined politely, "I don't think that's a good idea." The last thing she wanted or needed was for him to get the wrong idea.
He looked distraught, "Ginny, I'm sorry if I stepped out of place, but I love my wife very much, and I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
She mustered a sincere smile, "You didn't. I'm sorry, thank you for the coffee."
He got to his feet, adjusted his shirt, let his eyes rove over her and said slowly, "It was good to see you, Ginny."
Ginny turned on her heel and fled, dragging a grumbling James behind her. Of all the bloody days she had to run into Blaise on the one day she was an emotional wreck.
Blaise stared after the flaming red hair disappearing down the cobbled street and looked forlorn. His mind returned to the fateful night Ginny broke up with him. They had plans to meet up in the abandoned Defence Against The Dark Arts room on the second floor. They kept their relationship a secret for the most part due to the raging war around them.
He recalled insulting her on the train when Draco brought up her name for being in Professor Slughorn's illustrious Slug Club. Pansy had called him out for thinking the Weasley girl was desirable. Any idiot with eyes could see how beautiful and unique she was, and to throw his friends off his true feelings, he told them that he wouldn't dare touch a blood traitor. Still, he had touched her at every opportunity, kissed her senselessly and ran his long fingers through her straight locks of hair on most nights.
They had served a week's detention together and connected in the unlikeliest of ways. He went to the class early and eagerly waited for her to turn up, and she did, but her eyes were puffy, and her whole demeanour was stressed. When he tried to touch her, she brushed him off, cruelly told him it was over, and ran out of the room before he could get a word in edgewise.
During and after the battle, he came to the shocking realisation that the girl he had fallen for loved another, but it worked out well, he supposed. He started dating Daphne, who had a crush on him since his fourth year, and it was a match made in heaven, but he never honestly forgot the one that stabbed him straight through the heart and left him for dead.
Sometimes, they was no escaping the past.
The constant rays of the sun were making its haughty presence known. Hermione heard the unmistakable sounds of birds chirping and thought it odd. At her flat, the traffic down below usually drowned out any sounds of nature. She opened her eyes a crack and groggily took a while to register that she was not at her flat but home with her parents.
Hermione sat up and brushed her untidy hair off from her face, yawned and stretched to rid herself of the sleepiness that was pulling her once again into its strong embrace. Sod it, she flopped back down, pulled a pillow near and closed her eyes when the apprehension that Malfoy was gracing them with his presence later that day bolted through her mind causing her to quite literally flung herself off the bed.
She had a quick shower, changed into a simple pair of beige shorts, and a white t-shirt and, tied her hair up in a messy bun and stuck her wand through it for good measure. Standing in front of the mirror, Hermione took a deep breath, "You can do this, Granger. You've helped defeat Dark wizards; you can get through one measly dinner."
With an extra bounce to her step, she went down the stairs and froze on the bottom step. The voices and laughter coming out of the kitchen were familiar and pleasant, but one she established above all. Hermione hurried into the kitchen as fast as her feet would take her and cried in shock, "Nana!!" She threw her parents an accusatory glance. They quickly looked away and busied themselves with a multitude of other things.
Phyllis Granger threw her arms wide open and announced, "Surprise."Nana had always been a sophisticated woman. Her whole head of grey hair was styled in a fashionable bob. Over her slightly stout frame, she wore a linen blouse and fitting trousers to match. With age, her once slender figure had slipped, but Grandma Granger was quite attractive in her day, and her wedding picture was proof of that.
Hermione closed the gap between them and let her grandmother's warmth surround her whole. She always loved the smell of lavender and the hint of jasmine that followed her beloved nana around. The older woman held Hermione by the hands and gushed, "My darling. Let's take a look at you." She raved, "So beautiful!" Hermione was beside herself with happiness, "When did you arrive?" Her voice and tone mirrored her feelings. It had been months since she last saw her grandma, and a sense of guilt engulfed her.
Phyllis laughed, "Hours ago, and you would've known that if you didn't sleep in until the sun's rays bounced off your...."
Julia interrupted from her place by the stove, "Your bottom is what your grandmother was trying to say." Richard shook his head and let out a hearty chuckle.
Hermione hugged her grandmother again and shrieked, "I'm so happy to see you."
Phyllis countered in a no-nonsense tone, "Well, you should visit more often. At least come over to mine."
Her wise brown eyes moved critically over her granddaughter's slight frame, "You need fattening up."
Hermione nodded in agreement, "I will visit, I swear." She added solemnly, "Things have been...well, rough."
Phyllis pursed her lips, "I heard." Her grandmother was a tough woman and not to be trifled with.
She was brought up in the old ways and raised two boys on her own after her husband succumbed to cancer when she was still in her twenties. Grandma Granger knew a thing or two about survival.
She took Hermione's hand in hers, gazed at the beautiful ring wrapped around her finger, and said thoughtfully, "Whoever this man is, he and his family have impeccable taste. This is an exquisite ring.
Hermione stared at the ring herself, not knowing what to say. The ring was a masterpiece, an actual work of art by a jeweller who learned his craft. She was determined to find out about the ring's illustrious lineage and made a mental note to speak with Narcissa as soon as possible.
Clutching a hot mug of tea, Phyllis advised Hermione to follow suit, "Grab a cup of tea. I fancy a breath of fresh air."
Hermione took the cup her mother held out for her and mouthed, "Help me." Julia shrugged and returned to peeling the carrots.
Their garden was well maintained and landscaped to be aesthetically pleasing to the eye. Vast patches of green grass covered the earth, and an abundant variety of sweet-smelling flowers decorated the area. Her father had installed a sizeable white-painted porch swing a few years back, and it was a place where you could relax with a hot beverage, an interesting book or delve into one's deep thoughts. They sat on the swing, and Hermione moved it back and forth using her foot.
Phyllis sipped the milky tea and inquired sternly, "Now tell me. What is all this about."
Hermione sighed and clarified miserably, "It's an arranged marriage with little to no choice."
She didn't bother to hide the contempt in her voice, "Things are different in the magical world."
The older woman didn't bother mincing her harsh words, "They seem rather backward."
Hermione shrugged, "I guess you could say that." Her will to defend the Magical community had long since evaporated since they passed the law.
Phyllis questioned curiously, "What does this Draco Malfoy look like?"
She offered comically, "Short, fat, unattractive?"
Hermione stifled a laugh; it was hard to imagine Malfoy being any of those things.
She chewed on her bottom lip nervously and mused, "He's umm...quite easy on the eyes, I suppose."
Her eyes clouded over with lust, and she rattled off without much thought to how eager she sounded, "Tall, with pale smooth skin and the most mesmerising eyes of clear grey you will ever see. He's muscular but perfectly so, and his smile, Nana. He doesn't use it as often as he should, but when he does, it sort of melts your heart, you know what I mean?"
Hermione was reminded of his most pleasing feature. At least to her, his arms and, in extension, his hands with entwining ribbed veins and long fingers that fisted her hair but were surprisingly gentle as they ghosted over her skin.
A satisfied smirk curved Phyllis's rosy tainted lips. She raised a questioning brow, "Do you have feelings for this man?"
Hermione shook her head and scoffed, "What? No, of course not. We were matched through the Ministry. I loathe him."
Phyllis chided, "Have you been intimate with this Malfoy?"
Hermione swallowed hard and tried to keep the edge out of her voice, "Umm, of course not. He's repulsive." She sounded annoyingly repetitive.
A knowing grin adorned Phyllis's ageing features, "Hmm...if I didn't know any better, Hermione and I always do, I would say you're at least attracted to him."
Hermione's hold on the cup tightened, "Well, I'd be blind not to be. Most women would kill to be in my place, but it's complicated."
Phyllis pressed undeterred, "How so?"
Hermione struggled to keep her emotions at bay, "I haven't told mum and dad, but I always could be more open with you than them."
Phyllis implored, "What Is it, my dear?"
She glanced at her grandmother, patiently waiting for an answer and replied with the sadness that tainted her heart, "Malfoy and I have a dark past. He was a horrid slimy git back in school and tormented me without mercy."
Phyllis tittered and stated wisely, "You know what they say. Boys who pick on girls have a crush on them."
Hermione responded sarcastically, "Oh, trust me. It was nothing like that. He hated me for using magic. He's the only son of one of the most prestigious families in the Wizarding World and was raised to look down on people like me, Muggleborns."
Phyllis squeezed her granddaughter's hand reassuringly and inquired sceptically, "How did he react to this arranged marriage?" It was plain to see the toll it took on Hermione, and she wished she could somehow alleviate the pain.
Hermione considered her answer and acknowledged the truth, "Malfoy wasn't as appalled as I was. He obviously wasn't thrilled, but he's been away for years, and well... he's different, or at least I think he is. He claims to no longer be that spoiled boy and wants to make up for being a portentous toad."
She touched the pendant he gifted over the material of her t-shirt unconsciously and thought it best to share with her grandmother. Bringing the chain out into the open, she delicately held out the engraved pendant for her nana to see.
Hermione smiled fondly, "He gave me this." She was rather attached to the jewellery items Malfoy gave her.
He seemed to guess her choice without genuinely knowing the first thing about her, but then again, the ring was an heirloom made by one of his ancestors.
Still, she adored it, and her allegiance to it was unflattering—the ring, not the person who gave it to her.
Phyllis leaned closer to get a better look, "That's beautiful."
She asked anxiously, "Do you think he's changed?"
Hermione shrugged, "I honestly don't know. He scares me, Gran. I'm terrified of opening up to him." She wanted to believe Malfoy was reformed desperately, but there was that small doubt that overshadowed everything.
Phyllis could see her granddaughter's internal struggle. She appealed, "Why does opening up to him scare you, darling?"
Hermione recited what was in her heart against her better judgement, "What if it's all an act to get in good with me?" The very thought alarmed her.
Phyllis said thoughtfully, "Hmm, and what if it's not? Let me measure up the man tonight. I'll know if he's up to no good."
She cupped Hermione's face lovingly, "I won't let him hurt my precious granddaughter."
Hermione leaned into her touch, closed her eyes and choked back a sob, "Thank you. I can always count on you."
A gentle breeze blew around them, Phyllis looked around the garden, and her astute eyes settled on the rose bushes. Her face scrunched up in disapproval at once.
She looked towards the kitchen and yelled, "Richard!"
He came out at once and looked at his daughter, who inconspicuously shrugged and raised a curious brow at his mother, "Yes, mum?"
She pointed to the flower beds and instructed firmly, "There are weeds that need picking. Hermione, help your father."
Hermione grumbled, "Gran, do I have to? I'm on holiday."
Her grandmother was having none of it. She shook her head and offered an incentive, "I just baked a batch of chocolate brownies. You can have one if you help your father."
Hermione cried in mock outrage, "Only one?"
Phyllis rolled her eyes, "Fine. You can have two but no more."
She walked towards the kitchen, glanced over her shoulder and warned, "No magic."
Richard and Hermione swapped a look and groaned before setting to the task assigned to them by the stubborn old lady. They each took a patch and got to work pulling up the unruly, unwelcome weeds that littered the lovely garden. Her father would highly appreciate the immaculately landscaped gardens of Malfoy Manor.
Hermione pulled up what she assumed was her one-thousandth weed, wiped the sweat off her upper lip and timidly questioned, "Did she bribe you with brownies? I got two."
Richard chuckled, "Sucker. I got four."
Hermione asked slowly, "Dad, are you upset with me?" She was close to her father, and he, being disappointed in her, clawed at her insides unpleasantly.
Richard sighed in exasperation, "I'm worried about you, Princess. Marriage in any form should not be taken lightly."
She reassured, "I promise, I'll be fine."
He smiled proudly, "You were always so independent, off doing things on your own, being strong. I know you will be fine, but that doesn't make me stop worrying. I'm your father. It's my job."
Hermione gushed, "I love you, daddy."
Richard ruffled her hair affectionately with his dirt-covered hands, "I love you more, darling."
Hermione dusted the soil off her hands, got to her feet and assessed the area glumly, "Erm, there is an easier way to do it."
Richard dropped his voice low so only she could hear, "Then let's do it. No number of brownies is worth this."
Hermione looked around to make sure her grandmother was nowhere in sight before pulling out her wand and waving it hurriedly over the places the weeds flourished.
Richard warned, "Not a word to your grandmother."
Hermione drew an imaginary line over her lips and winked, "My lips are sealed."
It was quarter to twelve. He was punctual. It was one of his many appealing attributes, along with high-cheek bones and dreamy eyes. Draco took the shaky old lift to the desired floor.
The Ministry was deserted for the most part, with only a handful of wizards and witches about. He stepped out of the lift, greeted by the large emblem as per his last visit, but a smartly dressed witch was seated at a glass-encased desk this time around. She flashed him a bright and welcoming smile.
Draco slicked his hair back and approached the desk, "Good morning, I'm here for...."
She cut him short with the raise of a hand, "Auror uniforms."
He grinned, "Yes. Would you be kind enough to show me the way?"
The woman got to her feet and gestured with her hands effortlessly as if she had done it a dozen times before, "Down the corridor and turn to your left."
Draco quickly muttered, "Thank you," before turning away, but her voice stopped him.
She batted her eyelashes suggestively, "Welcome to the team, Mr Malfoy."
He nodded briskly and followed her directions down the long narrow path when someone loudly called out his name, "Malfoy? What brings you by?"
Draco turned on his heel to find Potter coming up behind him with a look of suspicion imprinted on his face.
He took out the letter and explained simply, "Umm, I received a letter about robes."
Harry nodded in understanding, "Ah, yes, I forgot about that." He looked like a completely unprofessional fool.
The head Auror didn't look good. He had heavy bags under his eyes, and his body radiated hostility.
Draco stated firmly, "Potter, if we're working together, you have to trust me."
Harry glared sternly, "I don't trust you. At least, not yet, Malfoy. Were you expecting anything less?"
He softened his tone, "Trust is going to take time. You have to earn it, Malfoy."
Draco pressed his lips down hard and nodded curtly, "Right. I understand."
He asked in interest, "Working on the weekend?"
Harry nodded grimly, "We've got tons of suspects to weed through since the article. You will soon learn that this is not a nine to five type of job."
Draco ignored the last remake and insisted, "Any leads?"
Harry shook his head and gritted out, "Nothing useful. At this point, I'm praying for a miracle."
Draco inquired hopefully, "Mind if I take a crack at it?" Potter had brought him in that one time, but that was it.
Harry sized up the tall man walking alongside him and declared, "Not anytime soon. You're in training for a month, but yes, let's see." Malfoy's input could prove to be valuable. It dawned on Harry that he would need to assign a partner to the new Auror, but who would work with him without a fuss was a mystery on its own.
Harry scratched the back of his neck and asked casually, "How is Hermione? I meant to call her. We do a regular lunch at my place with the Weasleys and Teddy, but I forgot to remind her, with all that's been going on."
Draco smirked at the mention of Granger. He shed some light on her whereabouts, "Ah, she's with her parents, or so I gather since I've been invited to meet them over dinner." The word slipped out of Harry's mouth before he could stop it, "Fuck." Draco threw him an amused look. Potter's expression matched his sentiments exactly.
Harry tried to cover up his untimely mistake, "Things are getting serious then?"
Draco showed indifference, "Well, her parents don't know me from Jack, so it makes sense they want to meet the bloke marrying their only daughter."
Harry chuckled, "Ron and Richard had their differences." He recalled Ron using a colourful slew of words to describe Hermione's father. None was flattering in the least.
Draco raised a brow, "Richard?"
Harry explained, "Her dad..." It was another thing he didn't know. She knew far more about him than he did her, and it was unsettling and a grave oversight he intended to rectify.
Draco massaged the bridge of his nose in exasperation, "Interesting...." If her father wasn't fond of Weasley, what chance did he have?
He braved, "Potter, what is her father's profession?" He assumed like his mother Granger's mother was a housewife.
Harry was taken aback by the peculiar question, but he answered in a subtle effort to be helpful, "They're dentists. Muggle Healers who tend to peoples' teeth."
Draco rolled his eyes, "I know what a dentist is." They stopped outside a door with a brass handle. It burst open unceremoniously. A fashionably dressed older witch walked out, saw Harry, and began to plead, "Please, Auror Potter, find Sarah before it is too late. Her family is in pieces praying for her safe return." Madam Malkin begged Harry to find her missing assistant.
Harry smiled wearily and followed the inconsolable lady inside the room. He hadn't bargained on confronting a distraught woman.
Stacy gushed from the sidelines, "Hello, Draco."
He eyed the provocatively dressed woman for a few minutes before hazy memories of snogging in the library came rushing back, "Ah, Stacy. I remember now. It's been a while." She had been a year or so ahead of him and a Ravenclaw prefect. They had an arrangement that worked, but she wasn't memorable like the rest. He could only recall bits and pieces of their trysts.
She looked momentarily insulted that he had forgotten who she was but brushed it aside and sauntered up to him with intent and purpose.
Hannah chose that moment to come around the corner and almost barrelled into them.
Stacy smoothened her coat and leered, "Why are you such a clumsy oaf, Abbott?"
Hannah grinned, "And why are you such an epic cunt, Hopkins?"
Draco stifled the laughter that bubbled to the surface, and Hannah greeted him with a happy smirk, "Malfoy, here to get your robes?"
She glanced at the smartly dressed woman in a crisp business suit and low-cut blouse that gave her breasts an ample view and quipped, "What are you doing here, Stacy? You haven't joined the DMLE, have you?"
Stacy looked positively livid at such a suggestion, "Don't be silly. I wouldn't dream of running off after some evil character."
Hannah mumbled under her breath, "Thank, Merlin, you daft bint."
Draco heard her and snorted. Stacy questioned irritably, "What was that?"
Hannah tightened her ponytail, crossed her arms over her chest and retorted smugly, "Oh, nothing. So are you here to gawk at Malfoy?"
Stacy was taken aback by the straightforward assessment and fell over her words, "I, umm...how dare you?" Draco eyed the woman standing close to him out of the corner of his eye and thought it prudent to put some distance between them.
Hannah rolled her eyes, "Yeah, whatever. Have either of you seen Harry?"
Draco pointed to the closed door and offered, "He's inside talking to Madam Malkin." They could hear Harry reassuring the old witch in hushed tones that they were doing their utmost to catch the man responsible. Stacy thought it was best to leave with her dignity intact or whatever was left of it.
She drawled sensually, "I guess I'll see you around...Auror Malfoy."
Hannah snorted openly, earning a scathing look from Stacy.
Draco smiled halfheartedly, "Umm, yeah." Not if I can help it. He wondered if she knew about his upcoming marriage to Granger.
Hannah shook her head and muttered, "Pathetic." She knocked to make her presence known, went in and emerged minutes later with a grateful Harry. Both were discussing what seemed to be a critical matter.
Harry ignored Draco, but Hannah looked up, smirked and mouthed, "See you tomorrow."
Draco walked in, and Madam Malkin smiled warmly, though her face was pinched and tear-stained.
She cooed, "Ah, Master Malfoy, it's been too long. Your dear mother has always been one of my most prestigious customers. I do cater to the finest clientele."
Draco clicked his heels together and nodded, "Indeed, Madam." She snapped her fingers, and two assistants hovering behind her, shooting Draco appreciative glances, scurried about while he stood in the middle with his arms stretched outwards like a scarecrow. At the same time, an enchanted measuring tape wound itself around the right parts and travelled over his body, shouting measurements as it went.
Once completed, it curled on Madam Malkin's palm and moved no more. She smiled, "All done, dear. If you wouldn't mind waiting for a few minutes, I'll have one of my eager assistants bring out five sets of completed black robes to you. Please let me know if you require additional ones, but since you're just starting, I doubt that will be necessary."
Draco ran his fingers through his hair and replied kindly, "Thank you. I'll just be outside."
A tall pompous looking man stood next in line. He threw Draco a haughty look and followed the well-dressed old witch into the room.
Draco took the opportunity to look around. Not much adorned the walls, except a few framed articles of the DMLE exploits.
The man returned and purposely took the chair furthest away from him. Minutes passed uneventfully, and a girl dressed in a purple uniform came out and handed him a neatly wrapped but lumpy package.
He thanked the girl who blushed madly, tucked it under his arm and made his way down the long corridors to an apparition point.
Blaise sat in his den with a drink in his hand. It was early, but he needed something substantial to calm his frazzled nerves. Seeing Ginny Weasley had thrown him through a loop.
Daphne poked her head in and saw him looking thoughtful and gloomy. She entered the room quietly and lovingly stroked her husband's cheek. His eyes snapped open. He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her fervently.
She returned his enthusiasm, but his kiss wasn't gentle. It was demanding as if he was trying to prove something.
Daphne curled on his lap and brushed his hair back enduringly, "You seem rather preoccupied today."
She loved her husband and children, but things hadn't always been easy for her. It had been fine until Astoria's illness clawed its way to the surface. Her devoted parents were horrified by their beloved younger daughter's condition. Their happy home fell apart, leaving her to pick up the pieces at such a tender age.
As the older sister and daughter, she was forced to the side and overlooked as their parents gave their undivided attention to Astoria's deteriorating mental health. Daphne bore no grudge. She understood her parents' daunting situation and did all she could to appease them by mostly fending for herself, but that all changed when she started dating Blaise. He showered her with the attention she craved and gave her the confidence and love to pursue anything she desired.
The day he proposed was the happiest day of her life. For once, she felt complete.
Blaise sighed, "Do I?"
She bemused, "I was just giving Carrie a bath, and she couldn't stop talking about a pretty lady with long red hair and a child named James."
Blaise paled, but it wasn't like he had done anything wrong, and he confided without hesitation, "I met Ginny at the pet shop. Her son is James."
Daphne got to her feet, crossed her arms over her chest and scowled, "And you didn't think it was important to tell me that you ran into your ex-girlfriend." Of course, she knew about them. Blaise wasn't exceptionally talented at covering his tracks.
He drained his drink and bit his bottom lip, "It was a long time ago, Daph. We were children. It hardly meant anything. I didn't mention it because it didn't matter." Liar. Even though their time together was short, he had felt something tangible for the spirited Gryffindor woman.
"Are you going to see her again?" Daphne questioned uneasily.
Blaise shook his head, "Why would I? I ran into her, and we exchanged a few pleasantries over a cup of coffee while the children played. End of story. I have no wish to see her again."
Daphne wasn't wholly convinced, but it seemed so trivial that she let it slide and left him to his thoughts while disturbing ones formulated in her now troubled mind.
She mocked, "Do you miss her?" Blaise bit out sarcastically, "A woman I haven't spoken to in years? Yes, terribly."
He took her hand in his and sighed, "I love you. Have I ever given you a reason to doubt that?"
Daphne smiled and slowly shook her head, "No, my love, you haven't."
Whether Blaise admitted it or not, she was acutely aware of her husband's once strong feelings towards Ginny Weasley.
Harry sat on top of Hannah's desk and went over the papers she handed him. He had made a wise decision in hiring her. She was meticulous with her paperwork and had more guts than half the male members on his team. He also noticed she had a sharp mind that picked up the finer details even more seasoned Aurors missed.
Terry breezed in, looking utterly dishevelled with unkempt hair, trembling and almost frothing at the mouth.
Harry regarded him suspiciously, "I didn't expect you in so early after last night's late shift."
Hannah looked him over and bit back the nasty comment before it left her lips. Terry seemed unbalanced and paranoid.
Harry hopped off the table, clamped him on the shoulder and advised in concern, "Boot, you don't look so good. Take the day off, mate."
Boot widened his bloodshot eyes and grinned, "Ah, I wanted to finish up questioning the bastard." His teeth were yellowish with nicotine stains, but his wild eyes gave him away.
Hannah frowned, "The suspect has been cleared, Boot. I saw to it myself." The people they questioned were merely suspects, but Terry treated them as if they were already convicted of the heinous crimes, and his indifference infuriated her.
Harry invaded Terry's personal space and peered into his face. Boot tried his best to avert his gaze, but Harry grabbed him by the shoulders and demanded, "Are you fucking high?"
Terry broke free from his boss's hold and vigorously shook his head, "No, I, umm, took something to cope up with the sleepless nights." If he were caught using drugs, it would mean his badge and a stint in Azkaban.
Harry spat harshly, "Get your arse home. You're delirious and of no use to me in this state. Sober up and report to work in the morning."
Terry blurted out callously, "I saw Ginny at Fortescue's with that Slytherin bloke." How was that for delirious?
Harry turned on his heel deliberately and faced Terry. His face darkened, "Ginny? My wife?"
Boot laughed manically, "Yeah, Potter. She's the only Ginny I know."
Harry found nothing amusing about his proclamation. He gritted out, "What Slytherin bloke?"
Terry struggled to put a name to the face, but he did remember the man hanging around Malfoy.
He snapped, "He's good friends with Malfoy."
Fuck. Saying the bastard's name left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hated the man who took Granger away from him.
Harry hissed, "Zabini?"
Terry snapped his fingers in realisation, "That's the one. He the one with the Quidditch stores?"
Harry felt his heartbeat hasten, and he answered slowly, "Yeah, that's him."
He raised his voice and commanded, "Boot, in my office now."
Terry trailed after Harry sluggishly, and Hannah threw them anxious looks.
Harry asked cagily, "Umm, Boot, what were they doing?"
Terry backed away and put his hands up in submission, "Look, mate, it's not my place. She seemed upset, and he umm...." He should've kept his big mouth shut. It wouldn't do to jump to hasty conclusions.
Harry demanded impatiently, "What did he do?"
Terry looked uncomfortable, "Calm down, Potter. He touched her face. I couldn't see much. I was passing by."
Harry gripped the edge of his desk so hard his knuckles whitened from the sheer intensity of his hold.
His breathing slowed. He kept his eyes on the pictures of the murdered women scattered across his desk and said in a deadly undertone, "Go home, Terry. That is an order."
Boot gave a salute, backed out of the room, threw Hannah a look of contempt and marched down the hallway, disappearing from sight.
Hermione and Richard washed their hands with the garden hose and entered the kitchen in high spirits. Phyllis had ham and cheese sandwiches waiting for them. She placed them on the table and looked at them suspiciously, "You finished quite fast." Hermione threw open the door to the refrigerator and pulled out a cool water bottle. She twisted the cap open and shrugged, "Yeah, we make a good team."
Phyllis accused, "You used magic."
Richard said bluntly, "That too. Hermione made me do it, mum."
Hermione glared at her father, "Traitor."
Phyllis shook her head, "Come on, wash up and let's help your mum finish dinner. I'm making my famous green apple pie."
Hermione rolled her eyes, plopped herself down unceremoniously on a chair and grumbled, "We don't need to make a fuss."
Phyllis waved her head dismissively and retorted, "The man will be fed properly. I'm sure he eats better than your steady diet of ramen noodles."
Julia placed the chickens on a baking tray and laughed at the animated banter that filled the kitchen. She longed for happy days such as these.
Ron popped a chip into his mouth, "Where's Harry?" Ginny stirred a pot looking tired and drawn. She replied solemnly, "He's at work. I doubt he will make it."
After returning, she put James to bed and stood under the shower for what seemed like a lifetime trying to erase the gut-wrenching guilt that racked through her.
The tears came before she knew it, and she collapsed and sobbed hard for the offensive words she had hurled at Harry, for letting herself relax in Blaise's company, but most of all for the intense longing she felt when his fingers touched hers.
Harry's icy voice pierced the air, "Well, you thought wrong. I told you I would be here, and here I am."
A strained silence followed. After Boot's bold declaration, Harry had paced around his office in nothing short of a jealous frenzy and blamed himself for pushing his wife into the waiting arms of another man. So consumed by rage, he overlooked the fact that it might have been a chance meetup between two individuals who happened to run into each other after years.
Ron took a swig off his butterbeer and hollered, "Mate, you're a sight for sore eyes."
Tracey smiled politely, "It's nice to see you, Harry."
Harry mustered a smile, "You too, Tracey."
Teddy walked in holding James's hand, saw Harry and exclaimed excitedly, "Uncle Harry!!" He patted the boy's bright blue head and gave his Godson a tight hug.
Ginny wiped her hands on her apron, tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and took a step forward with a sincere smile, "I didn't expect you to come for lunch, but I'm so glad you did."
She whispered, "I'm sorry about what happened in the morning." Her apology fell on deaf ears. His features twisted unpleasantly, "Yeah, of course, you are, but you've had a fun morning, haven't you?"
Ginny took a step back and stared at her husband in utter disbelief. Embarrassed by his behaviour, she stared into his face and wordlessly demanded answers.
Harry hissed, "I don't want to talk about this right now." Ron and Tracey were among them, and the last thing he wanted was to be portrayed as some villainous husband.
Ginny encircled his wrist with her petite fingers and implored, "Harry, what's wrong?" He broke free of her hold and snarled, "I said I don't want to discuss it. Now drop it."
Tracey threw Ron a look of concern and ushered the children out of the room before something truly unpleasant happened. Teddy looked over his shoulder in confusion, and though James was reluctant to follow his new aunt and leave his mother, he went without fuss. Ron glanced at Ginny in time to see her face fall and her lips quiver. The big brother in him surged forth and the wanting to protect his baby sister from any harm was a primaeval instinct he couldn't shake. Not that Harry would ever hurt her, but he seemed angry enough to do something drastic.
Ron grew thoughtful. Harry was his best mate, but Ginny was blood, which made her far more valuable. His face creased with worry. He had never seen them fight, and a feeling of unease swirled around his belly. They were indeed in for an eventful Sunday afternoon.
Chapter 33
Summary:
Thank you so much to everyone who posted a review and for everyone following! It means so much! ❤😊
My gratitude and love to my amazing Beta Carrie. Thank you so much for everything 😊
A chapter dedicated to the importance of friendship.
I know its slow burn, but I wanted to give the much-awaited dinner a chapter of its own, and as with all my other stories, friendship and being there for someone is of the utmost importance and an essential point for me to get across 😊 Positive thoughts 😊
Also, I hope everyone reading can picture the dishes being prepared by Julia and Phyllis. They are mouthwatering, to say the least.
Enjoy Chapter Thirty Three!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads!
Stay safe, beautiful people! 😊
HAPPY READING! 🥰
Chapter Text
Terry Boot's Flat
Terry stumbled as he climbed the stairs that led to his flat. The lift was out of commission for over a week, but the scrooge-like wanker who served as their landlord couldn't be arsed to get it fixed. In his current condition, he felt like he was climbing Mount Everest, seeking the summit.
Sudden chills racked through his sleep-deprived body, and grim, oppressive walls closed in on him. Terry came to an abrupt halt, he could see the door to his flat, but it seemed so far away.
With renewed determination, he shook his head in a desperate attempt to clear the dizziness. All it did was add to the foggy thickness that pounded within, along with his racing heartbeat.
He plunged his hand into his pocket and brought out a bunch of keys, but his surroundings were blurry, and he couldn't focus. He could barely make out his trembling fingers in front of his face.
The keys slipped through sweat-soaked fingers and slid to the ground with a tinkling thump.
He needed to get inside and find his stash. The tunnel vision of experiencing a new hit spurred him on, and he knew it would set him right.
Frustration sent pinpricks stabbing his skull, obsessively fueling him as he tried to gather his wits to complete the simple task before him.
The previous night he had been so disgusted with himself that he had almost flushed the little white packets down the commode, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it.
Abandoning the keys that became as elusive as Granger at that point. He pointed his wand at the lock and whispered, "Alohomora." The door rattled stubbornly but eventually swung open.
Relieved, Terry hurriedly stepped in, shut the door behind him and tore through the small flat into his bedroom, bumping into the walls and fighting the black spots that clouded his vision.
He pulled out the bottom drawer of his cupboard and emptied the contents onto his unmade bed. Balled-up socks, boxers, and a tie or two fell out and over the bed. The secret compartment he maintained was still intact. Sliding it open, he pulled out a small, sealed plastic packet and rushed back into the living room.
Terry cleared the table clumsily and emptied a packet onto the wooden surface in his desperation. The white powder that could pass off as flour to the untrained eye was a stark contrast against the chestnut brown surface of the table.
Taking a smidge, just a taste, between his thumb and forefinger, he rubbed them together to coat his fingers generously, rubbing it along his teeth and gums before sucking on his fingers greedily.
The actual charge lay ahead. Bending over the table, he folded a discarded paper into two and used it to separate a fine line of white powder and snorted it without hesitation. The rush was immediate, and he fell back against the sofa and let out a satisfied groan of ecstasy.
Terry did another line and laughed as his surroundings became crystal clear, and his mind regained its former sharpness.
He had always experimented with recreational drugs and smoked weed back at Hogwarts, staying away from the real hard stuff for fear of being caught, but more so because he lacked the resources to purchase the expensive narcotics. Even by Wizarding standards, the substances cost a pretty penny.
That was until his job started doing his head in, and the lifeless, brutalised images of the dead women visited him at night, keeping him awake for days until he crashed from pure exhaustion. Calming draughts and more vital Muggle medication were not holding the nightmares at bay.
A little research into cocaine, commonly known to Muggles as Snow White, and a visit to Knockturn Alley scored him a single packet of the illicit drug.
That was months ago. He knew it was addictive, but he was an Auror, and Aurors had the ability to remain impartial to the happenings at work. They went home and let all the severe stuff go. Except he couldn't.
He just wanted to sleep without dark thoughts tormenting him, but as time went on, the addiction began to control him, and now he was entirely at its mercy. He hated that everyone else at work came in fresh-faced and ready for the challenge, and he wanted to be there alongside them.
A knock on the door made Terry flinch. He was paranoid about mostly every noise and sound that made it to his sensitive hearing.
The voice was familiar, "Open the door, Terry. I know you're in there." Michael? What was he doing here?
He was supposed to be enjoying his day off with Brenda and her mother.
"If you don't open up, I'm coming in whether you like it or not," Michael called out impatiently. Hannah had expressed concern over Terry's bizarre behaviour and sickly appearance.
She hadn't minced her words and plainly told him that she firmly believed Terry was doing drugs. Terry hurriedly tried to clean the table and the sloppy mess he had made in his haste, but he didn't do a thorough job of it, and when Michael burst in, he was still rubbing the table down.
Michael hissed, "Fuck! What the hell are you doing?" He closed the gap between them, grabbed Terry's head and examined his face. The pupils were dilated, and his breath stank. Michael's own features were pinched and twisted in concern.
Terry laughed manically, "Nothing, mate. It's just a little something to take the edge off."
Michael hesitated but let go, and something white on the floor by the table leg caught his eye. He cautiously picked up the empty packet with powder still clinging to the insides and brought it up to peer at it closely. The colour drained from his face, and he rounded on his best friend, who was sprawled across the sofa in a delusional state.
He shoved the packet in his mate's face and warned, "This is cocaine. Have you lost your fucking mind?"
Terry shrugged, "It's no big deal." He wished Michael would lighten up and at least try to understand.
Michael would not hear another word. He demanded, "How long, Boot? And don't you dare lie to me." An uncomfortable silence engulfed them, and Terry struggled to string words together. He finally confessed, "Few months. Since the first victim turned up."
Michael cried indignantly, "That was nearly eight months ago!" He couldn't fathom how none of them had noticed Terry was doing drugs. He was good at concealing it, composed for the most part, and he'd shown no apparent signs until recently.
Corner, however, had noticed that Terry was smoking more than usual. His best friend went through two packets of Marlboros compared to his typical half a pack, though he hadn't paid much attention to it and had blamed it on the stress of the job.
He looked over at his friend and said sadly, "Look at you." Terry was an absolute mess. The bloke reeked, needed a haircut, and nearly a week's worth of rough stubble adorned his face.
The flat was a complete wreck with overflowing ashtrays, empty food cartons and partially rotting food littering the small kitchen counter and table.
Terry couldn't bring himself to confess that once the drugs were in his system, they somehow suppressed the magic in him and rendered him useless. He had discovered that nearly two weeks ago, but even that dreadful discovery didn't discourage him from using the deadly substance.
He reached for a half-smoked cigarette, put the nasty bud to his lips and snarled, "Yeah, I'm a disgusting fucking mess, right? Get lost, Michael. Go back to your perfect little life." In a pathetic attempt to defend his actions, he added solemnly, "I've been stressed, so I took a little more than I should."
Michael exhaled, took out his wand and waved it over the untidy space. He barely heard Terry mutter in desolation, "Besides, you don't need to be around a fuckup like me." Michael tossed his jacket aside and rolled up his sleeves, "Well, this ends here."
Terry snapped, "I don't need your help." Michael stared in disbelief. He seemed to be dealing with another person altogether, but Terry was good at his job, brilliant even. During training, his confirmed number of hits was still a DMLE record.
He turned to leave with a heavy heart, but Terry's strangled voice cut through the frosty stillness, "I can't stop. Please, help me before it destroys me."
Michael smiled and reassured, "Of course. That's what mates are for." He would put his life on hold to help Boot out of this frightening mess. His friend meant the world to him, and he would do what was needed to set him on the right path once more.
The Granger Residence
The older women were genuinely invested in their mission to serve a delightful meal. The Granger household smelt scrumptious with a blend of aromas from the moist chocolate cake in the oven and the preparation of fresh herbs and vegetables.
Julia was making her trademark dishes. Shepherd's pie, made with ground lamb, which she prided herself on being the ultimate comfort food. Creamy mashed potatoes over a generous layer of meat and mushrooms in a delicious gravy that would fill a delectable pie fit for a king.
The mouth-watering scent of lemon chicken drifting from the oven tickled their senses and gave new meaning to the word tasty. Whole chickens perfumed with garlic, wine, and lemons were a perfect way to welcome a new member joining the family. A butter and sea salt coating created an ideal pairing of crispy skin and juicy meat on the chicken.
Finally, small potatoes, peas, cubed carrots, mushrooms, and sweet onions, which were baked and then pan-seared, were the perfect accompaniment for the meal, along with freshly made rolls with oodles of butter.
Julia handed carrots over to Hermione and grinned, "Make yourself useful. Wash them and chop them up into even pieces." Phyllis was at the table in the kitchen, slicing button mushrooms in half and dicing potatoes to go into the shepherd's pie.
Julia smiled broadly and helped herself to a glass of wine, "It's quite nice to cook for my future son in law." It was clear from her expression that she was enjoying herself immensely.
Phyllis snorted, and Hermione tossed a piece of carrot into her mouth, pulled the cutting board close and frowned, "I'm glad the people I love most find my life amusing."
Julia handed Phyllis a glass of white wine and laughed, "Just teasing, darling." She basted the chickens with melted butter and popped them back into the oven. Phyllis mashed the potatoes and strained them through a sieve to rid the creamy composition of any lumps.
Richard wandered into the kitchen in a pair of khaki shorts and a loose work t-shirt to grab a bag of crisps, "Mmm, smells wonderful, ladies."
Hermione inhaled deeply, "It does smell fabulous." Pangs of hunger churned her insides unpleasantly, and she longed to sink her teeth into a juicy chicken leg.
Phyllis tapped the bench with a wooden spoon and scolded, "Stop drooling and knead the dough. "
Hermione scowled, "I'm not an elf, Gran." The Granger Matriarch looked thoroughly bemused.
After preparing the potatoes for Julia, she began slicing peeled juicy green apples into thin and even pieces to line the flaky pastry of her apple pie.
Richard reached over his wife's shoulder, stole a sautéed button mushroom, and popped it into his mouth before his mother shooed him from the kitchen. He went grudgingly, muttering incoherently to himself about a man starving to death waiting for guests before he was allowed to eat.
Julia mused, "Are you nervous, Hermione?"
Hermione quipped, "When I bring home a man I fancy, then yes, I'll be nervous. It's only Malfoy, and I couldn't care less what you thought of him."
Phyllis snorted, "I wonder if your brain has got the message, your heart clearly hasn't. If you chew on your lip anymore, it will disappear entirely, my dear."
Hermione grinned sheepishly, "Stop it, Gran." Happy laughter from the women filled the kitchen, arousing Richard's interest from his place in the den. He looked their way and couldn't help the sunny smile that crept onto his face.
After much pleading with her grandmother, Hermione used bits of magic to help clean the mountain of pots and pans gathered in the sink.
Teddy grumbled, "Is aunty Mione coming?"
Ginny couldn't help but feel sorry for the eager child waiting for his favourite aunt to come by, but it was Ron that answered in a tone that hardly masked his true feelings, "Aunty Hermione has other plans, mate. She's introducing her pet snake to her parents."
Tracey pursed her lips, gripped the stem of her wine glass, and glared at her husband. The look on Teddy's face was heartbreaking, "Oh, so she's not coming? I miss her." He folded the drawing of the Snitch and tucked it back into his pocket.
Ron ruffled the boy's hair and pointed to Victoire playing by herself, "Why don't you go play?" Her parents Bill and a heavily pregnant Fleur spoke with Andromeda, Molly and Arthur.
Teddy grimaced, "She's playing with dolls, Uncle Ron."
Ron laughed, "Come on, mate. Run along now." Teddy dragged his feet miserably and went towards the pretty blonde child seated on the floor, dressing up what looked remarkably like a barbie doll.
She beamed as Teddy plopped down beside her, sat cross-legged, scrunched up his nose and asked, "Can we play with something else? Victoire nodded in compliance and quite literally tossed the doll aside and awaited further instruction. She was exceedingly fond of Teddy.
Ginny could not help the surprise that adorned her face, "What do you mean?" She was taken aback that Ron knew and she did not. It somewhat hurt her feelings that Hermione didn't share such a vital development.
Tracey felt obligated to explain, "Think nothing of it, Ginny. We happened to be at the club with Draco yesterday when he got the call from Hermione."
Ron spat savagely, "Her parents want to meet Malfoy," and then laughed sarcastically, "Richard will slaughter the useless git." He wished he could be present to watch the older man dismember Malfoy piece by piece.
The very thought offered him comfort from the excruciating fact that the Slytherin Prince was marrying a person he cared for dearly.
Tracey warned, "That is enough, Ronald." His behaviour was tiresome and exceedingly childish. Ron was a good, loving man but held onto a grudge with unwavering determination.
Harry heard the words they spoke but kept quiet. He had plenty of other's things running rampant through his troubled mind, and Malfoy and Hermione were the least of them.
He shot worrying glances at his wife while she played the perfect host and diligently tended to everyone, especially the children. It was as if their morning altercation was long since forgotten, and he couldn't help but wonder if her meeting with Zabini had something to do with her current cheerful mood.
Oh, Harry was well aware of their torrid but short affair. Before they got together, she had confided in him that she and Blaise had indeed been a couple of sorts but ended it after the Sectumsempra incident that left Malfoy writhing and almost bleeding to death.
The conspicuous looks of torment Blaise threw their way when they passed each other in the corridors or Great Hall was not lost on him. Whether their affair was short-lived or not, Harry knew that his now wife and Zabini had shared something intimate. It caused jealousy to spread through him like fiendfyre.
Malfoy Manor
After returning from the Ministry, Draco kept the parcel of new Auror robes on the bed and stared at his reflection in the floor-length mirror he had installed when he first arrived not three weeks ago.
So much had happened in such a short period he was still struggling to come to terms with most of it. The man looking back at him had changed so vastly during his time away it was hard to imagine how inconsiderate and intolerable he had been as a youngster, but if one thing remained intact, it was his confidence.
One could even call it arrogance, but he had the uncanny ability to walk into a room and overpower it with his commanding presence. Still, the upcoming dinner and prospect of meeting Granger's parents caused his self-assurance to wither into nothing.
Taking a deep breath, he silently berated himself for acting like some misbehaving child being sent to the headmaster's office, "Get a hold of yourself. It's just dinner. Calm down."
Ginny closed the door behind Ron, who purposely lingered long after everyone had left, mainly because he was worried about his sister.
He reluctantly went with the departing words, "Let me know if you need anything." Throughout Sunday brunch, Harry had uncharacteristically kept to himself with a permanent scowl etched into his face and a glass of scotch that never left his hand. He looked utterly perturbed, and no matter the probing from others to find out the cause, he kept mum and blamed it on the job and the killer running loose. Molly had expressed her concern over his odd behaviour, but Ginny defended her husband, saying it was work-related.
Arthur concurred that it was indeed a stressful time with the murderer still at large. Media and community pressure to catch the man was mounting, resulting in a few unfavourable articles by Rita Skeeter. The vile witch had suggested that the head of the DMLE lacked the vision, strength, and wit to run the legendary department.
Andromeda heard bits and pieces regarding Draco's dinner invitation and wondered if Narcissa would join her son or perhaps extend the same courtesy to the Grangers. With each passing day, she longed to bridge the gap between them and try to reconnect, at least in their old age. She was well aware that her youngest sister went along with her parent's decision to cast her out.
It had been excruciating for her since they had been so close growing up. Still, for fear of their parent's retribution, Andromeda had been the one to sever all ties despite Narcissa insisting that they could find a way to stay connected. Picking up a few empty glasses on the way to the kitchen, Ginny walked in to find Harry seated at the small wooden table with his hands neatly folded and placed on top of the table's surface in front of him. His eyes narrowed as she entered, and he pursed his lips in an unsuccessful attempt to control his anger.
Ginny asked sweetly, "Would you like a cup of coffee?"
Harry intensely followed her movements with his eyes and grilled, "Where were you this morning?"
Ginny poured herself a cup, glanced over her shoulder and raised a brow, "Excuse me?" Panic and dread started to set in, and she wondered if her whereabouts and his sour mood were somehow connected.
Harry did not disappoint. He pressed undeterred by her obvious discomfort with his line of questioning, "Did you go out?"
Ginny replied with an air of nonchalance, "I did. I took James to Diagon Alley to buy food for the owl and his turtle."
He probed further, "What else did you do?" She shrugged, "Umm, nothing." It was on the tip of her tongue to mention her coffee and chat with Blaise but come what may, she swallowed her words and kept silent.
"Don't lie to me," Harry gritted out. His patience was wearing thin, and the alcohol in his system was not helping his cause.
Ginny glared sternly, "I'm not lying, Harry. I don't exactly know what you're asking." She was sure he knew of the encounter, but why the questions? He was interrogating her like he would some common criminal.
Unable to keep it concealed any longer, Harry snapped, "Did you have coffee with Zabini?"
Ginny did not hesitate with her answer. She locked eyes with him and nodded slowly with a quick reply, "Yes, I did."
Harry slowly rose to his feet and demanded, "Why the fuck didn't you tell me?"
Ginny glanced at the door and hissed, "Keep your voice down. Our son is in the next room." Her anger at being treated so poorly soared to the surface. She argued, "I didn't tell you because it slipped my mind. I also had a brunch to prepare." Having to singlehandedly entertain a dozen guests and tend to an active toddler can do that to a person. She might have pushed it aside and awaited a more opportune to bring it up.
Harry banged his fist on the table and yelled, ignoring her earlier warning of James being in the other room, "Don't you dare lie to my face. You purposely left it out."
Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and quizzed, "And why would I do that?" He accused harshly, "Did you confide in him? Tell him about our problems. How I'm neglecting my family?" The contempt he felt was apparent in the words he uttered in spite.
Ginny bit back a nasty retort and scowled, "Don't be ridiculous. I ran into him with his lovely daughter, and they invited us for ice cream and chat. We were barely there twenty minutes." She pulled her hair back into a high ponytail to calm herself and hide the incessant trembling of her fingers.
His tone was laced with malice as he queried with dripping sarcasm, "Does he still get you all hot and bothered? I remember you being quite taken by him." Keeping her eyes on her inebriated husband, Ginny fired back, "Yeah, then I dumped him, remember? Because I loved you." He was hurt and jealous, that much was clear, but this was no excuse for him to dredge up the past.
She included angrily, "If any of your cronies have been spying on me, you better pray I don't find out who!" She would gladly rip the bastard a new one. How dare they report back to her husband with false information.
Harry asserted, "That is beside the point, Ginny." His tone mirrored the torment he was going through, "Why would you go out with him behind my back?"
That last accusation caused her blood to boil, "Sod off, Potter." Harry closed the gap between them, grabbed her by the elbow and turned her around to face him.
His fingers closed around her arm, causing Ginny to wince as he mocked, "Are you having an affair? Rekindled an old flame, have you?" He was trying to sound uncaring and aloof, but the gut-wrenching pain tormenting him was enough to make his knees buckle and fall at the feet of the woman he loved.
Ginny was livid. She broke free of his hold and spat through clenched teeth, "Have you lost your bloody mind? Blaise loves his wife, and I saw him today after years."
Harry ignored the anger radiating off her and demanded, "And what about you? Do you love me?"
Ginny didn't mean to hurt him, but she was caught up in misery and replied bluntly, "It's not always easy to love you, Harry, but of course I do. I always will."
Harry poured himself a drink, drained it and warned, "I don't want you meeting him." Taking a step back, Ginny said stubbornly, "It wasn't planned, and if you are expecting me to ignore him should our paths cross again, then I'm sorry, but I won't do that."
Harry realised he'd had too much to drink. The room started to spin, and he grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter to steady himself, rasping, "Does he mean so much to you?"
She scoffed, "I'm not to blame for your insecurities. If you were home more often..."
Harry laughed hysterically, "So, the truth finally comes out. Nothing I do is good enough. I'm trying to save lives." His laughter filled the space and bounced off the walls ominously, and Ginny glanced at the door anxiously, hoping the cartoon on the telly was enough to distract James and loud enough to drown out their angry voices.
Ginny held back the tears that clawed their way to the surface, but she fought a losing battle. They spilt over, and hopelessness engulfed her at how adamantly he believed she would cheat on him so easily. She choked back a sob and reached for her handbag resting on the counter, "I'm not doing this. You're drunk."
Harry widened his eyes in panic, "Where are you going?" He pleaded desperately. Even in his drunken state, it was evident that he had crossed an invisible line. She was his wife, the mother of his child, not some unscrupulous character he dealt with at work. In some way, he had managed to merge the two and treat Ginny horribly.
Ginny stuffed a packet of biscuits, slices of cheese and a water bottle into her oversized bag and hurled, "Far away from you!"
Harry watched, horrified as she quickened her step and left the kitchen. He called after her in fear, "Ginny! Stop..." but it was useless. His speech was slurred, his vision blurred, and his feet wouldn't corporate. The loud sound of disapparation nearly cracked his heart and skull in half.
Fuck.
He held on to his head with one hand and tried to steady himself by leaning against the wall, but instead, he slid down it and fell in a crumpled heap near the entrance to James's toy room.
Heavy sobs echoed through the now-empty space, and Harry cried, "I'm sorry. Please, come back, Ginny." He heaved, unable to gasp air and begged an invisible entity to right his wrongs.
Hermione wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder and apologised without waiting for the other party to speak, "Hi, Ginny. I'm sorry I missed brunch, but something urgent came up." She continued to grumble and cut more vegetables her mother tasked her with but stopped when she heard sniffles and pressed the phone further into her ear to hear better.
She repeated meekly, "Ginny? What's wrong?" Her heart skipped a beat. She had only heard Ginny cry twice before, and both were evoked by death. Her hands turned numb. She placed the knife carefully on the board, left the kitchen and wandered into the garden, purposely ignoring the looks of apprehension her mother and grandmother threw her way.
Ginny sat on a park bench and watched her son playing on a mini slide. It was the first place that came to mind since she and James visited the place often during the morning. Going to the Burrow would have raised many questions from her mother and father, and she was in no right mindset to face two interrogations in one day.
She held the phone tight; tears ran down her flushed cheeks. "I need to...talk to somebody," Ginny sobbed inconsolably. Her voice cracked, and Hermione could only hear bits and pieces, but it was enough to get the gist. She offered at once, "Of course, I'm at my parents."
Ginny wiped her nose and whimpered, "I know, I'm sorry, but can I come over with James? We won't stay long."
Hermione assured, "You never have to ask. You are the sister I never had," and invited urgently, "Come over. You remember the address?"
Ginny responded with a muffled, "Yes, I'll see you in a bit." The line went dead, and Hermione stared at her phone for a few minutes fighting the urge to call Harry. Something told her that Ginny's plight had to do with her husband, and she thought it prudent to speak with the spirited redhead before going to her best friend for answers.
Ginny let James go down the slide a further two times before she got to her feet and brushed away a few dust particles off her jeans before she strode towards the happy toddler with her heavy bag tucked under her arm.
She bent to his level, pulled up the zipper on his jumper, patted his head and mustered a happy smile, "How about we go see aunty Hermione? Would you like that, sweetheart?"
The naughty scamp obviously thought the playground was far more fun and shook his head stubbornly, but he reached out and touched Ginny's tear-stained cheek with his chubby fingers and implored with widened eyes, "Why mummy sad?"
Ginny bit the inside of her cheek, closed her eyes, and inwardly told herself to stop the emotions clouding her other senses. She could not let James see her distress. Instead, she took his tiny hand in hers, and they walked away hand in hand down the street, hoping to come by a deserted area to apparate.
Hermione pocketed the phone and walked back into the kitchen with her lips pressed down hard, and her face darkened in concern.
Phyllis asked first, "What's happened, child?"
Julia queried impatiently, "Are you okay, Hermione? Was that Mr Malfoy? Did he cancel?"
Hermione frowned and backed away from the older women. She poured herself a glass of white wine and drained it without speaking a word.
She said thoughtfully, "Set another place, mum. That was Ginny. She sounded awful. I fear something has happened between Harry and her."
Looking out the window for any signs of flaming red hair, Hermione included earnestly, "She's coming over with James." Turning to face her grandmother, Hermione pleaded, "Please don't ask her any questions that will make her feel uncomfortable."
Phyllis scoffed, "I would never. You, I ask because I don't want you getting into trouble, but I was under the impression Ginny and Harry had a perfect marriage."
Hermione sighed, "Nothing is ever as it seems, Nana." They heard a semi-loud crack, and all heads turned towards the source. Even Richard came hurrying in from the living room to see the fuss.
Ginny walked in looking rumpled, with red-rimmed eyes and clutching James firmly by the hand. The shy toddler saw the gathered grownups and quickly hid behind his mother, peering at them shyly. She smiled at the group looking at her with a mixture of pity, sadness, and concern, "I'm sorry to impose, but I didn't know where else to go."
Julia spoke first kindly, "Nonsense. You are always welcome here, darling."
Hermione closed the gap between them and pulled Ginny into a tight hug, and whispered, "What's the matter?" Richard raised a questioning brow and waited for someone to shed some light on the turn of events. Still, when no one tried to explain further, he gradually approached the hugging woman, bent over, and spoke to the petrified toddler hiding behind his mother.
Richard offered his large hand and smiled warmly, "Come on, lad. Let's go watch some cartoons."
Unsure at first, James waited for guidance from his mother. Hermione and Ginny broke apart, and she encouraged, "Go on, James. He's a great deal of fun."
James took Richard's hand and beamed. He seemed to instantly take a liking to the man who resembled his grandpa, Arthur.
Phyllis waited until they left the kitchen, smiled pleasantly, and recommended, "Hermione, why don't you take Ginny to your room?" She pointed to the dinner preparations and grinned, "Your mum and I can handle the kitchen."
Hermione nodded in agreement, "That sounds good." She pulled Ginny forward, "Come on, love. Let's open a bottle of wine and have a girly chat."
Ginny looked at the ladies treating her so caringly and stated, "Thank you. It was lovely to meet you all again. I wish it were under better circumstances."
Julia waved her hand dismissively, "Darling, we all have our off days. Now, let go of your troubles, and I'll be up shortly with some snacks."
Hermione grabbed an open bottle of chilled white wine resting on the counter and two glasses and gestured with her head for Ginny to follow. They passed a lively James laughing hard at a Sunday afternoon cartoon on the telly. Richard glanced at them and offered an encouraging grin.
Throwing the door to her room wide enough for them to enter, Hermione carefully placed the bottle and glasses on the table and took one and poured the rich liquid into a glass and handed it to Ginny.
The distraught woman took it with trembling hands and sat on the comfortable bed. Hermione shut the door, followed suit, plopped down on the bed, propped herself up on her elbows, and questioned intently, "What is going on?"
Ginny sighed, "It's Harry."
Hermione became tense. She inquired curiously, "Is he okay? What happened?" She truly hoped it was nothing serious and Harry was alive and well.
Ginny ran her forefinger around the rim of the wine glass, stared into its contents and muttered, "We fought because he's never home, and I met Blaise for a quick coffee."
Hermione choked on the wine, and saliva and bubbles slid from the corners of her mouth. She croaked, "Since when do you hang out with Zabini?" That part had caught her completely off guard, and she wondered if something more prominent had happened between the former lovers.
Ginny gave Hermione a look of exhaustion. She was getting thoroughly fed up with everyone assuming she and Blaise had planned some secret rendezvous.
She voiced her thoughts without bothering to hide the sheer contempt she felt, "You know very well that I haven't spoken to Blaise in ages. We happened to run into each other at the pet store and some meddling arse passing by told Harry."
Hermione had the good grace to look ashamed, "I know, Ginny. I'm sorry for thinking the worst."
Ginny's voice broke with overwhelming emotion. To say the words aloud gutted her, "Merlin, it was awful, Hermione. Harry thinks I'm cheating on him with Blaise."
Hermione scooted close and put her arm around her troubled best friend's shoulder, "Harry knows you're not. He's probably jealous and said some things he probably regrets by now." She knew Harry, and the words she said were true. He would never consciously believe his wife was having an affair.
Ginny bit her lip and took a deep breath, "I'm an awful person.
"When Blaise touched my hand, I felt wanted and needed to make matters worse. It felt so good for just a moment." It was clear she was overcome with shame for feeling how she did.
Touched her hand? What? Hermione pushed it aside and focused. She shook her head and advised sternly, "No, you were hurting. It's natural to feel that way. What matters is that nothing drastic happened."
Ginny said fiercely. "I love Harry. Nothing will ever happen," she grew forlorn, and her eyes clouded over with memories of a simpler time, "but it took me back to a moment all those years ago, where Blaise would kiss me senseless in some abandoned classroom. It felt amazing to be desired like that."
Hermione reminded firmly, "Harry wants you. He loves you so much." The man was entirely in love with his wife, and she grew worried about how he was fairing alone. Regardless, Ginny needed her more, and she gave her undivided attention. Julia knocked on the door and entered with a tray burdened with cheese, salted crackers, and chocolate chip brownies that were sure to mend an aching heart.
Hermione took the tray and smiled gratefully, "Thanks, mum." Julia winked, gave Ginny a quick hug and let the women continue their conversation. She returned to the kitchen, and Phyllis raised a brow, "Is everything alright?"
Julia shrugged, "It was hard to tell, but I guess things will work themselves out." She returned to kneading the dough Hermione had earlier abandoned.
Phyllis shook her head, "Children these days need a good talking to."
Richard rushed in, grabbed a glass, filled it with orange juice, and popped a few cream-filled biscuits into a bowl. He glanced over his shoulder and explained animatedly, "He's the closest thing I have or probably ever will to a grandchild."
Julia chuckled and reached into the fridge to take out the bag of peas, and Phyllis frowned, "That man will never grow up." The loud ringing of a mobile phone interrupted the silence.
Ginny realised it was hers, took it out and stared at the name flashing across the screen. Her heart sank. Harry had been calling every minute since she left and followed up each call with a bunch of messages professing his undying love and regret at having accused her.
Hermione glimpsed at the phone and sighed, "He must be worried."
Ginny tossed the phone aside, unanswered and let it ring its course. She buried her head in her hands and wept tears of frustration, "I know Harry loves me, but I feel so guilty for letting Blaise get under my skin. Even if it was for a second, it was wrong."
Hermione stated in a no-nonsense tone, "Let it go. It was a moment of weakness. You are allowed to be human, darling." Ginny had an aspiring career and her own fame, and she had given it all up to be a full-time mother and wife to Harry.
She knew she could never make such a sacrifice where her life choices were concerned and held Ginny with the highest regard for putting others needs above her own. It was a genuinely selfless act that deserved applause, not ill-treatment.
She heard the unmistakable sound of her phone ringtone. She knew it would be Harry calling to ask her if she knew anything about Ginny's whereabouts. She pulled the device out of her pocket, showed it to the upset woman sitting next to her and said, "I'm going to answer and tell him that you and James are safe." Ginny did not bother with an answer.
Instead, she concentrated on the wine glass in her quivering hands. Hermione connected the call and took the significant risk of putting Harry on speakerphone. His frantic voice followed, and he went off without leaving any space for interruptions, "Thank Merlin, you answered. Have you seen or heard from Ginny? I did something stupid, Hermione. She's probably chucked me for good. I need to find her. Has she contacted you?"
Ginny felt her heartbeat hasten and slam against her ribcage. He sounded so defeated, so broken she wanted to run to him, hold him close and smother him with her loving kisses.
"Breathe, Harry. Calm down," Hermione instructed. He seemed beside himself with worry. Harry yelled, "Don't ask me to calm down. My wife has left me, and it's all my fault!" Hermione kept her voice even, "Ginny has not left you. She's right here and fine." An awkward silence followed, stabbed by heavy breathing from both ends. Harry uttered, "Malfoy said you were with your parents." She stiffened at the mention of her unfortunate fiancé. How and when had Harry spoken to Malfoy? The day was riddled with unanswered questions and misunderstandings.
Hermione answered while Ginny listened intently, "I am. Ginny came over with James."
He asked at once, "Can I speak to her? I want to explain, or shall I come over to fetch them? I am so sorry, Ginny. I never meant for things to go this far. I love you."
Ginny's heart broke at the honest declaration. She swallowed her pride and replied softly, "I'll be home soon, Harry. We can talk more then. Right now, I need some space, just for a while." You could hear the sense of relief in his tone.
He replied instantly, "Okay, darling. I'll be here waiting for you." They heard a light chuckle, "Oh, and Hermione, enjoy dinner."
Hermione scowled, "Piss off, you prat." She cut the line and smiled at Ginny, whose mood seemed to have improved significantly.
She inquired with a small smile, "Feel better?"
Ginny breathed, "Yes, thank you. I'm sorry I interrupted."
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Trust me. You didn't interrupt anything important. It's only Malfoy coming over to meet my parents."
Ginny scoffed, "So I've heard, and why am I the last to hear about it?"
Hermione sighed in exasperation, "I'm getting used to the idea myself. It was last minute. Dad insisted."
Ginny shrugged, "Can't say I blame him."
Hermione injected with significant insight, "Ginny, listen. I know it is not easy with Harry working all the time, but it's not always the case, and unfortunately, we are, as a Ministry, at our wit's end, trying to catch this madman. Harry is beyond desperate for some breakthrough that will lead to the capture and hopefully before another woman goes missing."
Ginny reached over and squeezed her hand, "I know. I should have considered that. I now understand why he's been pushing himself so much, but it was just so hard being away from him while he runs himself ragged and when there's nothing left for me. Believe me. I know how much he cares - it's what I love about him. I just hate seeing him so exhausted and with so little time for James and me. Sometimes being married to a man who's everybody's hero is draining."
She explained, "I'm not a needy woman, far from it, but he has to be a husband and father. James misses him. I miss him so much that I feel lonely, even around my friends and family. Look, we'll get through it. Godrick, he almost broke my heart when he was on the phone with you. It's a blip, and everyone has them."
She breathed a sigh of relief. "Now, back to you, we have loads to talk about." She winked. They chatted about what to expect at dinner and Ron's reaction to Draco meeting Richard. Hermione collapsed in a fit of giggles while Ginny helped herself to another brownie and laughed along with her.
When the light in the bedroom began to darken, the low sun creating shadows, Hermione glanced at her clock and gasped, "Shit! He's due in an hour. I need to get ready."
Ginny dusted the crumbs off her lap and got to her feet, "Right. I'll get out of your hair then."
Hermione frowned but followed Ginny down the stairs and stood in the living room. Richard came forward with James, who was happily sucking an orange liquid out of a colourful juice box with an assortment of fruits on the front.
He informed happily, "He ate a chicken sandwich, far too many biscuits, and we watched Tom and Jerry. I think he fancies a bit of a nap."
Ginny picked James up, and instantly the toddler nuzzled into the crook of her neck. His eyes fluttered heavily with the need for sleep.
Julia smiled warmly, "Ginny, we insist you stay over for dinner."
Ginny politely declined, "I would love to, but Harry is waiting for us."
Hermione stroked James's back over his jumper and said sadly, "I wish you would stay."
Ginny affirmed, "You can do this, Hermione." They walked into the garden, and with a final encouraging thumbs-up, Ginny disappeared as the last dying embers of the sun's rays fell upon them.
Malfoy Manor
Draco stepped out of the bathroom with a maroon towel wrapped around his tight waist. Droplets of water cascaded down his taut, defined pectoral muscles. They clung treacherously to the contours of his hardened body, and he shook his head of short strands of platinum blonde, sending excess water in all directions. Some landed on Max. The confused Alsatian stared at his master but sat still in his bed by the dormant fireplace in the bedroom.
The sun was about to take its leave for the day, prompting Draco to look into the grounds as the amber rays touched the tops of the trees, bathing the ancient grounds in a hue of burnt orange, sizzling lemons and rose gold.
He exhaled to calm his frazzled nerves, made the short walk towards his extensive wardrobe, threw the doors open and tapped his freshly shaved chin in deep thought. Of course, he would wear black.
Not adorning himself in his preferred colour made him feel naked and exposed, except when wearing his King fu robes which were hardly appropriate for the occasion. Draco trailed his long fingers along the multitude of suits that hung inside but decided against a suit since that would appear too formal.
He finally decided on a new black turtleneck and fitting dark grey trousers, the finest black shoes, and a casual black blazer to finish the look. He dressed hurriedly, stood in front of the mirror, took in his reflection, and nodded his approval. The only thing missing from the classic look was his favourite Mont Blanc watch. Black leather strap, silver face, diamond dials and hands made of titanium.
Draco ran his fingers through his hair, buttoned the jacket, whistled for Max to follow him, and headed out the door with some regained confidence.
Harry heard the unmistakable sound of an apparition. He sprinted towards the kitchen, closed the gap between his wife and son and pulled them into a tight hug. Ginny's arms went around him, and he felt the pressure as her fingers dug into his back, the action unloading the burden of a traumatising day.
James grumbled in discomfort as his parents squished from both sides and squirmed, wanting to be put to bed.
Harry let them go, cupped Ginny's face and kissed every inch fervently. He fell to his knees and hugged her around the waist. He pleaded desperately, "Forgive me, my Ginny. I am nothing without you. I will leave my position. You were right. I'm missing out on everything."
Ginny's fingers found their way into his thick mane of hair, and she gritted out, "Don't you dare, Potter. The world needs you." She softened her tone, "It was selfish of me to try and change who you are. You are the man I fell in love with, married and will love for the rest of my life." Kissing the crown of his head. She repeated Blaise's words as if they were her own, "You have a responsibility to keep everyone safe, and you've done your job brilliantly." Ginny helped him to his feet after letting James down.
Harry hugged her tight and buried his face in the warmth of her clothing, "Please don't leave me. Everyone I have ever loved has left me. I couldn't bear it if you did too." His voice cracked with overwhelming emotion, "I love you and James more than my life."
Ginny soothingly rubbed his back and kissed his cheek lovingly, "Shh… I'm sorry too. I should have told you about Blaise, but honestly, there was nothing to tell. I had a cup of coffee with an old friend."
Harry nodded with understanding, took her hands in his and mustered a smile, "How about I put James to bed, and we can do anything you like?"
Ginny returned the smile, "That sounds wonderful." She could never love another the way she loved Harry. All thoughts of Blaise and his flaming touch evaporated, but deep down, she wished they would not run into each other again. He was the one man she didn't fully trust herself around.
Harry scooped James up and tickled his tummy, "Did you have a good day?"
James nodded and giggled uncontrollably, "Tom and Jerry are funny. Grandpa Richie made me a yummy sandwich and let me eat only the cream off all the biscuits."
Harry laughed out loud, "Did he now? He's a naughty grandpa."
Draco walked down the stairs with Max by his side and entered the foyer. Narcissa and Bernard were having a lively chat over a glass of wine.
Hands in his pocket, he grinned, "What have the two of you planned for tonight?" They turned towards him at the sound of his voice, and Narcissa raved, "My, don't you look dashing."
Bernard concurred, "Looking sharp, son."
Draco exhaled, "Well, it's now or never." A hearty chuckle left his lips, "If I don't return, Bernard, please take care of my mother."
Bernard laughed, "You have my word."
Narcissa frowned at the light banter between the two men, gracefully rose from her seat and crossed the room to where an exquisitely wrapped gift basket sat on top of the black ebony dining table.
Draco raised a brow, "Where did that come from?"
Bernard cleared his throat, "Well, I'm guilty of that, I'm afraid. I thought it would add an extra touch of finesse."
Narcissa's face was barely visible over the many frills and the oversized bow, but her voice made it to them clear as day, "Muggle or Wizard, nobody can resist a sweet, decadent blend of coca with the richness of milk."
Bernard added, "Honeydukes does carry a wide range of chocolates and sweets that can melt anyone's tough exterior." With a sceptical look, Draco took the basket stacked with a mountain of chocolates and the rare bottle of red wine his mother held out for him to take next. He sighed, "I'll be off. It would not do to be late for the first meeting."
Narcissa cupped her son's face lovingly and gushed, "It will be just fine, Draco Malfoy."
Draco covered her bejewelled hand with his own, leaned into her touch and breathed, "I know. Thank you, mother."
She let go and went to stand by Bernard, who took her hand and raised his entire glass of wine at the smartly dressed man ready to meet his future in-laws. Thrilled for the boy, he said, "Go make us proud, son."
Draco smiled gratefully. It was a welcome change to have the full support of one's family. He quickened his step and carefully balanced the gifts in his arms as he reached the fountain. He managed to free two fingers, finding that was all he needed. Draco felt the magic surge into his fingertips as he closed his eyes and fixed his thoughts on the address Granger had provided. He had memorised it earlier and bizarrely thought he might never forget it.
Hermione stubbed her toe as she hurriedly tried to get dressed before Malfoy arrived and cursed out loud, "Motherfuc....." She roughly had eighteen minutes to throw something acceptable on, apply a light layer of makeup and assemble her unruly, uncooperative hair into something more presentable.
Thinking that smart casual was the most prudent way to go, Hermione pulled out a pair of dark blue jeans from the clothes she'd brought with her, a red silk blouse and a red lace bra. She hooked flattering white gold earrings, ingrained with handsome polished Victorian freshwater pearls into her lobes, precious to her as they had been a gift from her grandma and a family heirloom. They could never compete with the Malfoy ring, but their beauty was timeless. She laid it down on her childhood bed and scrutinised it from many angles.
"Sod it," Hermione breathed to no one in particular and wriggled into the tight jeans that gave great definition to her bottom.
She slipped into the silky red blouse and deliberately kept three buttons open, giving ample view of her necklace and a hint of a bosom. The silk hugged her body luxuriously, moulding itself to her tightly in all the right places and leaving space at the sides to breathe.
Jumping over the small stool, she sat at her dressing table, attached the dangling earrings, and applied a rich coat of mascara, a fine line of black eyeliner and a nude lip gloss to highlight her luscious lips. She brushed her hair down but left the wildness Malfoy seemed to appreciate and bit down hard on her lip. A bitter thought crossed her mind. She was unconsciously dressing to impress the lout.
She glanced at the clock. Eight minutes to go.
Hermione shot to her feet, gave herself the once over and decided she looked quite appealing. Throwing the door open, she dashed down the stairs and doubled over to catch the stitch in her side.
Her parents and grandmother were already dressed and waiting for her to appear. Richard wore a dark blue linen shirt and pressed trousers to match. Julia wore a flared floral skirt and blouse that complimented it, and Phyllis had decided to wear a dark purple dress with a studded diamond-shaped broach pinned to it.
Richard frowned to show his disapproval, "Cutting it mighty fine, Hermione."
Hermione slipped into a pair of casual but elegant sandals and huffed, "Oh daddy, but I'm ready, aren't I?"
Richard snorted, "Someone's dressed to impress." He looked her over and hissed, "Button up. We have raised you better than that. On the other hand, go change into a turtleneck or something far more decent than what you have on."
Julia intervened, "Leave the poor girl alone, Richard. She looks lovely."
Phyllis scolded, "Richard, do grow up and be welcoming towards this gentleman."
Richard ignored his mother's words and argued, "I'm sorry, mum, but it's his bloody job to impress me, not the other way around."
Draco double-checked to ensure he was at the correct address and stared at the two-story house with grey walls. It had whitewashed windows and an almost welcoming aura surrounding the humble abode. A Muggle girl of about nineteen, pushing a bicycle alongside her friend, chatted until they saw the fit blonde standing on the pavement, gawking into oblivion.
They threw him highly appreciative glances and giggled among themselves, not bothering to be quiet. Draco was wholly focused on the house. He could not be bothered by the ramblings of a few adolescent girls eyeing him. He glanced at his watch. Five minutes to go. Gathering every bit of courage he could muster, he walked up the neat path paved with dark grey stones and stood in front of the mahogany brown door. Taking a moment, he moved his shoulders in small circles to relax.
Why was he so nervous? It was preposterous that he acted like a teenager going on a first date. He took a deep breath, realised he did not have a free hand to ring the bell and groaned in annoyance. Careful not to damage the gifts he brought, he placed the bottle of wine gingerly on the floor, rang the bell and picked it up quickly before anyone answered.
The loud chime of the doorbell spread through the house, and four pairs of eyes turned towards the hallway. One set of ageing eyes narrowed suspiciously, and another shone bright with hope. A pair that held infinite wisdom crinkled at the corners with delighted anticipation, and one pair of amber swirls blinked rapidly in a futile attempt to compose her rattled nerves.
"Oh, Merlin. Let me get through this night without a fuss," Hermione silently prayed. She rose to her feet and found her legs had gone to jelly.
Her mother's stern voice bore into her thoughts, "Open the door, Hermione. You know we don't keep a guest waiting in this house."
Chapter 34
Summary:
A huge thank you to everyone who posted a review and for everyone following! It means so much! 😍
Loads of love to my amazing beta Carrie 😍
The much-awaited "DINNER." I have split it into two chapters, I'm afraid. I truly hope you enjoy Draco's interactions with the Grangers.
Enjoy Chapter Thirty Four!
Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! 🥰
Chapter Text
He pushed the woman down on the bed despite her feeble protests and pried her legs apart. The dress he had gifted was soiled with his sweat and ripped in places. The old-fashioned garment encouraged his sick fantasies.
She bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood, grabbed the sheets to mollify the repulsion and willed herself to be courageous.
There wasn't a moment of spare thought as he entered her most precious place and pounded into her without abandon while she laid back and pretended to enjoy his disgusting prick fucking her within an inch of her life.
Silent sobs shook her fragile frame. The deranged man mistook them as moans of pleasure that tore out of her. He quickened his pace and longed to touch her clit. The rough pad of his thumb slipped between her dry folds and settled on the pinkish bundle, and he rubbed over it in soothing circles. Her body's treacherous reaction was instant, she felt the steady climb of an orgasm, and before long, she was pushing against his hand, wanting that sweet release, horrified by her reactions.
Her rapist brought her to a shuddering climax, and she wished for death. It was the most despairing feeling she had ever endured.
He laughed cruelly, but satisfied by the result, he made a slow show of sucking her fluids off his fingers and groaned huskily.
The tears that rushed to the surface stung her eyes, but she turned away and refused to let him see them.
Plans to take her life plagued her mind constantly. It had been months, and there were no signs of rescue.
She despised the sick bastard.
Hermione approached the door nervously, her palms beaded sweat and slipped as she grasped the brass knob to open the door that would allow entry to her so-called fiancé, who stood patiently on the other side.
Julia encouraged, "Go on, open the door."
Hermione gave a crooked grin and threw it open. A gust of chilly air from outside swept into the warm living space. She brought her face up and stared at the man standing on the top step of her parents Muggle abode in all his glory, with a smile plastered on his face and arms full of what she could only assume were gifts for her family.
Seeing him standing outside the door caused her mind to go blank, and she slipped into a state of unresponsive shock. Everything was real, he was real, and he was about to meet her family.
He looked quite fetching in a black turtleneck, dark grey trousers, and buttoned blazer. His eyes shone with purpose as he shifted the weight of the presents in his arms and patiently waited to be invited in.
Richard cleared his throat loudly, causing Hermione to snap out of the dazed state she had unconsciously slipped into. She held the door wide enough for Malfoy to enter, and Julia said, "I'm sorry about my daughter. She seems to have forgotten her manners. Please come in."
Draco sighed in relief, dusted his feet on the rough welcome mat, stepped into the cosy space, and awkwardly stood by the side awaiting further instruction.
Everyone got to their feet, sizing up and staring at the handsome young wizard standing on their freshly cleaned, rich red carpet.
His eyes took in the anxious and curious looks of the gathered family before them.
Phyllis looked impressed. She leaned towards Julia and whispered, "Well, I wasn't expecting that." Hermione had mentioned he was good looking, but a unique specimen like him was not what she was expecting.
Julia herself was taken back by the appearance. Nothing could have prepared her for the man standing before her with a flawless smile on his face.
She prompted her daughter to act, "Hermione, help Mr Malfoy."
Hermione took a deep breath and scolded herself for acting like an unsophisticated twit. She composed herself and offered kindly, "Let me take those."
Draco was grateful to have Granger back to her senses. He gladly handed over the beautifully wrapped basket of chocolates and bottle and ran his fingers through his hair.
Hermione kept the items on the table nearby and murmured, "You found the place alright?" She awaited a reply to a somewhat silly question considering he was standing inside her house. Still, Draco understood her plight and gave a quick nod given the circumstances.
She smiled unsurely and rattled off, "Good, great." Hermione could make out the elders in the room impatiently waiting for introductions to be made as she glanced over her shoulder. Her dad, in particular, shot her a look that demanded action.
Grabbing Draco's elbow, she pulled him forward and introduced each family member one by one, starting with her good-natured mother, "Oh, umm, this is my mother, Julia, grandmother Phyllis and my dad, Richard." She wanted to shout; watch out hes the difficult one but bit back the nasty yet hilarious retort.
Draco stepped forward and took charge of the situation. He nodded courteously and spoke articulately, "It's so nice to meet you all. Thank you for inviting me to your home, Mr and Mrs Granger."
Julia came to stand by Hermione, touched her on the shoulder and welcomed, "Please call me Julia. It is nice to meet you finally."
Richard drifted over to the table where Hermione placed the gifts and muttered without interest, "You can call me Mr Granger."
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Dad…." Draco hid an amused expression, and Julia looked positively insulted by her spouse's childish behaviour.
Richard shrugged, "What? I'm joking," but his eyes held the honest truth, and he mouthed to no one in particular, "No, I'm not."
He pulled at the oversized bow on the basket, peered inside and scowled, "Chocolates? I'm diabetic." Hermione eyed the extravagant bundle in interest, she knew Honeydukes was pricey, and a basket of this magnitude must have cost a small fortune.
Draco felt his blood run cold, and he opened his mouth to apologise profusely and explain that he hadn't known, but Granger's stern-looking grandmother spoke up from her place on the sofa, "Luckily, the rest of us are not. I do love a piece of fine milk chocolate."
Richard turned over the bottle of wine and nodded his approval, "This is a vintage bottle from the Bordeaux collection of 1898." The boy knew his wine. That was certainly an unexpected development.
Draco bowed in agreement, "Indeed." He sighed secretly and thanked Bernard wordlessly.
Richard was impressed but showed indifference, "She is a rare and expensive bottle." He spoke of the bottle as if it was a mistress.
He added with a touch of arrogance, "Are you trying to impress us by tossing around your wealth?"
Draco was reminded of Potter's words about Hermione's dad being difficult and disliking Ron. For once in his life, he shared the Weasels sentiments.
Hermione could not believe her ears. She was mortified that her father would spew out such a crude remark. She cried indignantly, "Daddy! Please Stop!" She looked to her mother and grandmother for help.
Julia sighed, but Richard chuckled and closed with a sincere, "Thank you." He took immense pleasure in watching the man fidget and wipe his brow repeatedly, but still, he seemed to keep up his own.
Draco beamed, "It was my pleasure."
Hermione led Draco to the plush cream coloured sofa, and they waited for the others to take a seat before sitting down themselves.
She muttered out of the corner of her mouth, "My father is a wine connoisseur." Ah, her knowledge of fine wine was a skill learned from her father.
Draco heard her clearly and inwardly seethed. Had he known, he would have gone with a rarer, more expensive blend.
His eager eyes moved over the framed pictures of a younger Granger on what he assumed were family trips. She looked happy and full of laughter as she posed for various photographs.
Tasteful paintings and homey ornaments adorned the mantlepiece. One, in particular, caught his avid interest. It was handcraft made by a child of no more than four. A boat decorated with elaborately painted crushed eggshells.--It sat framed proudly amongst the others. He felt right at ease, surrounded by the warmth of a loving family, but not so much under the scrutinising gaze of his betrothed's father.
Hermione followed his gaze and snorted, "I made that in preschool. My mother thought it would be a wonderful idea to display it for everyone to see." Draco cleared his throat and smiled warmly; she could not help but feel the genuineness that seeped out of his words.
She stared unashamedly at his luscious mouth and drank in the softness and pinkish tinge that embodied them.
His lips moved in slow motion, "You have a lovely home."
Julia couldn't help the girlish giggle that escaped, "Thank you. I do try my best to keep it neat and proper."
Richard glanced at his wife of many years and frowned. He did not like her change of tone and evident liking to their future son in law.
Julia asked politely, "Would you like some tea?"
Draco agreed graciously, "That would be lovely. Thank you." He was the poster child for politeness. Hermione knew his fine upbringing was primarily to thank for his excellent manners.
Phyllis watched her granddaughter's reactions and expressions intently. She did not utter a word but kept her astute eyes fixed on Hermione.
Richard inquired somewhat rudely, "Why have we never heard about you?" He was determined to rattle the man's feathers. Still, it was an as good question as any since he had heard about a multitude of characters his daughter had gone to school with. The person sitting before him had somehow not made it into the conversation. He was curious as to why.
Hermione sulked. So much for being welcoming. Her dad was purposely trying to be intimidating. It had done the trick with Ron, and he had buckled under the pressure and said but a few noncoherent words that led the Grangers to believe he was slow or had impaired hearing.
Malfoy, on the other hand, was no Ron. The man had a gravitating orbit of his own, and if she knew anything about him, it was that he was more than able to take command of a tense situation.
On cue, he answered perfectly, "Well, Granger and I ran in different circles. She was in Gryffindor, and I was in Slytherin."
Richard mused, "I have heard ruddy awful things about Slytherin." That much was true. Hermione spoke highly and rather fondly of the other houses and adapted a sour disposition if the need to mention the House of Slytherin arose.
Draco chuckled, "We aren't all too bad, I hope. Slytherin has produced some great wizards."
Hermione felt compelled to offer her input, "None greater than Albus Dumbledore." Granted, as the years went by, Harry, Ron, and herself concluded that Dumbledore was a mysterious man and a certified crackpot at times. He held back so much valuable information that could've aided them and helped them in their journey. While his decisions were questionable, at best, his Magical abilities were far superior to anyone who graced the wizarding world.
Despite his significant oversights, they respected him greatly and would always hold him in high regard.
Draco turned to face Hermione with a knowing smile, "I couldn't agree with you more. Albus Dumbledore was a remarkably gifted and kindhearted wizard."
He gave Richard his undivided attention and added further, "I left the country after our sixth year and have been away for nearly ten years. I returned weeks ago."
Richard retorted derisively, "Must have been a shock to return to all this arranged marriage nonsense."
Draco snickered, "Indeed. It wasn't ideal, but it is what it is." He spared them the finer details of his initial reaction. It wasn't so much the law but his match that surprised and baffled him. It still left quite a few questions unanswered.
Julia got to her feet, smoothed her skirt and requested Hermione to follow her into the kitchen to help arrange tea. The second they were out of earshot and within the comfort of the kitchen, she declared cheekily, "Well, he's incredibly good looking," and almost accused, "You failed to mention that bit."
Hermione sighed irritably, "He is, but that doesn't change anything." He looked utterly tempting with his perfect bloody hair, rows of pristinely white teeth and a body she could only assume was sculpted by the Gods. She conveniently forgot his athletic history and pain streaking fitness regimen he swore by.
Julia cut generous pieces of moist chocolate cake, instructed Hermione to make the tea and quipped, "True, but it does make things interesting." A devilish glint lit up her eyes.
Hermione frowned to make her displeasure evident and tended to the mundane task of preparing the tea. She tasted the final concoction, settled on the flavour, and added the crystallised sugar cubes into a bowl and took them over to where her mother was plating the other items.
They heard the muffled chatter of the people in the living room. It was too faint to make out what was being said.
Hermione firmly grabbed the tray laden with pieces of chocolate cake, fruit cake, an assortment of biscuits and a fresh pot of tea before speaking in panic, "Right, now let's get back before daddy eats him alive."
They walked in as Richard asked brazenly, "So, Malfoy, is it?"
Draco answered courteously, "Yes, sir." For the millionth bloody time.
Hermione placed the tray at the centre of the Venetian red table and took her previously occupied seat next to Malfoy. The cushions sunk under her weight. He gazed in her direction and mustered a pleasing smile.
She looked quite pretty, and the way the ends of her hair curled was endearing. It added to her charm, and he longed to touch a tendril dangling as if it had a life of its own. He grew detached from the others and let his keen eyes rove over his fiancé's face taking in the nervous fluttering of eyelids, her cute button nose splattered with freckles. Those full, sensual lips felt incredible under his, and her parted blouse displayed the chain and pendant he had gifted.
Richards deep voice bore into his thoughts, "What are your sincere thoughts on this marriage law?"
Julia ignored her husband and offered everyone a piece of chocolate cake. Gratefully, Draco took the plate and patiently waited till everyone had a piece before he hastily devoured it whole. It looked scrumptious, with rich, thick frosting and a handful of chocolate sprinkles.
Hermione rushed to Draco's defence, "Dad, can we let him breathe." Not that she did not enjoy her dad grilling the Slytherin prat, but Malfoy's answers could prove detrimental to the image she painted for her parents better understanding. Granted, she had omitted quite a bit of information and truly hoped it did not figuratively bite her in the arse later.
She broke off a piece of her cake and popped it into her mouth, giving Draco a clear gesture that he could eat his. Yet, he glanced around the room and waited until the others started to eat. Only once they did, did he balance the plate carefully and dig the tiny silver fork into his. The first taste provided the happy conclusion that it undoubtedly tasted better than it looked.
Draco thought comically, for a man with high blood sugar Mr Granger certainly had no qualms about stuffing his face with a large piece of cake.
Richard brought his hand up and silenced his headstrong daughter from uttering another word.
Hermione threw a look of remorse towards Draco, who smiled pleasantly and patted her hand affectionately. She shovelled the cake into her mouth, hoping the comfort food would calm her rattled nerves.
Draco set his plate aside and countered with a well-structured answer, "Like Granger, I mean Hermione here, I was disgusted by it and opted to take one of the exit clauses, but that would've meant my permanent departure from the Magical world and leaving my mother."
Julia sounded truly upset, "And, of course, you could not possibly leave your mother."
Draco breathed, "No, it was a difficult decision that left a gaping hole in my heart." His mind went back to the fateful night his beloved mother collapsed, and a shiver ran down his spine. He had, because of his unintentionally selfish decision, almost lost his mother.
Hermione abandoned the last bit of fudgy cake stuck to her plate and gazed upon him fondly.
Up until that particular moment, even though they sat on the same sofa, she was careful to maintain a healthy distance between them by keeping her hands locked on her lap. Still, something snapped, and unconsciously in full view of her parents and grandmother, she took his hand in hers and entwined her fingers through his. The coolness of the sizeable ancestral ring he wore seared her heated flesh.
Draco applied pressure and stared at her bemused. He welcomed the warmth she put forward, but her gesture shocked him and everyone around them just the same. Perhaps, like him, she thought back to that ill-fated night. He knew it had been rough on her to see his mother in such a fragile state and fighting for her life. The guilt that encompassed them both was difficult to put into mere words.
Richard polished the last crumb off his plate, bestowed a sceptical look upon his daughters hand in some strangers and grilled, "What do you do for a living?"
Draco didn't skip a beat. There was a hint of pride in his words, "I work in law enforcement."
He held onto her hand, absentmindedly toying with the engagement ring she wore. It seemed to soothe him.
Hermione was taken aback that he did not mention the family business. Malfoy was exceptionally wealthy, a fact he took immense pleasure in rubbing in most peoples faces. Now, he hardly mentioned it and decided to work for a menial wage like the rest of them.
Richard narrowed his eyes sceptically, "Interesting. Dangerous sort of work?" He was not too keen on his young daughter ending up a widow only months into their marriage.
Draco ran his free hand through his blonde locks and mused, "I guess there is a certain amount of danger involved. None more than crossing the street without looking both ways. If I am careful on the job, then there's little to worry about."
Hermione could not help the haughty grin that worked its way onto her face. Point Draco.
Unscathed, Richard pressed adamantly, "Is that how you plan on providing for my daughter?"
Draco opened his mouth to answer, but Hermione cut him off with a sharp, "Excuse me, I'm quite capable of providing for myself." She was horrified that her father would suggest such a preposterous and misogynistic notion.
Tightening his hold on her hand, Draco almost smirked, his eyes shone with the hint of self-satisfaction, and he replied effortlessly, "I can manage her needs, Mr Granger. I give you my word." He nearly laughed but held it back and locked eyes with his intended bride instead, whose reddened cheeks were visible. She tried to hide her face and took her hand out of his scorching grasp.
Phyllis watched the intimate exchange closely but said nothing. She observed, taking in the minor details, the things people usually missed or disregarded.
Richard tapped the armrest and said earnestly, "I hope you understand my hesitation. My daughter hadn't informed us about this marriage."
Draco longed for the security Granger's fingers in his brought, but instead, he nodded in understanding, "I understand wholly and would like to clear the air and address the elephant in the room if that's alright?" He knew from the looks they bestowed upon Granger that she was so very loved, and it was of the utmost importance to him to explain their situation.
Julia delicately held her teacup and enthused, "That would be smashing, son."
Richard stirred a cube of sugar into his milky tea and said bluntly, "We aren't thrilled about Hermione marrying a perfect stranger."
Phyllis, who had kept uncharacteristically quiet up until then, made her opinion known, "Yes, Mr Malfoy. We would like to hear your point of view on the matter."
Draco locked eyes with Granger matriarch and saw the fire and tawny amber, that also burned in her granddaughter's beautiful eyes, size him up. She radiated warmth with a touch of sternness.
He smiled kindly, "Please call me Draco. Mr Malfoy is my departed father." He didn't know what possessed him to mention his father, even in passing. He felt Granger flinch and regreted his words at once.
Julia comforted, "Oh dear. We are sorry to hear that."
Draco answered gravely, "That's quite alright."
Hermione cringed and hoped they wouldn't ask too many questions about Lucius, but of course, she was dead wrong.
Richard pressed further, "I'm sorry for your loss. What line of work was he in?"
Draco hesitated for a second, "He was a businessman." Short and to the point, it seemed to appease the curious man drinking his tea while staring at him over the rim of the cup.
Phyllis injected before anyone else could get a word in, "Please go ahead with your explanation. I'm quite eager to hear it."
The pressure mounted significantly. Draco gulped tea to calm his nerves and, after a moment's thought, stated with confidence, "I know it must have come as a shock to you to learn that Granger, I mean Hermione is engaged and that to a man you've never laid eyes on."
Richard scoffed, "That's a bit of an understatement."
Hermione scolded, "Dad, let him finish."
Draco continued with intent and purpose, "I do apologise for my appalling manners of not formally introducing myself before proposing per se. It was not my intention to start a new chapter in our life by stepping on anyone's toes."
He said what he truly felt in his heart, and his tone of voice held the conviction he hoped was enough to make them understand.
Phyllis listened intently. She was slowly coming to admire the man in their presence. He was well brought up but cagey about his father. It was an intriguing fact and one that possibly had to do with his poor past treatment of Hermione and attitude in school.
Draco's tone mirrored resentment towards the law, "I gather you know this already, but this situation has been forced upon us, and we are trying to make the best out of a rather unfortunate predicament we were caught up in. Then trying to get out of it and once we realised we could not, we formulated a plan forward. I'm afraid it meant we neglected the traditional norms of meeting one's families. For that, I sincerely beg your forgiveness." He genuinely implored. It had never been his intention to hoodwink what seemed like a close and generous family.
When no questions were raised, he barrelled into further clarification. "It is customary in the wizarding world to visit the bride's parents before a formal proposal is put forth. We've done things in reverse, and I speak for Hermione as well when I say it was never our intention to worry you."
Draco stated the truth he felt dearly, "I care a great deal about your daughter and will do my utmost to make her time within our marriage as comfortable and tolerable as possible."
Hermione stared at Malfoys side profile. A piece of pale blonde hair fell carelessly across his forehead. She ached to brush it aside, but he was speaking such profound words. It baffled her, caught her completely off-guard, and she wondered if he meant them.
A fond smile curved his perfect lips, "My mother adores her and would love to have everyone over to the Manor for lunch at a convenient time to you."
Richard listened intently. There was something about the man bearing his heart and soul. Did he believe the words he spoke? His mind answered on his behalf with a resounding yes. He exhaled, "That was...."
Julia finished the sentence with a broad smile, "Enlightening."
Of course, at the start, she had been completely put off by the whole idea that her only child was being forced into a loveless marriage. Now, judging by their intimate conduct and stolen glances, it was clear there was something quite real blossoming between the two.
Phyllis concurred, "Thank you, Draco, for that insightful depiction. We appreciate that you understand the severity of this. Having said that, you also seem to have things under control."
She pointed with her head to Hermione and rolled her eyes, "Much more than this one here."
Hermione pouted, "Gran!" Draco could not hold back the chuckle that burst out of him. It was nice to see Granger's feathers ruffled by someone other than himself.
Richard got to his feet and said to the room with an air of importance, "I would like a private word with Mr Malfoy." He wanted to discuss things that he simply could not with the women breathing down his neck.
Julia's pleasant features twisted, "Richard..."
Panic set in, and Hermione pleaded, "Daddy, that isn't necessary." She needed to hear all they discussed. It was an unprecedented turn of events that did not sit well with her at all.
Richard smiled and assured, "Oh, I think it is. We shan't be long."
Then he requested quite politely, "Walk with me, son."
Hermione mouthed, "Son?" At her mother, who looked as puzzled as she was.
Draco got to his feet without hesitation, slipped out of his jacket, folded it in half and skillfully placed it on the seat. He touched Hermione on the shoulder as he passed by, following his future father-in-law. She shot him a look of true helplessness, but he winked and gave her a reassuring smile.
Richard slid open the transparent glass doors that led to the extensive garden space they maintained. Draco was pleasantly surprised by how neat and well placed everything was. Many rose bushes flourished, and the white swing, in particular, caught his interest. He saw a vision of Granger with her feet up, a book resting on her knees as she drank a cool glass of lemonade and read in the sanctuary of the shaded place.
Richard's voice interrupted his vivid daydream, "I figured something stronger than tea would be welcome."
Draco turned towards the voice and found the older man standing behind a small polished wooden bar of sorts. Neat rows of bottles were placed on the bar counter, while glasses were arranged inside a cupboard.
Richard fetched two crystal tumblers, poured a splash of whiskey into them, and added two ice cubes each. He did not bother asking if Draco wanted ice, though he was right in his assumption.
He pushed the glass towards the tall blonde man and waited for him to take it. Once he did, Richard raised it and smirked, "Cheers."
Draco followed suit and clicked his glass against Richards, and both men took gratifying sips of the smoky, rich liquid that partially burnt their throats. They drank in respectful silence.
Hermione urgently uncorked a bottle of red wine, poured herself a glass and bit on her fingernails as she paced around the kitchen in a tizzy. She shot the barely visible men worrying glances and mumbled, "What do you suppose they're talking about?"
Phyllis slapped her hand and chided, "Stop that. It is a disgusting habit."
Hermione pouted, "Ow. That hurt, Nana." She drained the contents of the glass in one gulp and struggled to swallow without suffocating.
Julia tended to dinner and brushed newly melted butter on the freshly baked bread rolls. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Richard pouring Draco another drink and quipped, "If they wander towards the shed. Let me know, dear. Your dad keeps his shotgun in there for emergencies."
Hermione spun around, spilling the wine from her refilled glass on the floor and squealed, "What?" She realised her behaviour was bizarre and odd, to say the least. What did she care if her father blasted Malfoy away? It would save her from having to marry the self-righteous ferret.
Julia teased, "Darling, calm yourself. He is just speaking with the boy."
Phyllis helped plate the food and quipped, "Yes, and don't think we haven't noticed you gawking at Draco and holding his hand."
Hermione lifted the rim of the glass to her lips and muttered unconvincingly, "You are reading too much into our reactions." Her words were muffled but still audible.
Julia fawned, "It's as plain as freckles on your nose."
Hermione rubbed her cheeks with the palm of her free hand and grumbled, "Mum, stop it! I'm blushing."
Julia hummed a Muggle tune, swayed from side to side and perked up, "I think your father likes this one." She knew from her husband's actions that Draco was clawing his way through Richards hard exterior.
Phyllis snorted, "He hated the other one." She candidly recalled her son using colourful words to describe Hermione's ex-boyfriend and couldn't help but laugh at the terms used to describe him.
She laughed aloud, "Poor boy could hardly get out his name."
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Ron was nervous, and Daddy was horrid to him." Her father had mercilessly shredded the youngest Weasley boy to tatters. Ron had been so traumatised, he vowed never to visit her parents again and only would in the unlikely event they got married. So much for that.
She added with an exasperated shake of her head, "Trust daddy to like the one man I loathe."
Julia raised a questioning brow, "Loathe? That is a load of tripe. Please do not insult our intelligence." She was quite frank with her only child.
Phyllis snapped impatiently, "Bollocks."
Hermione giggled at her grandmother's colourful choice of words, "Steady on, Gran."
The eldest of the lot offered her wisdom, "This one is different. There's some substance to him."
Julia doubled over with laughter. Their peals of merriment reached the men, and they glanced in the direction of the kitchen. Draco felt an awakening in his heart as Granger put her arms around her seated grandmother and hugged her tight.
He had never wanted her more. She was beautiful, free, and bursting with life.
Richard pointedly cleared his throat, and Draco unwillingly tore his gaze from Granger's laughing form to give the older man before him his attention.
Richard offered him another drink which Draco politely declined, "Thank you, Mr Granger, but I cannot disapparate if I'm drunk as a skunk."
The liquor had clearly loosened him up. Richard waved his hand dismissively, "Ah, call me Richard."
He took in the tensed body language of his would-be son in law and mused, "This isn't an interrogation. You can relax."
His eyes clouded over with fear and concern over his only daughter, "I worry about Hermione."
Draco's grip on the glass tightened. From Richards strained tone, it was clear that he was anxious about Granger's safety.
It wasn't easy for Richard to open up about his true feelings. Still, he did slowly, "She hasn't always had the easiest time adjusting to all this, and originally I was scared for her, but now after meeting you, granted it's been less than an hour, but I can tell your honest and sincere about all this." The boy had taken his mocking and his determination to make him uncomfortable splendidly and come off unscathed.
He brought the glass to his lips and scoffed, "Her earlier boyfriend, Weasley, I wasn't a fan. He seemed to control her. My daughter is a free spirit and headstrong like her mother, but with a heart of pure gold."
Draco couldn't help the smugness that radiated off him. He had a one-upped Weasley with Granger's dad. He doubted anything else could be remotely as satisfying.
He answered with a heavy heart, "I'm aware, sir. If you're worried, I may hurt her in the future, I cannot promise that I won't, but I will do my utmost to avoid it."
Richard sighed, "I wanted Hermione to have what her mother and I have, but I guess expecting the normal went out of the window when her gifts came to light."
Draco argued pointedly, "She can still find it, Mr Granger. Our marriage will be short-lived. There is no reason why a beautiful, intelligent, talented witch like her cannot find someone who will worship the ground she walks on." Somehow his bold statement of Granger finding another did not sit too well with him. His insides knotted obnoxiously, and he couldn't quite fathom why. He brushed it off and blamed it on the alcohol spreading wickedness through his body.
Richard smirked, and laughter lit up his eyes, "I doubt she's looking for a simp. She needs someone to challenge her, keep her on her toes." He added knowledgeably, "That's why the ginger didn't last. She grew weary of his overbearing, childish nature."
More subtle Weasley bashing. Draco was beside himself with joy, but he maintained his composure and said, "Granger, I mean, Hermione is a...special woman." He had to remember to refer to her by her given name in front of her family.
Richard raised a quizzical brow, "Hmm, you speak of her highly. Do you have romantic feelings for her?"
Fuck. Right in the family jewels.
Draco hesitated, "I'm not sure, sir. Like her, I'm still figuring all this out." He wanted to be honest and not give false hope. He included grimly, "This situation isn't fair, but the population in our world is dwindling, and drastic measures were needed to keep it afloat."
Richard looked mildly disgusted, "I see. So, it's an effort to repopulate?"
Draco wished he hadn't mentioned that part. There was a significant shift in mood and a certain level of cringe hung heavily in the air.
He answered and wondered if he had shared too much, "Well, yes. That is the goal of these marriages, but...
Richard grimaced and interrupted abruptly, "But?" He did not look pleased.
Draco answered quickly, hoping to appease, "I won't do anything that makes Hermione uncomfortable."
Richard warned darkly, his eyes darted towards the padlocked shed, "You better bloody not."
Draco felt a layer of sweat coat his upper lip, and his palms turned clammy with apprehension.
The older man pressed undeterred, "So are you planning on taking a mistress? Come on, a handsome lad like yourself will have them lining at the door." He watched intently as Draco's face reddened with embarrassment or possibly guilt? Richard wasn't quite sure which.
The young wizard wished he could disappear. He was digging himself into an early grave.
He swallowed hard, "I respect Hermione greatly. I wouldn't do her the dishonour."
The agreement between them was private, and her father hardly needed to know the finer details.
Richard gave a curt nod, "Good. I would hate to see my daughter suffer."
Draco insisted, "I don't want her to suffer either, sir." He didn't mean her or anyone else harm.
An awkward silence engulfed him.
The elderly man asked curiously, "Did you fight in the war?"
Draco broke out in a cold sweat, "I..."
The sliding doors slid open with a protesting creak, and Julia came towards them with a warm smile and spoke to her husband directly, "You can grill the child later, Richard. The food's getting cold."
Draco thanked all the founding fathers for the interruption.
Richard grinned, "Of course, darling. Lead the way."
Putting caution to the wind, Draco tossed back the remnants of his drink and hoped it wouldn't result in an unsuccessful apparition and him splinching himself.
They entered the kitchen space that led to the dining area. Hermione questioned Draco with her eyes. They were filled with a mixture of concern, curiosity and intrigue.
He ignored her, trying to make eye contact and instead, inhaled deeply and complimented, "It smells heavenly, Mrs Granger. You have gone through a lot of trouble on my behalf. I apologise for being such a nuisance."
Everyone took a seat, Draco held out the chair for Hermione, and she let him without fuss. His fingers brushed along her arm as she muttered a quick, "Thank you," and gracefully lowered herself down onto the cushioned chair.
Draco took the seat next to her, placed the neatly folded napkin on his lap and kept his arms locked at the side. His eyes moved briefly over the many plates of delicious food, and a pang of hunger hit his belly. His would-be in-laws had stopped at nothing to make him feel welcome.
Julia sat down herself, flicked the napkin open and laid it delicately in her lap. She gently reminded, "Please call me Julia, and nonsense, I enjoy cooking for my family."
Phyllis made polite dinner conversation, "What do you do in your free time, son?"
Draco recited, "I read, meditate and when time permits, I meet up with my friends to socialise."
Hermione absentmindedly folded her napkin into a swan before interjecting, "He is also a Kung fu blackbelt, gets up at the crack of dawn to practise and plays the piano as if Beethoven himself has possessed him."
Julia's head snapped up excitedly at the declaration. Phyllis threw her granddaughter a curious look, and Richard sipped on the drink he brought with him while he listened to the others speak.
Hermione adopted a sheepish demeanour and knew she had shared far too much. She hadn't meant to sound like she knew much about his life. In reality, she did not, but it surely wasn't coming off that way.
Draco stiffened, dropped his hand inconspicuously under the table, wrapped his long fingers around Hermione's jean-clad thigh to give it a tight squeeze. A whimper escaped her lips, and she winced softly, "Ow..."
Phyllis mused, "Are you alright, darling?"
Hermione was trying hard to dislodge herself from Draco's ironclad grip without arousing anyone's suspicion that she didn't quite hear her grandmother's question. Still, once Phyllis shifted her attention to Draco and raised a knowing brow, he released his fiancé at once and smiled politely, "You're too kind, Granger, but honestly, I'm not very good."
Julia chimed in, "I adore the piano. I played in my youth and for Hermione when she practiced her ballet routines. How cute she looked in those pink and yellow tutu's."
Hermione blushed, the skin on her thigh throbbed where his fingers dug in, but instead of pondering on how sinfully delightful Malfoy's touch was, she buried her face in her hands in embarrassment and protested, "Mum...come on."
Draco was highly taken aback since he considered Granger to lack any form of poise and coordination, with the exception of balancing a mountain of books. He turned to face her and teased, "Ballet? I didn't know you took ballet lessons. I'm sure you looked quite lovely in pink frills."
Hermione stared him in the face and scoffed, "There's a lot you don't know about me."
Draco caught the nervous twitch of her eye and muttered more to himself than others, "Yes, I can see that."
Julia insisted, her eyes sparkled with renewed hope, "Would you do us the honour after dinner?"
Draco shifted in his chair uneasily. He knew he was decently talented when it came to tickling the ivories, but to perform in front of his soon to be in-laws was rather nerve-wracking.
He mustered a gracious smile, "I wouldn't want to impose."
Julia brandished her hand flippantly, "Not at all. I insist."
Draco gave a quick nod and settled, "Then your wish is my command."
Julia gushed, "He's a charming young man, isn't he?"
Hermione played with the corner of her napkin and mumbled sarcastically, "Must be all that pureblood inbreeding rising to the surface."
"Hermione, apologise this instant!" Julia reprimanded most severely. It was a highly inappropriate comment, but the man it was directed at hid a small smile and took it exceedingly well.
Phyllis tutted sternly to make her displeasure clear. Hermione scowled, "I'm sorry. Did I say that aloud?"
Richard chuckled from his place at the head of the table and wondered why nobody was eating. This incessant talking was beginning to ruin his appetite.
Julia radiated kindness, "We would love to meet your mother." She was curious about the woman that raised the man before them. He had such perfect mannerisms and was keen to meet the lady responsible for his upbringing.
A fond smile split Draco's face in half. His mother was singlehandedly the most important person in his life, "She would be thrilled to meet everyone. She mostly tends to the roses and upkeep of the Manor."
Hermione loved how Malfoy downplayed his lifestyle, wealth, and aristocratic position.
She felt compelled to shed more light on the enchanting woman she had come to greatly respect and love, "Narcissa is wonderful. She does quite a bit of charity work and provides aid to underprivileged children."
This family seemed too good to be true, Richard thought incredulously. There had to be something wrong with them.
Phyllis inquired abruptly, "When is the big day?" Hermione and Draco anticipated the question, but it took them by surprise just the same.
The young witch glanced at her grandmother and wondered why she had remained abnormally quiet throughout, only seeing fit to ask an odd question now and then.
The food was forgotten despite the mouth-watering aroma that surrounded them.
Draco cleared his throat and offered a plausible answer, "We haven't decided, but soon."
Hermione did not see the need to stretch the truth. As long as everything was out in the open, why not this too?
She took a deep breath and stated firmly, "There won't be a big day. We are not having a wedding." The eerie silence that followed was maddening. Draco reached for a glass of water to moisten his suddenly dry lips and quench his thirst. He glanced at Granger nervously fidgeting in her seat and fought the urge to grab her thigh once again.
The daft bint. Everything had been going fine until her need to force her way of thinking on everyone came out. Sometimes a little white lie was perfectly acceptable.
Richard threw his napkin down in anger, narrowed his eyes and thundered, "WHAT?"
Chapter 35
Summary:
A big thank you to everyone who posted a review and for everyone following! It means so much! ❤😊
The Dinner - Part 02. There are three parts to this joyous occasion.
I strongly suggest everyone to listen to The Promise by Michael Nyman. It is absolutely breathtaking.
Enjoy Chapter Thirty-Five!
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HAPPY READING! 🥰
Chapter Text
Teddy slipped into his pyjamas with cute little chubby nifflers printed on the fabric and grumbled, "Has she forgotten about me?"
As he struggled with the buttons, Andromeda stepped forward to help and smiled lovingly, "Of course not, darling. Aunty Hermione has some things she's going through." She tried her best to explain, but what did a small child understand about marriage laws and adult things?
Teddy frowned, "Like what? She promised Gran. I haven't seen her in ages." His unstable emotions caused his hair to change into the most brilliantly beautiful blue.
It suited him, and Andromeda ruffled his head affectionately, "I'm sure she misses you. We should write to her as we discussed." A letter to Hermione would put Teddy's mind at ease. Andromeda also made a mental note to call.
Teddy climbed onto the bed and accused, "She said she would come by to teach me Arithmancy."
Andromeda said a touch sternly, "Now Teddy, I'm sure she will. You mustn't get upset." He was still coming to terms with his Magical abilities, and childish tantrums quickly resulted in things flying across the room or broken glass in more damaging instances.
Teddy crossed his arms, sat on the bed cross-legged and huffed, "She broke her promise." His voice broke on the last word, and Andromeda felt overwhelmed. She tenderly brushed back his hair and kissed his sweet forehead, "Hush now, go to sleep. She will visit soon." Teddy's fondness of Hermione blossomed from her uncanny ability to put the boy at ease with unconditional love. Much like Ginny, Hermione was every bit a surrogate mother to Teddy Lupin.
Andromeda sighed as her grandson got under the covers, curled up into a ball and turned purposely away from her and faced the wall.
He was a stubborn one when he wanted to be, but in his defence, he loved Hermione. Since birth, she had been a constant in his life. Andromeda hoped Hermione's marriage to Draco would not put a permanent damper on her relationship with Teddy. If so, she would have a few words with her estranged nephew.
She retired to her room, let down her long greying hair, opened the drawer and pulled out a battered old picture of Narcissa and herself.
How carefree they seemed at such a naive age.
With the marriage law putting a permanent wrench into Hermione’s life and Draco’s timely return, Andromeda found herself thinking about her beloved sister far more than she ever had through the years.
Though she was confident in her decision to elope with Ted and start a life away from all she had ever known, Ted had filled the void with his kind, understanding and patient nature, but over time Andromeda began to realise there was a gaping hole in her heart that neither Ted nor her daughter could fill.
There was only one person who could.
Julia pursed her lips to make her displeasure clear, "This is unacceptable." Since the beginning of the night, she had kept her composure, not once faltering, but what she was hearing caused her resolve to come crashing down around her, and it was apparent her husband shared her sentiment.
Hermione kept her eyes fixed on the empty plate before her and gritted out, "I will not play into the hands of the Ministry." What was everyone's bloody obsession with a wedding? Sticking it to the Ministry aside, a massive function to entertain a magnitude of useless sods was such an utter waste of money. There were plenty of unprivileged children who would benefit greatly from the kind of money Malfoy had. She conveniently forgot the thousands of Galleons Narcissa donated monthly.
Phyllis lifted a brow and spoke up, "Don't you work for them?" Her tone was thick with sarcasm.
Hermione couldn't find a suitable retort. She defended weakly, "That is beside the point." She wouldn't dare sass her grandmother unless she had lost the will to live.
Richard scowled, "I'm being denied the pleasure of walking my daughter down the aisle.” He added with a cynical undertone, “Bloody marvellous." She was taking away his god-given right.
"You will get your wish. Someday," Hermione averted her gaze, kept it firmly on the plate before her and mumbled.
Julia seemed rather troubled, "I must say I find all this rather depressing." It was one thing to accept her daughter was getting married to a man they'd never met until today but to be robbed of their only child's wedding day was quite rightly painful. She saw the intricately embroidered white lace dress, the sweet-smelling flowers and all she hoped for the day disappear in a wisp of smoke.
Draco shifted in his chair awkwardly. His mother shared similar thoughts on the matter, and honestly, how horrid could a small ceremony be? He understood Granger's intentions, but he also sympathised with their parents.
Hermione lifted her head, looked at her mother's face and argued, "Oh, mum, please understand that a forced wedding under the circumstances to a man I don't love is not something to celebrate."
She turned sideways and said with a halfhearted smile to the fiancé the Ministry had stuck her with, "No offence." There wasn't any offence to be taken considering the arsehole he had been to her.
Draco gave a slight smirk. "None taken." He deserved every insult she hurled his way. At least, momentarily. With nothing better to do than watch the situation unfold, he gulped water and swallowed it slowly.
Julia ignored her daughter purposely and addressed her future son-in-law instead, "Draco, and your mother is okay with this?" She knew he was an only child, too and was extremely curious about how his mother handled this distasteful decision of not having a wedding. Narcissa appeared to be an intelligent woman and would surely not put up with any nonsense.
Draco chuckled, "Oh, she's livid that we have refused, and I daresay she has something up her sleeve." Salazar, he hoped they would’ve left him out of it. After all, it was mainly Granger’s decision, and although he had gone along with it to appease her, he could hardly be penalized for it.
Julia insisted, "And you agree with Hermione? That a ceremony of sorts is pointless?" She was sure he could be persuaded, unlike her stubborn daughter.
Had the temperature risen? Because Draco was burning up and felt extremely hot. He pulled at his collar to allow some breathing space and swallowed hard.
Caught between a rock and a hard place took on a new meaning. On one side, Granger glared at him, and on the other, her family members waited impatiently for his answer.
He found himself saying, "Well, a small gathering is acceptable by me to satisfy my mother, of course." It was better to get in good with her parents, but was it wise to unequivocally anger a woman he had to live with for the next three years? A woman who would or would not have direct access to his precious family jewels.
Hermione threw him a scathing look. This was one thing on which she would not compromise, even for Narcissa.
She gritted out, "There will be no wedding. Everyone needs to make their peace with that." It was the one thing she would not be bullied or forced into.
With determination, she informed her beloved family rather callously, "Malfoy and I will get the license at the Ministry." It was merely a formality.
Richard hissed from his place at the head of the table, "I assume, this time around, you will inform us in due time about the date." He was far from thrilled by her declaration, and he was still seething from being kept in the dark about her engagement. It was too big of a shock even to ponder.
Hermione locked eyes with her fuming father and sighed, "Daddy, I apologised, but I don't know for much longer I can take you hurling it in my face." It physically pained her to hear the bitter disappointment in her father's tone. Her untimely nuptials were hardly her doing. She wanted nothing more than to escape from their predicament, but sometimes to do the right thing, you must embrace what you loathe. In this case, it came covered in a delicious blend of black cashmere, white-blonde hair, pale skin, and intoxicating eyes neatly packed into an imposing six-foot-two-inch frame of hardened muscle.
Richard could barely contain his frustration. He accused rather harshly, "You've thought of everything then? Without a shred of consideration for the rest of your family."
Hermione opened her mouth to retort but swallowed her answer, not wanting to irritate her father anymore. She knew from past experiences he was reaching his boiling point and would blow at the slightest infraction.
Instead, she choked back a sob, soothingly rubbed the cool band of her beautiful engagement ring and stared enthralled by it as the stones shifted colour to a solid black to suit her grim mood.
Out of the corner of his eye, Draco eyed his spirited fiancé and fought the urge to comfort her. Only they knew the true nature of things and how difficult their pairing was to accept. He wished she got paired with Terry, but the fleeting thought vanished instantly. She deserved someone with their wits about them, not some bungling oaf.
An uncomfortable silence settled upon them, and each avoided eye contact and pretended to be deep in thought. That was until Richard chided, "Hermione, if you are expecting me to be thrilled by the fact you kept your engagement a secret, I'm afraid that’s not going to happen."
Hermione scoffed, "I explained everything."
Julia glanced at Draco and said with a certain level of embarrassment, "Richard, this is hardly the time."
Richard argued undiscouraged, "Why? It's good that Malfoy here understands how disappointed we are about this situation."
Hermione pleaded, "Dad, please stop." Her voice cracked on the last word, and she almost wept. Her father meant the world to her.
Richard softened his gaze. His daughter was his pride and joy. He loved her unconditionally, and that's why all this hurt so much, more so after her memory swipe stunt. It pained him that he was unaware and unable to comfort his child during such a trying time in her young life. He would never forget the tall, well-dressed gentlemen that came calling from the Minister of Magic with Hermione in the middle of the night. They, of course, had no idea who she was or who the men were.
A lengthy explanation had followed over the course of a few days, magic was used, and presto, their memories had been restored. It was a gruelling, painful procedure that caused Julia to suffer multiple seizures while their daughter held onto the Weasley boy and sobbed for causing her parents pain.
He had been furious with her actions, and after much discussion, all was forgiven considering why she did what she did. It was a pure act of love out of fear for their lives.
Phyllis's stern voice pierced the stillness with a firmness that was not to be trifled with, "I think Draco is quite aware already, Richard. Now the boy has explained his side of things, and I strongly suggest you come to terms with this extraordinary turn of events and leave things be."
Richard defended meekly, But, mum, I...." His mother's penetrating glare forced him to rethink his words.
Phyllis replied in a no-nonsense tone, "But mum, nothing. Let it go, son." She purposely emphasised her last words.
Hermione turned her face away from the table and fought the tears that threatened to spill over. She looked to the ceiling and willed them to go away.
Draco dropped his hand, slipped it under the table and edged his fingers towards the trembling petite hand.
She felt long firm fingers close around her shaking hand. The warmth and reassurance extended were welcome. His ardently offered heat seeped into her skin, causing her to look at him through hooded lids at first. Tiny drops of unshed tears wilfully clung to her long lashes.
Her eyes found his, and he gazed into her deep pools of amber and boldly, in plain sight of her family, cupped her face and used the pad of his thumb to brush away the single tear that slid down her cheek in a race against time.
She reacted how she always did when he touched her. Her eyes closed, and her lips parted slightly as she leaned into his touch, not caring what her parents or grandmother thought of their somewhat inappropriate behaviour.
Julia and Phyllis exchanged a knowing look, but neither spoke as they watched the couple in fascination.
Hermione could feel Malfoy’s building frustration, his magic hummed, wanting to be set free, and she momentarily wondered if he would snap at her temperamental father.
Instead, Draco cleared his throat and spoke directly to Richard, "Mr Granger, I wholly agree that you have every right to be angry.
He glanced at the woman squeezing his hand and said fiercely, “But Hermione is hardly to blame.”
He included solemnly, "She's been under a considerable amount of stress, and I can only imagine the guilt she must have felt at having to endure this by herself and not share it with the people that mean most."
Without a moment’s thought, he said slowly, “If you want to blame someone, then blame me.” He was far more equipped mentally than Granger to endure any lectures or harsh words directed at them. A deep sense of protectiveness towards her engulfed him, and like his sexual attraction to her, he was further surprised by this new development.
Hermione was quick to defend, "No, Malfoy. It's not your fault either.” She despised him, probably, but would never stand by and let him take the blame for something that neither of them had any control over.
Draco ignored her words and said with purpose, "I will do my utmost to provide her with every bit of luxury she deserves. This might be an arranged marriage, but she will be my wife and the lady of the Manor after my mother. I care a great deal about her wellbeing." It wasn’t a blatant lie to satisfy her family. He meant every word and had every intention of honouring them.
Hermione stared at him, unable to blink or comprehend the words that seamlessly left his lips.
The atmosphere turned from tense to strained, and soon a soothing calmness consumed them.
Richard grinned triumphantly after a moment’s thought, "Good. I'm glad to hear it, son." His intended son-in-law's words had a profound impact on him. They would revisit the wedding topic later, but for now, he was satisfied that his daughter seemed to be in good hands and couldn't help but think if there was more to this marriage law and Algorithm than meets the eye.
He placed his napkin back on his lap, widened his arms and invited heartily, "Now tuck in."
Julia sighed in relief, pushed the large platters towards Draco, and encouraged, "Please, serve yourself."
He helped himself to a little bit of everything to be polite, but it was so delicious he was quick to serve himself seconds and then thirds. His mother would have been appalled by the way he polished off his meal like a man starved, not leaving a crumb behind.
The matter of the wedding hung in the air much like an uninvited guest. Still, everyone was momentarily distracted by the food and company, and Hermione was grateful the subject had been swept under the rug for the time being.
The Grangers were far more welcoming and pleasant than Draco could have imagined. He felt instantly liked and part of the family. It was a refreshing change to see Granger laughing and playfully bickering.
He decided he preferred Muggle Granger to witch. As a witch, she was primarily tense, commanding and with a point to prove.
Surrounded by her loved ones, she truly let the burden that bore down on her go and seemed much more carefree.
Draco wondered if her nightmares invaded her mind as much as when she visited her parents.
The merry sounds of chatter and cutlery being used filled the area.
Richard pushed aside his plate and smiled in satisfaction, "That was delicious, darling."
Julia beamed, "Why, thank you, Mr Granger."
Hermione leaned against the chair and perked up, "I've put on at least three pounds."
"Good. You have lost a considerable amount of weight and could do with some fattening up," came the concerned mother's reply.
Hermione quipped, "If you had your way, I wouldn't fit through the door, mum."
Draco dabbed the corners of his mouth and complimented, "Thank you for such a delightful meal. I have indulged far more than I should have." He couldn’t possibly eat another bite.
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Work it off tomorrow morning." With his vigorous routine, he was bound to lose it all in a few minutes.
Julia grinned, "Well, Draco. Will you do us the honour of playing a song of your liking?"
He had hoped they would forget about his earlier promise, but how could he refuse or make an excuse after the tremendous effort they had gone to on his behalf?
Draco slowly pushed back his chair and gracefully rose from his seat and bowed courteously, "It would be a small token of thanks for the welcome I have received."
Julia blushed, "He's so well-mannered and spoken."
Draco offered his arm, which Julia took graciously and led him to the other end of the living room. Richard snorted, bowed, and jokingly offered Hermione his arm, to which she curtsied and took it while letting out a laugh for good measure.
Phyllis trailed behind with a curious yet happy smile on her face.
Julia touched the dark brown wood and offered, "It's been years since anyone's played."
Draco rolled up his sleeves, and they hugged his forearms perfectly. He gently pulled back the mahogany stool, sat down and watched as everyone took a seat and gave him their undivided attention. He gently opened the flap and stared at the ivory keys that spoke to him. In his youth, he had meticulously practised alone and under the supervision of his strict French instructor, who, as it happened, had a gorgeous daughter and harboured a hidden love for Muggle composers.
Of course, she was older but had no qualms about sleeping with a younger man who certainly knew a thing or two about pleasuring a woman in bed. It was brief, two months to be exact, before he was branded with the Dark Mark and his lessons, along with his hopes and dreams, came crashing down around him. He later heard from his mother that Renee had returned to France to live with her mother after her father's untimely and unjustified murder at the hands of snatchers. He had been a simple man who loved music.
Draco touched the keys reverently. He pressed a few to get the feel of it and exhaled. He brought his head up and addressed the room but kept his smoky eyes on his betrothed, "With your permission, Mrs Granger, I would like to play The Promise” by Michael Nyman." It seemed to fit the situation at hand.
Julia brought her hands together in delight, "That is one of my absolute favourites."
She glanced at her bemused daughter and added, "Hermione’s too."
Hermione froze. She was shocked by his knowledge of Muggle composers. Would he never cease to amaze her? It couldn't be a coincidence that he chose that exact song. She racked her brain, trying to remember if she had mentioned it in passing, but no such situation or conversation came to mind.
Draco breathed, "That's a pleasant surprise." It was one of his favourite pieces of music to play. The melody broke his heart and mended it all in the span of five minutes. Such was the power of the song.
Of course, the piano was nothing like the grand one back at the Manor, but it hardly mattered. He took a deep breath, touched the off-white keys and began to move his long talented fingers effortlessly across them as he serenaded them with the breathtaking melody that brought out such intense feelings in those listening. Before long, everyone in the room was listening intently.
Hermione couldn't help but gawk at the imposing man bent over the piano. Strands of blonde fell over his face as he passionately caressed the magnificent instrument at his disposal. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she was transported to a timeless space where the music engulfed her whole, and she thought of the first time she had laid eyes on him after his return to England.
Time itself came to a standstill. She couldn’t explain the sensations that tore through her. There was a burning desire in the pits of her being, and it was scorching her from within. She surrendered to the music and its compelling will that demanded submission.
Draco ended on a high, kept his eyes closed for a further few minutes and willed his rapidly beating heart to return to normal. He slowly opened his eyes and flashed a bright smile at his audience.
Everyone broke out in applause except Hermione, who was caught up in thoughts of lying across the polished surface of the grand piano while Malfoy spread her out and devoured her centre whole. His tongue exploring her most intimate place caused goosebumps to spread across her body as her sinful daydream pulled her under.
Draco got to his feet, clicked his heels together and bowed courteously.
Julia was beside herself and gushed, "You play so beautifully." She brushed a falling tear off her face. Richard clapped but kept his thoughts to himself.
Phyllis, who had been listening to the beautiful music with a keen eye on her granddaughter, insisted, "Hermione, why don't you show Draco the rest of the house until I add the finishing touches to the apple pie?"
Hermione snapped out of her trance, closed the gap between them, grabbed Draco by the arm and dragged him upstairs without uttering another word.
Draco let himself be pulled and mocked, "Should I be alarmed by your behaviour, Granger?"
He goaded with pleasure, "You like it rather rough, don't you, pet?"
She glanced over her shoulder before throwing the door open and hissing, "Sod off."
A hearty laugh tore out of his lips. He did enjoy getting under her skin, "Are you trying to get me alone? I'm happy to oblige, of course."
He bumped into her back in the dark, and she cursed out loud, "You clumsy troll."
Surrounded by darkness, Draco stood in one place, felt around and shot back, "Who are you calling a troll, you graceless twat."
His fingers brushed up against something incredibly soft, and Hermione squealed, "Watch it." She switched on the light, and Draco was horrified to find that he had cupped Granger's left bosom in his predicament.
Her eyes were fixed on his fingers moulded to her breast.
Hermione cleared her throat pointedly, "Erm, do you mind?"
Draco at once dropped his hand off her person and grinned sheepishly.
Hermione went to stand on the other side of the small room. She leaned against a chest of drawers, crossed her legs at the ankles and studied the man in her room.
They regarded each other curiously.
He indeed was a sight. She marvelled at his fabulous bone structure every time she laid eyes on him.
His eyes darted around the room in almost childish fascination. Draco couldn't help but be captivated by the pastel shades of yellow that adorned the walls. Hand-painted frames held pictures of her childhood. Especially one with missing baby teeth and what looked remarkably like a bowl of ice cream over her head.
All of his childhood photographs were stuffy professional portraits with suits and bows except for a handful his mother kept to herself. Still, there were hardly any candid or carefree pictures of himself. He had missed something in his childhood, Draco thought rather grimly.
He approached the shelf crammed with books and touched some of the leather-bound covers.
A layer of dust coated his fingers. He pulled out a black silk handkerchief from his pocket, cleaned his hands with it and spoke to the feisty woman following his every movement, "How charming. You were a cute toddler." He mused, "Merlin knows what happened."
Hermione sneered, "I'm fine the way I am, thank you very much. Your opinion of me hardly matters."
Draco chuckled, "You need to lighten up. I was joking, Granger. I find you quite attractive." She wasn't the most appealing girl at Hogwarts. Not that he had ever looked her way in a manner that suggested anything more than disgust, but now, she occupied his thoughts far more than necessary.
She rolled her eyes and retorted sarcastically, "Thank you so much, Malfoy. I can hardly contain my excitement." She made an elaborate show of being overjoyed by his compliment.
He wandered over to where she had hung her Gryffindor scarf and touched it nostalgically. It was the only thing magically related in her room, and that struck him as odd.
Hermione inquired abruptly, "How was your date?" She didn't quite know what possessed her to ask, but since hearing Astoria’s dulcet tones when she called to invite him over for dinner, it had prickled her mind unpleasantly.
Draco abandoned the scarf and sighed, "I told you it wasn't a date. It was Blaise's daughter’s birthday. Tori is her aunt, so she just happened to be there. I do not need to tell you how she feels about me."
Hermione scowled, "No thanks. I'm well aware of Greengrass's obsession with you."
He teased, "There's nothing to get jealous over."
She leered, "It might come as a surprise to you, Malfoy, but I don't care who you fuck." Her subconscious yelled in protest at the brazen lie that left her lips.
Draco ignored her crude comment, narrowed his eyes and pressed, "Why did you widen your eyes when I mentioned Blaise."
Bugger. She hadn't even noticed. The man was too perceptive for his own good.
She averted her gaze and mumbled, "Nothing." Fuck.
He rolled his eyes, "Cough it up, Granger. You really are an appalling liar." She was too obvious, and her face gave her away instantly.
Hermione chided, "Well, excuse me if I'm incapable of being deceitful." Except when the situation called upon itself.
She explained somewhat reluctantly, "Ginny came by earlier. She had a row with Harry over having coffee with Blaise." She wasn't entirely at ease confiding her friend’s issues with Malfoy, but this also, to a lesser extent, concerned Blaise, who in a twisted fate of circumstances happened to be his best friend.
Draco smirked, "Ah, is Potter feeling insecure?" Blaise was a good-looking, successful man. It made sense that even the saviour of the wizarding world had hidden insecurities.
Hermione wagged a warning finger and scolded, "Don't be an insensitive lout. He's hardly home because of this maniac on the loose, and it's obviously creating issues."
Draco shrugged, "It was just a cup of coffee." He couldn't fathom what the big deal was unless Potter was the insufferable possessive type.
Hermione sighed, "It's nothing. Blaise is an ex, and I'm sure with all the stress, Harry is overreacting." She was almost positive that was the reason, and Blaise had nothing to do with it.
"Ex?" Draco asked in bewilderment. What the fuck? He felt like he had fallen through some black hole and ended up in a parallel universe. Blaise and Ginny? Ginny Weasley?
Hermione raised a questioning brow, "Didn't you know Blaise and Ginny had a brief fling at Hogwarts? It was short but clearly impacted them both." She was momentarily shocked that he didn't know. Still, it was understandable considering the time frame of the secret affair and Malfoy's initiation into the Death Eater club.
Draco became sympathetic. His reply came after serious thought, "No, I did not know, but now that I do. Certain disappearances and hesitations on his part make sense." Blaise had been bashful on certain evenings when questioned about his odd disappearances and simply stated that it was none of their business what he did with his free time.
Theo, of course, had been most curious about his friend's elusive movements. Even resorting to a faulty batch of Veritaserum to squeeze out the truth. Pansy, having overheard Theo bragging about it to Goyle at breakfast, quickly put a stop to the dreadful plan.
His eyes caught sight of a flaming redhead, and Draco crossed the space with two long strides, stood in front of her floor-length mirror and peered into a large photograph placed between the small crack between the glass and white painted wooden frame.
He pulled out the picture that was wedged in and quipped, "Speaking of exes." Weasley had his arm around her and kissed her cheek while she giggled and smiled at the camera. They looked happy in their ignorant bliss.
A content smile spread across Hermione’s face, "Oh, I'd forgotten about that." She closed the gap between them and reached to take it out of his grasp, but he held it over his head, out of reach and smiled devilishly down at her, "Well, you won't be needing it."
Draco went to toss it in the bin, he was eager for her response, and she didn't disappoint.
Hermione protested, "Hey! I don't want to chuck it." She and Ron were over, but that didn't necessarily mean she had to get rid of every memory. They shared some loving, good times and those she held dear.
Draco responded to her reaction, "Why? Do you still love him?"
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and huffed, "And what if I did?" His line of questioning was beginning to irritate her. Even if she loved Ron or Terry or whoever, it was none of Malfoy's bloody business.
Draco snickered, "Poor Boot would be beside himself, and Tracey would be heartbroken."
She pressed anxiously, "And you would be okay with it?"
He shrugged and showed complete indifference, "Besides feeling a mild sense of disgust, It wouldn't matter to me."
Hermione added further explanation, “Well, I don't, and neither do I have any strong feelings for Terry. I do, however, care for them as friends.”
Draco advised harshly, “You shouldn't lead them on.” Scorned lovers were a right pain in the arse, and she was inviting unwanted trouble to take up residence in her life.
She snapped, “Hello, aren't you the kettle calling the pot black?” The hypocritical bastard. All he did was handle Astoria with kids gloves as if she were some precious ceramic doll.
Hermione bitterly reminded without hesitation, “Need I remind you about Astoria, but perhaps, I'm wrong, and you do harbour strong feelings for the uppish twit.”
She spat in mild revulsion, “Argh, she sets women back a hundred years.”
Draco snorted, "Calm down, Granger.” He knew she had a point, but the situations were vastly different, and he made his thoughts vocal, “Astoria is unwell. I’m not so cruel to torment and deny a dying woman.”
Hermione bit back a nasty retort. How he handled Greengrass was his problem, and while she could sympathize with the woman’s plight, she would not put up with Astoria’s crude behaviour and rude comments. Dying from a blood curse did not exclude one from practising good manners.
Eager to stir the conversation well away from Astoria Greengrass, Draco prodded eagerly, “Am I faring well with your family?”
A satisfied smirk tugged the corner of Hermione’s lip upwards, “Brilliantly.”
He injected with an air of arrogant smugness, “Was there ever any doubt?”
Hermione frowned, “Your selfless modesty continues to shock me.” The cocky git.
A sudden coldness swept through her, and she shivered involuntarily. Draco noticed and demanded in concern, “What's the matter? You’re trembling.”
She glanced at her shaking hands and replied unsurely, “I don't know.” A surge of emotions rose to the surface, and Hermione couldn’t understand why her parents’ possible acceptance of her former bully made her want to bawl her eyes out.
A masculine smell invaded her senses as Draco pulled her close, nuzzled into her hair and inhaled deeply. He said with enough conviction, “You have a wonderful family. I envy you, Granger.”
She broke free from his hold, stepped back and countered, “There's nothing to envy. Narcissa and Bernard love you.”
Draco looked around the space and sighed, “I find a Muggle life appealing. That is what I miss most about China.”
He said with a sense of freedom, “I could walk through the streets, and no one knew who I was or what I had done. I was a foreigner. That is a different kind of prejudice, but Jun wouldn't hear a word said against me.”
Hermione raised a curious brow, “Jun?” Whoever it was sounded important to him. A girlfriend in China, maybe. Merlin knew he attracted them by the dozen, but the way he spoke about this one was almost poetic.
A fond smile curved his lips, “Oh, she's a girl from the village that trained with me.”
That piqued her interest, and Hermione wanted to know more. She pressed unashamed for information, “A special girl?”
His eyes glazed over as Jun’s perfect image floated in front of his eyes. He replied earnestly, “Very special.”
Hermione’s eye settled on the shiny black beaded bracelet he wore at all times with tiny gold lettering and inquired, “Did she give you that?”
Draco fingered the beads and replied with a tenderness she had never heard come out of him, “Yes, she did, and it's very dear to me.” The bracelet was a gift and one he would never part with.
Hermione thought it was important to know, so without pausing, she blurted out, “Did you love her?” What if he had? Would that affect their short marriage? She shook her head of such thoughts and concentrated solely on how their marriage was forced upon them.
Draco shook his head slowly and breathed, “It wasn't like that.” He grew thoughtful, “Well, at least on my part, she did make it clear that she would like nothing more than to pursue a relationship, but I was never really there to stay. It would've been cruel to leave her. Besides, I doubt her father would approve of her hooking up with an outsider.” The hefty man would’ve severed his head and thrown his corpse off a cliff without remorse.
He confided further, "It might come as a surprise to you, Granger, but I've never been in love. At least not truly."
She ridiculed, "I do find that hard to believe."
Clearing his throat, he asked curiously, “Did you love Weasley?” He was sure she did, but to what extent?
Hermione sighed, “I did, but I doubt it was the sort of love that would have carried into old age.” There was a time when her world revolved around Ron and his family, but with time, she came to the shocking conclusion that they were just not meant to be. A bitter pill for a man who was getting ready to propose to swallow, but swallow it he did unwillingly.
Her answer pleased him, “Hmm....” Somehow, Draco knew Weasley couldn’t handle Granger in the long run. She wasn’t the easiest person to keep up with. He had learned that the hard way.
She wanted to know more about the Chinese girl and requested, “Tell me more about Jun.”
Draco grinned and summarised, “She was a beautiful, sweet girl who had a crush on me. I didn't return her affections. Although, I care dearly for her. There, does that satisfy your voracious curiosity?”
Hermione scoffed, “Who said I'm curious?”
He clarified, “Your eyes, Granger. These beautiful pools of amber give you away.”
He called her eyes beautiful. She wondered if he was aware of how utterly mesmerising his were.
She twitched nervously and said, “Jun must have been quite upset when you left,” Hermione waited anxiously for his answer. An answer that never came but his features twisted, and that was enough to gather the gist of what might have transpired.
Draco walked about the room once again, taking in the finer details of the other framed photographs and decor and worked up the courage to ask, “Listen, there's something I want to run by you.”
Hermione raised a curious brow, “I'm all ears, Malfoy.”
He looked her dead in the eyes and stated, “The gangs planning a trip to Hawaii.”
Her jaw dropped, “Hawaii? In America?”
Draco rolled his eyes, “No, downtown London, you daft bint. Obviously, in America.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and argued, “And how does this concern me?”
He sighed in exasperation, “Shut up and let me finish.”
Hermione frowned, drew a line across her lips with the soft pad of her finger and motioned for him to continue explaining.
Draco swallowed hard and said with waning confidence, “They wanted me to ask if you would like to join.”
Her jaw dropped, and she stared at him then. Completely and utterly at a loss for words.
Did she hear him correctly? Was he asking her to go on a holiday with him?
What the bloody hell was he playing at?
Chapter 36
Notes:
Thank you so much to everyone who posted a review!
Raw emotions and internal struggles.
The final segment of the dinner :)
Enjoy Chapter Thirty-Six!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Terry doubled over the commode and continued to vomit. It wasn't the cocaine making him colour the insides of his toilet, but the alcohol he had been drinking to counteract his addiction.
The withdrawal wasn't easy. Cocaine produced an elevated sense of euphoria, causing the brain to release higher-than-average amounts of some chemicals. It was a painful yet blissful state to be in.
But, its effects on other parts of the body eventually could become severe or even deadly. It was the addiction that killed most, and Terry was well into the danger zone.
Michael sat on the floor of the tiled bathroom, keeping a watchful eye over his best friend. It seemed impossible to recognise Terry. He looked like a mere shell of his former self. At present, his eyes were bloodshot and tired. Still, his alarmingly suspicious behaviour needed to be monitored.
The man was bordering on paranoia. Earlier, he had cowered in the corner while Michael approached and begged him not to hurt him. It took some convincing from Michael to assure his best mate that he meant no harm.
Inwardly, he felt guilty for not noticing Terry's conduct and signs that led to the horrific scene before him.
Terry mumbled feebly, "I can't do this. I would rather die." He slumped in defeat, his hands limp at his sides and mind oblivious to his surroundings.
Michael reassured, "You can beat this. Few more hours to go." He got to his feet and helped his friend up. Boot swayed dangerously, but Michael held onto him and guided him out of the small bathroom, down the hallway and into the incredibly messy room.
Before they embarked on the journey of getting Terry clean, Michael had torn through the flat in search of secret stashes and found the secret compartment in the drawer. A thorough hunt of the flat produced another polythene-covered pack hidden in the bathroom behind the loo.
When Michael destroyed the contents, Terry lost all sanity and viciously threw himself at his friend to stop him from disposing of his precious powder.
Using what he had at his disposal, his wand, Michael restrained Terry while he wept and fought against the invisible bonds.
That was nearly five hours ago.
Michael waved his wand around the room with his free hand, and things returned to their original place. He helped Terry to bed, where the shivering man curled himself up into a ball and continued to shake without control. Michael sighed, covered his best mate with a sheet and slowly backed out of the room.
He sat in the living room with his head in his hands, fighting back the tears. With trembling fingers, he pulled out his mobile phone, called his beloved girlfriend and relayed the whole sorry tale to her while he sobbed hard, not sparing any small details.
Brenda listened intently. She felt rotten for being awful to Boot and wondered whether she should tell Hermione the shocking news. She decided she would tomorrow at work.
She offered her boyfriend words of comfort, love and support, but a loud crash and angry words from a voice other than Michaels made it to her ear.
Michael said hurriedly, "I'll call you soon."
The line went dead, and Brenda stared at her phone in a panic.
Hermione almost fell over her words, "Would you care to repeat that, please?" She wanted further confirmation that he had indeed asked her to go away with him.
Draco scowled, "Don't act so bloody surprised. Longbottom and Lovegood are going too." That should add some weight when making her decision. It wasn't like he was trying to whisk her away to shag her. Although, that did sound utterly tempting, and he momentarily pondered if they would.
Hermione frowned, "So, they wanted you to ask me? This isn't something you want?" He was giving in to peer pressure. The incorrigible idiot didn't want her along but only did because he and her friends suggested it. She was surprised Luna did not call and ask herself. It hurt her fragile ego that he wasn't falling over himself trying to convince her to go.
Draco picked up a bright yellow plush toy with eyes more significant than its head and stared at it oddly.
He kept it back and shrugged, "I told them you wouldn't agree." Well, he had imagined her to insult him, accuse him of some underhanded plan and refuse outright.
Hermione gave it a moment's thought. Hawaii was a vacation paradise. Beautiful sandy beaches, rich native culture and exotic cocktails to cloud one's thinking.
She speculated, "Why wouldn't I? It would be nice to lay around naked on a beach getting tanned and sampling some delicious dishes."
Her acceptance caused him to turn around abruptly and gawk at her. It wasn't the most gentlemanly response, but he could hardly help it, given the situation. Where was the barrage of abuse he had expected?
He cleared his throat and gritted out, "Naked? I am not planning on any physical entanglements with random gits that might hit on you, but you can, however, lie naked in the proximity of our suite."
Hermione raised an amused brow, "Our suite? I find it hilarious that you assume we will share a room, even one as large as a suite. Besides, I thought my interest in other men didn't bother you."
Draco snapped, "Don't push your luck, Granger. You can have your own bloody room to bring back any random surfer boy that grabs your fancy." He was sure there would be plenty of women who would be more than happy to keep him company. Images of Granger being chatted up floated around his head, and he was not too keen on the prospect. Inviting her might have been a horrible mistake and one that was too late to take back.
She drawled a tab bit seductively, "Are you always this possessive?" His reactions caused her heartbeat to hasten. It was immensely satisfying to get under the skin of the seemingly in-control man.
Draco argued without hesitation, "I am of people or things that mean something to me."
Hermione scoffed, "I know I mean nothing more to you than a pair of tits and arse."
A smirk tugged the corner of his mouth upwards, "You couldn't be more wrong. Although, I do hold your tits and arse in the highest regard." Her perky bosom and firm buttocks were hard to miss, and Draco was sure he wasn't the only one that noticed the young undersecretary's assets.
He insisted, "Ah, so you want to go?" It sure sounded like the possibility of going away had piqued her interest.
She was in two minds, and while it sounded downright tempting, there was hesitation on her part. Hermione exhaled, "I didn't say that either." She inquired curiously, "When?"
Draco tried to recall. After a few seconds of racking his brains, he responded, "Next week, they are flying over on Monday."
Hermione grew thoughtful and demanded, "Monday? Wait a minute, how many days are we talking about here?" During a potential crisis, there was the question of leave, especially since Kingsley was still in France negotiating matters with the difficult and sly French Minister. He was due on Tuesday, which wouldn't truly dampen her plans, and Merlin knew she had plenty of leave left. She hardly ever took a day off unless absolutely necessary.
Draco began to answer, "A week, but ...."
She shook her head violently and hurled with her hands on her hip, "I can't take a week off work in the middle of a crisis, and neither can you." She added with a smidge of disappointment at his appalling work ethic, somehow she had thought he would take his job seriously, "You start tomorrow. That would make a horrid first impression."
Draco sighed in exhaustion, pulled her close, covered her mouth with his sizeable hand and hissed impatiently, "Woman, shut up." She simply would not do as told unless forced.
Hermione struggled but only momentarily. With his free hand at the base of her back, he let his fingers dig into her flesh through the red silk blouse she wore and held her firmly to him. He explained swiftly, "I thought, if you agreed to go, we could push off work on Friday and Portkey. Saves us the flight time and leave with everyone on Sunday."
They locked eyes and stared at each other, giving time for the information he shared to sink in.
After a few minutes, Draco bantered, "I'm going to take my hand off your mouth now. Feel free to bombard me with filth." He let go slowly, but she did not attempt to step out of the circle warmth he projected or away from him. He smelled so inviting, and she had to control the urge to do something foolish.
She stood still and shockingly silent as if she were in deep thought.
Finally, Hermione took a step back from his manly fragrance and bumped into her dresser.
She rubbed her elbow and mused, "You've certainly thought it through. Have you made up your mind to go?"
Draco shook his head, "I haven't. It's all couples. Imagine me being the third bloody wheel." He had no wish to be the only one without a partner.
Ah, that was the underlying issue. She vocalised her thoughts, "Is that why you want to take me? To keep you company?" Was he expecting her to play the perfect fiancé and perhaps share his bed too?
Well, she supposed there were worse things. Her thoughts made her silently chortle—you naughty minx.
Draco shrugged indifferently, "Better you than anyone else." It made perfect sense for her to accompany him. If not as his intended, but as a friend, maybe. Wishful thinking on his part, of course.
His uncaring statement did not sit well with her. It was downright insulting.
What was he insinuating? That he could take anyone but had settled for her?
Hermione gritted out, trying to keep her emotions at bay, "How bloody flattering. Take Astoria." Her eagerness to go evaporated with his callous comment. She would not play into the hands of Malfoy, no matter what her libido dictated.
Draco realised his choice of words had been insensitive, but they couldn't have been further from the truth. He asked Granger because he wanted her to accompany him. It would prove an opportune moment away from their responsibilities to see how they would fair together.
He retorted with caution, "If I wanted to take her, then we wouldn't be having this conversation." He would instead go alone and play the desperate bachelor than invite Astoria to go with him. That was a disaster waiting to happen, and he had no immediate desire to feed her infatuation.
His answer somewhat appeased Hermione. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared sternly—the insensitive lout.
With a permanent frown etched onto his face, Draco sighed in exasperation, "I told them it was a long shot. That you would never agree." To be fair, she had seemed willing to entertain the notion of going before his ridiculous remark.
He wondered if she knew about his celibacy and came to the conclusion that she did not.
In her eyes, he was a sexual deviant hopping from one bed to another. It would be quite a culture shock for her to learn that she was more experienced than him. Still, when he had a woman beneath him, despite his age, he had been quite decent, causing them to cry out his name in delight as he pounded into them relentlessly. Renee being older, had taught him some valuable lessons in the art of cunnilingus.
Draco knew to savour, appreciate, and make a woman plead for more. It was the ultimate turn-on to bring them to a shuddering orgasm with his tongue, lips, and teeth. Besides, the extra wetness helped accommodate what came next.
Hermione purposely ignored the man in the room and sashayed towards the bed, pointedly sticking out her bottom as his eyes took in her every single movement. She was teasing him and enjoyed every sinful second of it.
She laid down on the quilted bedspread, propped herself up on her elbows, batted her long eyelashes and drawled, "Convince me, Malfoy." It would be penance for treating her poorly in the past.
If she was going to go, then she was going to make him work for it.
She was playing with fire without fear of getting burned. Deciding to add more fuel to the flame, she bit her lip hard and tossed her head back, sending wild curls flying across her heart-shaped face.
Draco swallowed hard. His grey swirls narrowed forebodingly, "I warned you about doing that, Granger."
Hermione simpered, curled her bottom lip with her teeth and thoroughly enjoyed Malfoy's discomfort. He clearly had a thing about lips.
She pouted innocently, "Oh, did you? I can't seem to remember."
He looked around the room and then towards her closed door before grinning, "You think because we're in your home, surrounded by your family, that your safe from what I would do to you?"
How ridiculous. Her parents were downstairs. It would take one scream from her for her father to come barrelling through the door with his trusted shotgun locked and loaded.
Hermione pretended to show indifference. She studied her painted nails and decided on experimenting with a new colour before adding with a small laugh, "Actually, I do think I'm pretty safe."
He started to walk towards her, his stride fluid and pantherlike and it caused her to panic slightly. Would he really follow through?
A devilish glint flashed across his eyes. Draco took purposeful steps closer and rasped, "You couldn't be more wrong. I gave you ample warning that you wouldn't like what followed." His tone was serious and heavy with lust. At that moment, he was not to be trifled with.
Hermione gathered her bravado and teased, "Promises, promises."
Towering over her, he smiled angelically before closing his long fingers around her ankles and pulling her roughly towards him. She gasped and hurried over the sheet as if she weighed nothing.
Draco knelt at the foot of the bed, fisted her hair and pulled it back, causing Hermione to arch her back and offer the exposed flesh of her chest to him.
She whimpered. It wasn't out of pain but pure longing. He paid no mind to the mewls escaping her lips. He had barely touched her, and yet she was responding fervently. Without prolonging the inevitable, his mouth touched the base of her throat. He drew small patterns with his lips, and the cool metal of the chain he gave her met the tip of his tongue.
Bugger, she had walked right into that one, but by Merlin, it felt deliriously good. Her arousal wetted her knickers, and she squirmed and wished for his tongue at her core.
Her hands moved on their own accord, one dug into the sheets to steady herself, but the other disappeared into his smooth, delicate hair.
Draco brought his head up, moved the pad of his thumb across her lips and watched the woman with her eyes closed shut, lips parted, and chest rising and falling with anticipation.
Hermione opened her eyes slowly and was met with a smoky pair of clear grey staring intently at her. She breathed, "We really must stop doing this..."
Draco kissed the corner of her mouth and taunted, "Yes, we must, but we won't."
He tore himself away, brushed the hair off her face and queried eagerly, "Would it be highly inappropriate for me to kiss you in your room?"
Hermione giggled and contemplated, "No one's ever kissed me in here." Ron had been terrified and nearly wet his trousers, and there were no Muggle boyfriends as such.
Draco chuckled against her throat. It was a deep and rippling sound, "Then we must rectify that gross oversight."
She moaned in a low undertone, "Malfoy…."
He pleaded with enough conviction, "For once when I touch you, use my name." It was such a genuine request it made her fingers tingle and heart ache.
Hermione felt her heart flutter like a hummingbird trying to escape. She leaned into his touch and whispered, "Draco..."
He throatily teased before taking her bottom lip between his teeth, "Such a good girl when she wants to be."
She sighed when he kissed her full on the mouth, sinking in her essence and the slight taste of strawberries. Her fingers trembled as they travelled up his back, and neck and settled in his hair once more. She matched his hard intensity and gave in to his dominating presence.
Draco rasped, "I missed you." He declared without an ounce of shame.
Hermione did not bother replying. She was engrossed in losing herself to his passionate embrace. The truth was, she missed him too, but would she openly admit that she wanted the man who belittled her at every opportunity in school?
Not so easily. She settled for snogging him senselessly, forgetting all thoughts of her parents and grandmother.
From his crouched position by her bed, Draco moved further between her legs and felt the slight heel of her sandals dig into his back as she locked her legs around his torso and urged him on.
So caught up in each other, they missed the sound of sturdy footsteps approaching the door.
Without bothering to knock, Grandma Phyllis pushed the door open and walked in on a positively heated moment between the unlikely couple.
Hermione broke free from Draco's grasp and pushed him away with all the strength she could muster. Caught off guard, he lost his balance, toppled backwards unceremoniously, and his back hit the hardwood of the floor with a loud thud.
Phyllis admonished, "Hermione!"
Her cheeks flushed and burning red, Hermione muttered sheepishly, "What? It was nothing. He fell over." She tried to discreetly fix her hair and settled with piling the mess of unruly curls into an untidy bun.
Phyllis walked over to where Draco now sat on the ground, rubbing his undoubtedly bruised back and scolded, "I'm not blind, Hermione, and neither am I an idiot."
She steadied herself with her sturdy cane, grabbed Draco's arm and helped him get to his feet, "Up you get, young man."
Draco got to his feet, straightened to his full height, dusted particles off his clothes and ran his hand through his hair. He kept his mouth firmly shut. It was a pity they had been interrupted, but honestly, what was he planning to do?
Strip Granger down and make love to her while her parents were within earshot? That thought alone was enough to return his semi-hard cock back to its appropriate flaccid state.
Phyllis shook her head in disapproval and reprimanded harshly, "Honestly, I'm shocked by your behaviour." She addressed her beloved grandchild severely.
Hermione averted her gaze and argued feebly, "It's not my fault he lacks poise and balance."
Draco injected with good humour, "Yes, I dropped to my feet on my own accord. I apologise for my clumsiness." He found the whole situation rather hilarious. Granger was absolutely terrified of her grandmother.
Hermione got to her feet, adjusted her blouse as if nothing happened and went to pass Draco with her head held high, when he muttered, "I think I've convinced you."
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and replied sternly, "Not in the least. Let's talk about it later."
The spirited elder woman in the room pointed her cane at the parting in Hermione's blouse and cautioned, "I strongly suggest you button up unless you would rather find yourself in hot water with your father."
Fuck. Three sets of eyes went to her bosom.
Horrified, Hermione buttoned up to her neck and threw Draco a look of pure loathing. He shrugged; he was hardly to blame. They were caught up in the moment, and good sense usually flew out the window in such instances.
Phyllis raised a quizzical brow at Draco, "What exactly have you convinced her of doing?" She hoped it wasn't something bizarre. You never knew with the youth these days. Just the other day at the market, she had seen a boy with a twat tattooed on his forehead. It was most strange.
Draco smiled easily, glanced at Hermione and before she could interrupt, he spilt the beans, "With everyone's blessing, I would like to take Hermione to Hawaii."
Hermione pursed her lips, "I haven't agreed." She was mortified that he would ask her family for permission as if she were a child visiting Hogsmeade for the first time.
Draco winked, "Oh, but you will." There weren't many things he was sure of, but he somehow knew she would agree.
Hermione stomped her foot much like an impudent child and cried, "God, you're insufferable," before dramatically storming out of the room.
Phyllis watched her granddaughter practically run down the stairs and said affectionately, "You'll have your hands full with her." She loved her granddaughter fiercely, but Hermione wasn't always the easiest person to get on with. It took understanding and patience to put up with her sharp mind and quick tongue.
Draco nodded in understanding and added for good measure, "I know, and surprisingly, I look forward to it." He wasn't trying to win over the Granger matriarch by lying. There was a part of him, albeit small, that genuinely believed what he had divulged.
Phyllis glanced at the tall man and said knowingly, "She might never admit it, but I know my granddaughter. You're good for her, despite you being a slick-haired little sod to her back at that Magical school."
Draco braced himself. He was surprised that Granger would share their unpleasant history with her family, mainly because it would worry them more than they already were.
He cleared his throat nervously and tried to sneak past, "She told you about that?" But the wise older woman was having none of that.
She blocked his path with her cane, rounded on him and exclaimed, "We have no secrets. It's always been the way, and I'm well prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt but hurt my precious baby, and I won't hesitate to break your kneecaps with my cane." The last words weren't a threat, they were a promise made certain by the intense look in the eyes of a doting grandmother.
Draco bowed courteously, "Duly noted. I wouldn't dream of crossing you." He had already come to respect her greatly.
Phyllis laughed, "Now take my arm like the gentleman you are and let's go into the kitchen and tuck into that gorgeous apple pie I've made."
Draco offered his arm. Phyllis took it without hesitation, and he smiled warmly, "It would be my pleasure."
Ron nursed a drink and couldn't shake his thoughts from Malfoy meeting Hermione's family. It was such a serious move.
He drowned his sorrows and was oblivious to his wife entering the living room in a see-through negligee.
Tracey realised she had failed to entice him with the black lingerie she had purchased earlier in the day with the intent of providing her dear husband with a memorable night. He seemed lost to the world.
She poured herself a drink and pressed, "Ron?"
He muttered without paying attention, "Hmm...." All he wanted to do was lose himself in a drink and forget about Hermione.
Tracey took a sip and inquired curiously, "Are you okay?" He looked depressed beyond words, and she felt genuine concern for his behaviour.
Finally, snapping out of his distressed state, Ron turned to face his wife and did a double-take, "Oh, you look very nice." She did look quite appealing, but his heart wasn't in it, and neither was his dick.
Tracey probed anxiously, "What's the matter? You seem preoccupied."
Ron thought a small lie would be best. He massaged his temples and said in a pained voice, "I've got a headache."
Tracey was no simpleton. She wasn't fooled by her spouse's pathetic attempt of trying to throw her off. She drained her drink and stated harshly, "Hmm, and I suppose it has nothing to do with Draco meeting Hermione's parents?"
Kerpow! Right in the fucking nuts.
Ron gritted out all pretence forgotten, "I just don't understand why they would want to meet the snake."
Tracey was beside herself with anger and shouted, "Maybe because he's marrying their daughter. You are unbelievable, and I refuse to let your ridiculous hang-ups ruin my evening."
She was utterly fed up with his behaviour and was frankly beginning to question whether they could move past his obsession with his ex-girlfriend and have a normal, happy, wedded life.
There was certainly no way she would even contemplate bringing another human being into the world under the current circumstances.
Tracey waved her wand over herself and transfigured her sexy underwear into a modest floor-length dress instead.
Ron demanded in alarm, "Where are you going?"
She glanced over her shoulder and spat, "I'm going over to see Daphne. Once you're done moping over Hermione give me a call, and I'll think about coming back."
He tried to explain, even if it was a half-truth, "Trace, I'm just worried about her."
She was already out the door and headed to her stepsister's place.
Ron cursed aloud. He was messing up everything, but it was not as easy as everyone made it out to be. This was a woman he had every intention of spending the rest of his life with. It physically pained him to see her with another, but it was a whole other feeling to know that she would be marrying and living with a man who had caused them nothing but misery.
How was he supposed to turn a blind eye and pretend like everything was fine? It was far from it.
Malfoy knew the taste of her lip gloss. Had they been intimate? Sure, the ferret was easy on the eyes, but Hermione was strong-willed. She would never stoop so low as to let the snake kiss her, or worse, touch her.
The vivid image of Malfoys hands upon Hermione caused Ron to bare his teeth, and grip his tumbler with all his might, causing his knuckles to whiten. Pure unadulterated rage surged through his veins.
Ron thought of Tracey and sighed. He wasn't intentionally trying to cause her grief. She was special to him and cared for him far more than he deserved. He honestly hoped he would come to love his wife with time.
Hermione had dated others since their breakup, and unwillingly he had accepted that she was moving on, leaving him with a broken heart. Still, he also figured she would sow some wild oats and return to him, grateful for his undying love. That was prior to the law and definitely before Malfoy.
The blonde bastard in the same room with her pushed him to the brink of insanity. Her father hated him, that was no secret, but he also hoped Richard would put the pampered pureblood arsehole in his rightful place.
Hermione eyed Draco stuffing his face with pie with an amused expression. She snorted, "Malfoy, if you don't stop eating, you're going to slip into a food coma, and Narcissa will have my hide for overfeeding her only child." She had never seen him act so, what was the word?
Carefree.
He behaved so utterly ordinary, she was beginning to wonder if it really was Draco Lucius Malfoy. He had abandoned all poise as he proceeded to lick his spoon clean.
Phyllis scolded, "Hush, Hermione." She was thrilled that the dessert she prepared was being consumed with such enthusiasm.
Draco dabbed the corners of his mouth, wiped his mouth of excess ice cream and complimented, "Mrs Granger, this is delicious. I am quite partial to apples." He typically consumed the green fruit by the dozen. Even in China, Jun would manage to sneak him a few from the marketplace.
Phyllis wagged a warning finger and instructed, "I won't have you addressing me as Mrs Granger. Hermione calls me Gran or Nana when she is feeling emotional. Pick one and stick to it."
Hermione broke off a small piece of pie, popped it delicately into her mouth and pouted. Her family was getting along with her childhood enemy famously. If only it were that simple to bury the hatchet and move on.
Richard stated heartily, "Mum, you've outdone yourself. Julia, pass me the ice cream." He had consumed more than his share of the pie and seemed to be wanting more. For a reputed dentist, he honestly didn't give a toss about sugary treats rotting his teeth.
Julia quipped, "Would this be a good time to remind you of your blood sugar, among other things?"
Richard waved a vanilla ice cream-coated spoon in her direction and joked, "If I die tomorrow from a busted valve, it would be worth it." He tucked in and added, "This is delicious."
He scooped a generous portion of ice cream onto his already crammed plate.
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Dad, stop being ridiculous." The hype over a simple apple pie was justified. Her grandmother's granny apple pie was legendary. Phyllis always kept them guessing about the secret ingredient and vowed only to divulge it to Julia before her passing.
Phyllis reached over and pulled Richard's plate out of his reach and spoke in a fond motherly tone, "You've had enough, son."
Richard didn't bother arguing but grumbled incoherently about being a grown man who had the right to eat whatever he wished without his mother treating him like a child.
Hermione giggled, gathered her plate and rose to her feet. She informed the others at the table, "I'll wash the dishes."
Draco abruptly shot to his feet with his plate and smiled enthusiastically, "Let me help you."
She threw him an odd look, "That's quite alright, Malfoy. I can manage." What did he know about washing dishes? Hermione completely forgot about his time in the monastery.
He would not take no for an answer, "I insist, darling." The last word rolled off his tongue fluidly as he adamantly pleaded with his eyes to let him help.
Unable to come up with a plausible reason to disagree, Hermione nodded in agreement, gathered the rest of the dishes from the table, and instructed Draco to bring the remainder of the pie to the counter.
The older Grangers exchanged bemused looks but kept their mixed thoughts to themselves as they retired to the living room. Within minutes the loud sound of whistleblowing and football match highlights filled the space.
Hermione tore off a piece of cellophane from the roll her mother kept in the drawer, covered the almost empty pie tin and popped it inside the refrigerator. When she turned around, Draco held out a cloth and sponge as if asking her to choose with a satisfied smirk.
She chuckled, took the sponge, and mused, "I'll wash, you dry?"
He nodded in agreement, "I assume we won't be using magic?" He had noticed how little Granger resorted to using her abilities in view of her family and wondered why.
His answer came shortly. Hermione smiled shyly, "Gran isn't quite fond of me using magic for simple things. She fears I will become lazy."
He took a wet dish from her grasp, proceeded to wipe it clean and answered, "She is a wise woman." From his time around Nana Phyllis, it was plain to see that she was an intelligent woman with little to no tolerance for bullshit.
Hermione muttered, "Yes, she is." He was standing so close to her, his arm brushed along hers, and an involuntary shiver crept down her spine.
They tended to the dirty plates taking far longer than necessary. A strained silence fell over them, and once again, they slipped into the heat of being alone.
Draco inhaled deeply and rasped, "You smell good."
Hermione held up her soapy hands and kidded, "It's the dishwashing soap."
Abandoning his task momentarily, he slowly moved to stand behind her and pressed into her back.
Hermione acutely felt his presence and sighed, "Only you could make something mundane as washing dishes into some sensual act."
He brazenly moved her hair out of the way and kissed the nape of her neck, taking time to suckle on the supple flesh until a reddish bruise formed on her skin under his pale lips. It was childish, but he couldn't help but want to label her as his.
She would never willingly belong to him, he knew this, but their physical attraction to each other went beyond the hate, past deeds and dark memories.
His husky tones invaded the contours of her sensitive ear, "I can't help but want you. More so after tonight."
Hermione was genuinely puzzled, "Why? What makes tonight so different?"
Draco exhaled, "Being away from magic has a rather enticing appeal, Granger. It's liberating not to be burdened by superficial responsibilities such as producing an heir and keeping up appearances."
Conveniently forgetting the others, he pulled back the collar of her red silk shirt, exposing more of her neck and skin to him and trailed feathery kisses from behind her ear, down to the collarbone and let the sweetness of her skin erupt in his mouth before murmuring, "It's exhausting."
Hermione threw her head back, and a sultry moan of want filled the space around them.
God's, it felt heavenly. She wanted him to bend her over the sink and take her without mercy, but they were hardly alone, and she didn't want a repeat of what happened earlier.
She protested halfheartedly, "Malfoy, stop. My parents could walk in, and I rather not answer some uncomfortable questions." The night had gone splendidly, and the last thing she wanted was her protective father to catch them in each other's arms. A bullet through Malfoy's presumably thick skull was sure to dampen a delightful evening.
The sexual tension between them was crackling and almost at boiling point. His invitation to go to Hawaii hung like a dangling carrot in front of her with the promise of an unforgettable trip, but would she be able to live with herself after sleeping with him? And she would, of that she was sure.
The fact that she wanted Malfoy already consumed her with shame.
Sure, years had passed, and their time at Hogwarts became part of a hazy dream that consumed much of their teen lives. Could she honestly forget who he had been, or still was, and commit the act of fusing their bodies?
Draco let go at once, straightened to his full height, turned Hermione around and easily towered over her. His eyes bore into hers with such intensity it made her flinch but not back down.
He announced rather abruptly, "As you wish. It's getting late. I best leave before I overstay my welcome." He was never one to force his intentions on anyone.
She nodded in understanding, placed the last dish on the rack to dry, wiped her wet hands on a checkered cloth and led the way to the living room where her family were watching a live football match.
"That was an easy pass, mate," Richard yelled at the red-clad player on TV.
He invited enthusiastically, "Care to watch some telly?" And discreetly tried to hide a few wrappers from Honeydukes.
Draco declined politely, "Thank you, but I'll take my leave. Mother will be waiting for me."
Julia grinned, "Eager to hear the details, I bet."
Draco chuckled, "Indeed." He could not help but think how well Julia and his mother would get on.
Phyllis chimed in, "It has been an absolute pleasure meeting you."
Julia offered graciously, "We look forward to seeing more of you, son."
Richard reluctantly nodded in agreement. He had a good feeling about this one.
Draco added with the utmost respect, "Thank you for everything. I cannot put into mere words the gratitude I feel for such a lovely evening."
Julia smiled warmly, "Please convey our regards to your mother, and we really must meet with her soon." She was already quite fond of her future son-in-law despite the circumstances of the marriage.
Draco beamed, "She will be thrilled." He bid them all a fond farewell, "Goodnight."
Hermione, who stood in the back silently, took his arm, "Come on, you can use the backyard to apparate."
She led him back to the kitchen and into the lovely garden in which her parents took great pride. Draco looked to the night sky. It was mostly clear except for a handful of stars that twinkled brightly.
He brought his face down and took in the woman standing before him, hugging herself in a futile attempt to shield herself from the bitterly cold air and fought the urge to cover her petite frame with his own to offer warmth.
Instead, he rubbed his hands together to generate heat and said, "Thank you for a fantastic dinner. I had an enjoyable time."
Hermione's teeth chattered involuntarily, but she managed a quick heartfelt reply, "I should be the one thanking you for agreeing to it in the first place. I owe you one."
Draco replied earnestly, "You owe me nothing."
He raised a curious brow, "Did you honestly think I would refuse?"
Hermione shrugged casually, "I had my doubts." He was in no way obligated to cater to her every whim and request but she was beyond pleased that he had agreed without fuss.
His eyes raked over her form, and he pointed out in pleasure, "You're shaking less." The cold aside, her nerves about her parents' reaction to him had settled. It made sense, considering how well the evening had progressed.
Taking her cold hands in his, he covered them and closed his eyes in concentration. She felt a sudden warmness seep into her skin and found that she wasn't cold anymore.
She was still coming to terms with many things, and his ability to do wandless magic was undoubtedly one of them.
Draco kissed her knuckles and then forehead, "Is that better?"
Hermione took a deep breath and blurted out, "Malfoy, I'll come to Hawaii...with you." She had decided to throw caution to the wind and scratch the insatiable itch she harboured for Malfoy.
He raised a questioning brow. Granger certainly was full of surprises.
She shrugged, "It's the least I can do after the effort you put in tonight."
Draco smirked in satisfaction, "I knew you would. Who could resist white sandy beaches, alcoholic beverages amongst other more pleasurable things...."
He tipped her chin and placed a gentle kiss on her luscious lips, but she deepened the embrace by holding onto the lapels of his jacket while he cupped her face and pressed into the warmth she willingly offered.
Granger would be the death of him. He thought feverishly as he pushed his tongue against hers adamantly.
Fuck. The exact feeling that tore through his mind, he wanted to desperately whisk her away and bury himself deep within her sweetness.
It had been far too many years since he last had sex, but he wasn't about to jump into bed with anyone. He knew the witch he wanted to break his celibacy.
Phyllis and Julia spied from the kitchen despite Richard's warning that they mind their own business.
They saw the heated exchange between the two and couldn't help but marvel at how in sync they appeared to be.
Julia raved, "Oh my lord. They make a beautiful couple."
Phyllis agreed and gushed, "Indeed they do. This is no mere arranged marriage. He looks quite taken by her, and Hermione has always been one to wear her heart on her sleeve. Something wonderful may come out of this."
Something elusive caught Draco's keen eye. He reluctantly broke free from the embrace, much to Hermione's annoyance, looked over her head and smirked, "We, umm, have an audience."
Hermione widened her eyes, smoothed her blouse and cried, "What?" Please don't let it be her father. That would be humiliation on another level.
Draco warned, "No, Granger. Don't look."
Too late, Hermione ignored him, and looked towards the kitchen with narrowed eyes but saw no one, and Draco rolled his eyes. She was incapable of listening or following instructions.
He spun her around and dropped a quick kiss to her temple, "Sweet dreams, I'll see you tomorrow at work." At work, of course. He was an Auror now, and she would probably see him every single day whether she wanted to or not.
Hermione stepped back, put her hands in her pockets and smiled, "Tell Narcissa, I sent my love."
Draco nodded and disappeared into thin air with a graceful pop that barely breached the sound barrier.
Phyllis and Julia witnessed the departure from behind cabinets and made themselves scarce.
Hermione took a deep breath of fresh, crisp air, touched her still-swollen lips and looked to the heavens for answers. She stayed that way for a while and gathered her scattered thoughts.
She walked back into the warmth of the house, still in deep thought of how surprisingly well the evening had gone. Once she entered the den, her family looked up at her anxiously and waited patiently for her to speak.
Hands once again in her pockets, she rocked on the balls of her feet and invited sheepishly, "Well, let the Malfoy bashing begin." They had mercilessly torn Ron's character to shreds.
Richard cleared his throat and stated, "He's far too pale, and that white, blonde hair is odd, but overall, I like him much better than that Weasley boy. He can look after you."
Hermione frowned and decided on reminding her father of her fierce independence, "Well, I am shocked, but I'm not some invalid, daddy. I do not need a man to look after me."
Richard chuckled, "Yes, I know, darling, but Malfoy seems to have his wits about him. The other one fell apart." Ronald had hardly been able to get out his name. Poor bloke.
Hermione rolled her eyes in exhaustion, "Dad, can we not compare? It's completely irrelevant. I'm not with Ron. You win."
Julia gushed, "I think he's very handsome, and his manners are impeccable. He seems like a very well put together young man, and if I might add, it's obvious he cares for you." She came to that conclusion judging by the night's events and subtle looks and gestures that had passed between the two.
Hermione was quick to defend herself, "He doesn't care about me." How could she explain to her family that it was merely a physical thing and not genuine feelings?
Phyllis weighed in, "I agree with Jules. He does seem to harbour some feelings for you. The extent of it, I can't be sure, but it is there."
Hermione wasn't convinced, nor was she going to let others believe such a thing, "That's ridiculous. Maybe, it's a physical attraction, but it's certainly nothing emotional."
Richard visibly cringed. That was far too much information for his sensitive ears.
Hermione yawned pointedly, "I'm exhausted. See you in the morning." She rattled off and climbed the stairs sluggishly. What she genuinely wanted was a moment to herself.
Julia called after her, "Goodnight, sweetheart."
Draco appeared near the fountain, sat on the white bench nearby and exhaled. His breath came out in white puffs as he willed his rapidly beating heart to relax. The white marble angel standing guard almost bestowed a sympathetic look upon him.
He desperately needed to clear his head of Granger and think straight. He had enjoyed her family's company immensely, and that weighed heavily on his heart.
Taking a deep breath, he got to his feet and jogged up the marble steps into the brightly lit Manor. He could hear the distinct crackling of logs in the fireplace and figured his mother was eagerly awaiting his arrival. On cue, she turned to face him and enthused, "Glad to see you made it back in one piece."
Narcissa took in the relaxed features on her son's face and said, "You look.... happy." He did look perfectly at ease.
Draco smiled warmly, "I daresay I enjoyed dinner far more than I should have."
Narcissa smiled broadly and pressed confidently, "They approve then?"
He shrugged, "I guess so. They were quite polite and welcoming. Her mother reminds me of you. No wonder Granger gets on so well with you." It was a delightful evening that offered much insight into his future bride's upbringing and mannerisms.
After a second's thought, Draco chuckled, "Her dad is not to be taken lightly. He is fiercely protective of his daughter."
Narcissa concurred, "And rightly so. If I had a daughter, I wouldn't let her out my sight." How she wished for a beautiful daughter of her own to dote upon.
Draco frowned. He knew of his mother's desire for another child, but she had been unable to bear any more children. It was a heartbreaking revelation.
Narcissa pushed aside such thoughts and beamed, "Marvellous. Do you still doubt she's your soul mate?"
Draco argued, "With every fibre of my being. Our attraction to each other is purely physical." Was it, though? Did he only want to bed Granger, or was there more developing against his will?
Narcissa grinned knowingly, "These things always begin somewhere."
Max came running towards them and demanded attention. Dotty ran in after with a tattered shoe and dress firmly in her grasp. The naughty rascal hid behind Draco and growled at the tiny elf.
Dotty was almost in tears, "The naughty dog has ripped my dress to pieces."
Narcissa threw Max a disapproving look. He whimpered and pleaded with his eyes.
She assured her beloved house-elf, "Darling, I will be sure to buy you a brand new dress of your liking and shiny shoes to match."
Dotty glared at Max but softened soon after when he reluctantly approached, licked her face and jumped, knocking her to the ground.
Draco ruffled the shaggy fur and called the dog to heel, "Max, we mustn't play around with others belongings." He made a mental note to buy some chew toys for the fast-growing Alsatian.
Max closed his eyes, nudged Draco's hand with his wet nose and demanded to be petted once again, to which he obliged when a thought entered his mind. He addressed his mother, who was comforting Dotty, "Oh before I forget, the groups off to Hawaii for an impromptu holiday of sorts."
He added meekly, knowing his mother was going to take it the wrong way, "Granger and I will be joining the happy couples."
Narcissa teased, "That sounds promising."
Draco scolded, "Mother, do stop your insinuations."
She sighed, "A mother can want happiness for her only son."
He stated firmly, "I am happy."
Narcissa frowned, "There's more to life than training and meditation."
Eager to stir the conversation away, he asked, "I'm surprised Bernard didn't stay."
Narcissa didn't seem to be put off. She waved her hand dismissively, "He was pulled away by an urgent owl."
Draco inquired suspiciously, "Mother, has he mentioned what this pressing family matter is?"
Narcissa gave her son her full attention and replied firmly, "I haven't asked. It's hardly my business, and I wouldn't dream of invading his privacy. Besides, if the need arises, he will inform me. I trust him with my life."
Draco nodded in agreement, "And I trust your judgement." He bent to kiss her cheek, "Good night, mother."
She touched his cheek lovingly, "Good night, darling." Max laid down by her feet and refused to budge.
He retired to his room, stripped on the way to the shower and without hesitation, stepped inside the glass cubicle. The water cascaded down his back, and he bent forward and closed his eyes in deep thought.
A multitude of things ran rampant through his mind, his first day at the DMLE in a few hours, Bernard's odd behaviour, and last but not least, the insatiable witch that was Hermione Jean Granger.
After a long leisurely shower that failed to erase Malfoy's presence from her body, Hermione strode into her room clad in comfortable pyjamas, towelling her hair. The minor marks of dominance Draco had left on her skin pulsated and throbbed, adding to the growing ache between her thighs. However, she was too exhausted mentally and physically to do anything about it.
Instead, she tossed the wet towel aside, plopped down on the bed and went through her phone. She found an unopened message from Ginny, and it hit her. Her troubled best friend, she hadn't checked on her well-being after leaving.
She berated herself, jolly good friend, you are, Hermione.
Rapidly scrolling through the numbers, she settled on Ginny's, glanced at the time and decided it was never too late to call her best mate. Besides, it was barely ten PM.
Hermione dialled the number, kept the phone to her ear, chewed on a hangnail and waited for Ginny to answer.
The rings went on endlessly, and when Hermione had almost given up, the call connected. Ginny's now calm voice came through, "Hi, how was dinner?" She came straight to the point.
Hermione pressed the phone further into her ear. She could barely hear her friend, "Why are you whispering?"
Ginny muttered in a low voice, "Harry's asleep." She sounded much like her old self, and for that, Hermione was highly grateful. She couldn't imagine a world where Harry and Ginny weren't together.
Hermione sighed with relief, "Is everything all right? Are you feeling better? I just wanted to check in."
Ginny smirked, "After what we just did. Oh yes, loads." They had an enjoyable evening, and after putting James to bed, Harry had made slow leisurely love to her. Taking his time to explore her body with his mouth, leaving no place untouched.
Hermione pretended to vomit. She chided, "Argh, that's way too much information, woman."
Ginny softened her tone, "Thank you for always being there, Hermione." Growing up with a bunch of boys wasn't always easy, and Hermione was much like the sister she never had. She had been devasted when things ended with Ron for fear that she would distance herself from everyone, but thankfully nothing had come of it.
Hermione replied fondly, "There's no place I'd rather be. I love you and that idiot you married to bits."
She huffed, "I'm going to have a few stern words with him. How dare he accuse you of cheating?"
Ginny would rather let sleeping dogs lie than open up a fresh, painful wound and plainly said what was on her mind, "I don't want to talk about it. We were both at fault, and Blaise just happened to be there."
She asked again eagerly, "How was dinner? Did Malfoy behave?"
Hermione summarised, "Dinner...hmm, was in one word. Surprising."
Ginny chuckled, "Oh do tell..."
Hermione fired right away, "He was attentive, charming and nothing whatsoever like his slimy old self."
Ginny said thoughtfully, "Hmm, maybe he is for real then."
Hermione injected with determination, "Well, I'm not letting my guard down." He could be Prince Charming himself, and that would not stop her from being careful. She had already given in too much and had the sodding marks to prove it.
Ginny inquired inquisitively, "What about your parents and gran?" She knew Ron had a tough time with Richard, not so much with Julia, and Gran had accepted her granddaughter's choice and not said much.
Hermione replied reluctantly, "They, umm, loved him. Even dad." To say the words aloud was oddly strange, but the bottom line was they held Malfoy in high regard. There was little to no point denying that.
Ginny stifled a laugh and warned jokingly, "For the love of Merlin, don't ever let Ron hear that. He will collapse in a fit of insecurities." It went well beyond self-doubt. Her brother would be severely traumatised.
Hermione listened intently and said slowly, "He invited me to go to Hawaii with him and the Slytherin bunch. Neville's going, so is Luna."
Ginny gasped, "You lucky bitch. I am so jealous right now."
A brilliant idea came to mind, and Hermione implored, "Maybe you can come too? Godric knows you could use the break."
Ginny was horribly tempted, "Harry won't take leave, not unless they catch the bastard."
Hermione urged, "Yeah, but you can. Can Molly watch James for a couple of days?"
Ginny knew Blaise would be joining, and it didn't sit too well with her. Their recent encounter had brought back some distressing feelings she had suppressed.
She politely declined, "I don't think it's a good idea, but it does sound awesome," And openly teased, "Did you accept?"
Hermione contemplated her reply. There was no way she was coming off unscathed. She answered hotly, "It's Hawaii. Of course, I fucking accepted. I can relax and...."
Ginny quipped good-naturedly, "Jump his bones, no doubt. You whore."
Hermione explained further, "We are getting separate rooms, Gin." Like that mattered.
She knew the risks of agreeing to the trip, but deep down, she wanted to sleep with him.
One time, then it would be out of their system, allowing them to go forward without any further entanglements or pouncing on each other at every opportunity.
Ginny wasn't convinced. Her words dripped with sarcasm, "Right. I'll bet you anything, that you're going to sleep with him."
Hermione agreed without hesitation, "I'll take that bet. What are the stakes?" She cursed her stupidity. It was a bet she was sure of losing, but it wouldn't do for even Ginny to know.
Ginny recited without skipping a beat, "One hundred Galleons, plus you bring Malfoy over for Sunday brunch."
Unable to dictate terms, Hermione concurred grudgingly, "Done but think twice about brunch. Ron isn't going to be happy with Malfoy's presence."
Ginny smirked, "You let me deal with my idiotic brother. Do we have an accord?"
Hermione laughed out loud, "What are you, a bloodthirsty pirate?" She gave a two-finger salute and adopted a pirate cackle, "Aye, aye matey. We have an accord."
Harry's groggy and sleep-heavy voice interrupted the conversation, "Who is it, darling?"
Ginny covered the mouthpiece and replied impatiently, "It's Hermione."
Harry groaned, turned over and said, "Tell her to sod off and come to bed. It's cold without your body..."
Hermione heard word for word and frowned in disgust, "Ugh, please go." Harry was like an elder brother, although technically, she was older than him. Still, she had no desire to know about his sex life unless it came from Ginny, and she could drown out Harry's face.
A fleeting thought came to mind, and Ginny hurriedly told Hermione, "By the way, can you visit Teddy. He misses you terribly." The boy had sulked for most of the afternoon because of her absence.
Hermione closed her eyes and sighed, "Of course. I cannot believe I've been so tactless. I'll pop by tomorrow and take him out for a quick bite during my lunch break." She never missed an opportunity to see Teddy. He was her almost adopted son, and nothing would stand in the way of their relationship. She had to rectify her costly mistake at once.
Ginny was happy with her friend's answer, "Sounds good. Goodnight, love."
The line went dead.
Hermione tossed the phone aside and stared at the ceiling. She seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.
She thought of calling Malfoy to see whether he made it home okay, dismissing it almost at once.
Was she bordering on stupid? Of course, he made it to the Manor safely. He was hardly going to be mugged on the estate, and even if he was, she was pretty sure he would be able to fend for himself.
Burying her head under the many pillows, she closed her eyes tight and wished for sleep. After a few moments of petulant tossing and turning, exhaustion finally consumed her, and she drifted off into a dreamless, content slumber.
Chapter 37
Notes:
My heartfelt apologies for the delay, but an unforeseen tragedy fell upon our family. The untimely death of a loved one is hard to bear, but more so when it is someone who has barely begun to live.
I want to stress how important it is to be kind to those around you. Offer words of encouragement and always keep a mindful eye on the young. Suicide is not the answer. Please seek help and know that you can always overcome any obstacle in time.
Much love to you all!
Raw emotions and internal conflicts. 💔😩
Never assume to know another person's struggle.
Depression is real. It rears its ugly head when least expected. 😑
Thank you for all the lovely comments.
Enjoy Chapter Thirty-Seven!
Happy Reading :)
Chapter Text
Blaise and Daphne's humble abode
Tracey walked around the lavishly decorated living room in an uproar and massaged her throbbing temples in desolation, "I just don't know how much more of this I can take, Daph."
Daphne watched her stepsister's movements intently, took a deep breath and instructed, "Calm down, darling." She included with a tad bit of humour, hoping it would appease the seemingly distraught woman before her, "Blaise is quite fond of this rug, and you are creating a rather sizeable hole in it with your pacing."
Tracey came to an abrupt halt, abandoned all poise and fell in a crumpled heap into the nearest chair and exhaled in frustration, "Merlin, I'm sorry. It's just that Ronald is driving me around the bend with his behaviour."
She added in a spiteful undertone, "No wonder Hermione dumped his arse."
Ever the levelheaded big sister, Daphne offered words of comfort and wisdom, "Darling, you must calm yourself and try to understand." Making a marriage work was hard enough on its own, more so when it was arranged. There was so much to discover about the other that it wasn't always going to be pleasant.
Daphne clarified the best she could, "Ron and Hermione were together for some time." After a second thought, she exclaimed further, "As a matter of fact, everyone in the wizarding world thought they would end up together." That much was abundantly true. They seemed like a picture-perfect match after Harry and Ginny, but somewhere down the line, things changed, and they called it quits. She recalled the front pages of newspapers announcing the event.
It was scandalous. Ron was portrayed as a heartbroken man deeply in love with his girlfriend. The editors had not been so kind towards Hermione, and she ended up labelled as a controlling, power-hungry bitch who was only interested in furthering her career and no interest in starting a family. It was an unfair assumption, but Hermione had handled it with her head held high and a no-nonsense attitude. Daphne secretly admired her former classmate's tenacity.
Tracey was hardly convinced. She replied solemnly and with a hint of repulsion, "But the past is the past. He's still in love with her and shares my bed. It's rather degrading, is it not?"
To be fair to him, Ron was a reasonably good shag. He was loving, and attentive and took his time to please her. It was the one part of their marriage she could not complain about.
Daphne got to her feet, crossed the room to a stylish minibar and poured herself and her stepsister large glasses of red wine. She handed a glass to Tracey, who took it willingly and sighed, "The marriage between you both was arranged."
Taking a sip of the reddish concoction. Daphne felt the rich taste tickle her tastebuds before assuring, "Give him time to adjust, perhaps after a child...."
Tracy spluttered, almost choking on the gulp of wine she took. She surfaced unscathed but surprised and fired incredulously, "A child? I will not have a baby under these circumstances. Not unless I'm absolutely sure of his feelings towards me." It would be horrific to bring a child into a world where their parents only tolerated each other. She had seen firsthand how unhappy her mother had been.
A loud ringing tore through the room, interrupting the girl's conversation.
Daphne glanced at the phone buzzing on the ornately carved table and grinned, "Your phones ringing again." It had constantly been ringing since Tracey arrived, but the headstrong woman refused to answer and entertain the persistent yet frantic man on the other end.
Tracey glared sternly at the phone as if it had done her a great injustice by ringing, "It's probably him."
Daphne smiled reassuringly, "Tracey, go home to your husband. It's clear he cares a great deal about you."
She added knowingly, "It must be difficult for him to come to terms with the fact that, of all the people in the world, Draco is marrying Hermione." She could relate and genuinely felt sorry for Ron.
Tracey drained her drink and looked away in thought. As usual, Daph made perfect sense. She always was more sensible than the rest and never made her feel like an outsider.
Daphne explained more, "There was no love lost between them at Hogwarts. All things considered, Draco was an awful child." She was being kind, he had been a superficial prick, and she never quite understood Astoria's infatuation with him.
Draco's only things going for him back then were his looks, the power his father saw fit to shove in everyone's faces, and unwavering arrogance. He only seemed to come down off his pedestal in their sixth year, and the reason why caused them all to go into a momentary state of shock, especially once it became publicly known that he was a branded Death Eater.
Tracey understood somewhat, but a deep fear rested within her mind, and she made it known to the person she trusted most, "I understand they were rivals, but what if Ron can never let go of his love for Hermione?"
Daphne smiled once more as a mother would and exclaimed, "Is it even love? Seems more like memories to me." It made complete sense. Sometimes it wasn't the person but the nostalgia you could not let go of, and Ron seemed to be caught up in that.
Tracey nodded slowly and smiled gratefully, "Hmm. You might be right. You always are."
She took her sister's hand in hers and gushed, "Thank you, Daph." They were of the same age, only months apart, but still, Daphne radiated calmness and wisdom.
Their situation was not ideal. The extraordinary indiscretion should have ended their father's life since it resulted in a pregnancy. Still, when it came to light, instead of being mortified by her husband's adulterous ways, Victoria Greengrass had embraced the child and encouraged a relationship with her half-siblings.
Daphne used her free hand to tuck a tendril of black hair behind Tracey's ear and encouraged, "I'm always here, darling, whenever you want to talk. Give him time. He will come around. You have my word."
Tracey nodded unsurely, fetched her bag and with a wave of her wand, she was gone.
Just in time to, even though it was late, Daphne heard Carrie calling out for her. Blaise was running late at the office due to the bungling of a shipment of protective Quidditch gear.
Daphne walked down the long corridor leading to her beloved daughter's room, placing the now-empty glass of wine on the table. When she entered, Carrie clutched her favourite unicorn plush toy, the cat was curled up on the bed, and she held up a book with a colourful cover for her mother to read.
Daphne snuggled up next to her naughty rascal, opened the enchanted book that cost a small fortune and started to recite the story about a cursed troll who was really a Prince.
Tracey returned home to find Ron waiting anxiously for her. She saw him visibly sigh in relief as she came into view. He looked pretty disturbed with mussed hair and a sulky demeanour.
Her talk with Daphne had helped, but it did not completely erase the doubt and annoyance she felt.
Ron closed the gap between them without hesitation, gathered her unmoving form in a tight hug and pleaded with a touch of desperation, "I'm sorry. I am honestly not trying to hurt you. You mean so much to me." She was his wife, and despite the circumstances of their marriage, he respected her greatly.
They had more in common than Hermione, and he ever did. Tracey enjoyed Quidditch. She loved a game of chess to pass the time and most importantly, she appreciated his dry sense of humour.
Tracey was tempted to hurl, not as much as Hermione, but bit her tongue and swallowed the nasty retort. Instead, she sighed with exasperation, "I'm tired, Ron. Let's talk about it later." Or never.
She broke free from his hold and retired to the room, with him following close behind. They slept fretfully. Each caught up in random unsettling thoughts of an unsure future.
Draco woke up suddenly and found it to be darker than a whale's belly. He rubbed the sleepiness off his eyes and glanced at the large clock mounted on the wall.
It was five am. No wonder it was still dark. It was early, even by his standards, but once he was up, that was it. There would be no going back to sleep.
Admittedly, he was glad he had risen when he did. The day ahead was sure to be full of unexpected twists and turns.
He threw his long-muscled legs off the bed and got to his feet, and did a few stretches to loosen up and rid himself of the drowsiness that lingered. Satisfied that his body was cooperating, he was sorely disappointed to find his mind was not.
Sultry images of Granger invaded his mind, and it took all his willpower to push them aside and not slip into some lovestruck daydream of them frolicking in the gardens and making sweet love under a waterfall.
The trip to Hawaii would be most interesting, he thought devilishly. It was far too early for such indecent thoughts.
He was becoming a hopeless romantic. Shaking it off, Draco pulled up a pair of dark grey jogging bottoms, tightened the string to hold it in place and strode with intent and purpose towards his training room.
Darkness and pain
The door opened with a bang. The naked woman who had been cowering in the corner, shivering from the cold night wind that seemed to seep through the cracks in the wall, shot up in alarm. She stared at the man standing just a few feet away from her with a toothy leer, rubbing his cock over his pyjama bottoms.
Cringing, she felt tears bubble to the surface. It had been months with no possible escape from the bastard that kept her captive and used her as his plaything, but each time he violated her, it filled her with undeniable disgust and hate.
Fighting her inner thoughts, she forced an inviting smile and spread her legs for him. You can possess my body, but never my soul, you sick fuck.
Her rage and an unquenchable thirst for vengeance gave her the strength to stomach the man grunting and groaning on top of her.
Malfoy Manor
Draco sat cross-legged with his eyes closed and deep in concentration. He seemed lifeless except for the laboured, practised breathing techniques he had perfected for better mindfulness.
After his intense workout that included an extra half an hour of throwing precise punches at the heavy sawdust-filled bag and repeated kicks that made the sweat drip down his back and over his defined pectoral muscles.
He felt the warmth of the rising sun fall on his skin and unconsciously leaned towards its burning touch. Draco took a deep breath and exhaled before slowly opening his eyes to greet the rays of a new day. His eyes shone with purpose, and his body radiated calmness and tranquillity. It was a perfect start to the day.
After concluding his morning routine, he got to his feet, bowed respectfully to an invisible entity and headed towards the bathroom for a much-needed shower to wash away the grime and sweat he had accumulated during his vigorous routine.
Satisfied by his early morning lovemaking, the man had left the woman alone to rest and retired to the kitchen to make them breakfast. She was thin and in desperate need of fattening up. Not too much, of course, but enough for him to have something to grab onto.
She was the one, of that he was undoubtedly sure. He felt it in his bones, and it excited him far more than anything else. It was time for them to take the next step in their relationship.
Her compliance pleased him, and he figured such behaviour deserved a rare treat. The smell of sizzling bacon filled the tiny kitchen with a mouthwatering aroma.
Terry enthused, "Let's go, mate." He felt oddly alive after the harrowing events of the day before. Michael was a far better friend than he deserved.
Michael eyed his friend sceptically, "Terry, you're in no condition to report for duty." He was a danger to everyone around him, but more to himself. He was a liability in their line of work in his present state, which could prove costly and deadly.
Terry argued defiantly, "I'll go mad if I have to sit here staring at these fucking walls. I took a calming draught. I should be fine." Frankly, he desperately needed a distraction: anything to stave the anxiety away—something to divert his thoughts.
Michael gritted out in exhaustion, "You carved up your arm yesterday, and you tried to convince me to do the same so we could have matching scars. I had to fucking restrain you."
Terry shrugged casually as if what he had done was an everyday occurrence, "That was yesterday." He inconspicuously glanced at the reddish healing deep cuts on his arm and shuddered. Michael was right, he had crossed a line, but it had made perfect sense at the time.
Michael wasn't convinced, but he understood Terry's plight, "Mate, the stuff is still in your system. You aren't done detoxing."
Terry accused, "What are you afraid of? That'll I'll pop by Knockturn Alley for a refill?"
Michael nodded at once in agreement. He wouldn't put it past him. "Among other things, yes, I am. Besides, you smell like piss and look like shite." There was a week's worth of stubble on his face and the hint of a blossoming beard. Terry was an okay-looking bloke who at present resembled a bum off the streets.
Terry rolled his eyes pointedly, "Those are easily fixed." He pleaded with enough conviction and hopelessness, "Michael, if I don't get out, I will go fucking mad."
He did seem normal.
Michael groaned in defeat, "Fine, for a few hours, but I'm warning you, you will not leave my sight. I won't hesitate to use force if necessary."
Terry sneered, "Are you threatening me, arsehole?"
Michael puffed out his chest, crossed his arms over it and nodded, "Yes, I am. Try me, and you will regret it."
Terry laughed aloud, "I wouldn't have it any other way."
He inquired with an amused expression, "By the way, does Brenda hate me more?"
Michael pursed his lips and said nothing. He was more concerned by Terry's extremely calm behaviour and light banter.
The effects of the strong, calming draught were visible, but would it be as pretty when the effects wore off?
The deranged man pushed a plate burdened with food towards the frail woman and interrogated openly, "Do you like bacon, darling?"
She stared at it in disbelief. The pungent aroma hit her nostrils first, and its intensity almost made her gag, but she swallowed the bile that rose and answered timidly, "Yes, I do." It had been so long since she tasted anything with an excess of salt.
When she didn't eat, he gestured for her to tuck in. With a simple nod of his head, he bestowed his blessings upon her to soothe the growing pangs of hunger in her belly.
Unceremoniously, she grabbed the strips of bacon and stuffed them into her mouth, savouring the saltiness with her deprived tastebuds. The flavour exploded in her mouth, it was a forgotten luxury, and she felt genuine happiness.
That was until his disgusting voice tore into her thoughts, "Sarah?"
It shocked her that he referred to her by her given name. She did not know how to respond, especially considering she had no clue what his name was, but secretly she had named him "The Monster."
"Yes?" She replied weakly. Her name, she hadn't heard someone utter it in so long. It prickled her skin uncomfortably, but none more than his next question, "Are you happy here with me?" His face held a hint of a smile. He looked at her hopefully and waited impatiently for an answer.
Was he crazy? Well, of course, he was. He honestly believed his actions towards her were justified.
She stopped eating her egg and tried to find the correct answer. An answer that would soothe him and further blind him to her true intentions.
Sarah managed a smile, "I, umm...yes, I guess I am." Feed his ego. It's the only way you can escape this nightmare in one piece.
He kept the fork neatly by the side, took her trembling hand in his and cooed, "I love you so much." How she wanted to stab him in the face with her plastic fork and run out the door, but the fear of what he might do, crippled her.
She could not grasp the words that came out of his mouth so seamlessly.
Love? His sick depraved version of it.
He gushed, "I want you to meet my mother. After all, she's the most important woman in my life, after you, of course."
His eyes clouded over with longing, "No one can take your place, Sarah."
She hated the way he said her name. What right did he have after defiling her countless times?
But more importantly, was there another woman in the house? Could this mystery person help her, or was she in on it and fuelling her son's sick perversions? So many unanswered questions ran rampant through her fragile state of mind.
It was odd since she had thought his mother was long since dead. He always spoke of her as if she were deceased, but a spark of hope ignited in the pit of her being.
Sarah bobbed her head meekly, "That would be nice," she said encouragingly.
He was overjoyed, "It's settled then. I'll take you to her in a few days."
Happy with the turn of events, he ate the remaining of his meal with gusto, and she began to formulate a plan of escape just in case.
Hermione had just applied a layer of thick eyeliner when she heard a distinctive knock on the door.
She looked at the closed door, straightened, adjusted her crisp white blouse and made sure her knee-length navy blue skirt was facing the right way before calling out, "Come in."
Julia walked in with a bright, happy smile and a tall glass of orange juice, "Good morning, darling." She placed the glass on the table and sat down on the freshly made bed.
Hermione eyed the glass, took a sizeable gulp to quench her thirst and replied enthusiastically, "Morning, mum." She was in a good mood. The weekend had gone smashingly, though she ached to get to the office and start work.
Julia looked her daughter over and raved, "Don't you look lovely. Professional, yet chic."
Hermione grinned. She had been up for hours and painstakingly gone through no less than five outfits before settling for the one she wore. It was her unruly, untameable mass of wild curls that required the most attention. To match her outfit, she brushed it back and pinned it up in an elegant bun.
Making use of the extra time, she had drawn herself a warm, soothing bath and relaxed in the tub until her fingers resembled shrivelled prunes.
"Draco..." Hermione had whispered into the void countless times while she soaked herself in the rose-scented water. The pending trip to Hawaii and the events that would follow hung heavy in her mind, but it also made her toes curl in delight at the prospect of Malfoy taking her without abandon.
She spoke his name out unconsciously, it came from a place unknown to her, and it frightened her far worse than anything else could.
Julia fidgeted and shot her daughter worrying glances.
Hermione, who noticed her mother's odd behaviour, stopped applying mascara, spun around and raised a sardonic brow, "What's the matter, mum? Are you alright?"
Julia barrelled into explanation, "Yes, yes, it's just Gran let slip something about a trip to Hawaii at breakfast."
Hermione paled and quickly added further insight, "Oh, well, it's nothing to be bothered about. It's not some stupid romantic getaway. A bunch of us are going."
Julia smirked but said with seriousness, "I'm not worried about that, darling. I just wanted to make sure you're practising safe sex."
"Mum!" Hermione cried indignantly. She blushed deeply and tried to hide her embarrassment.
Julia rolled her eyes, "Come off it, Hermione."
She emphasised and stressed, "It's not like I don't know you're sexually active. I just thought an unplanned pregnancy at this moment might not be the best thing for you or Draco." Not that she would've minded a beautiful grandchild, but the timing would be horrible.
Hermione blushed crimson again and begged, "Mum, please stop. I'm not sleeping with Malfoy or anyone else, to be honest." Even she knew it was a matter of time before she caved and gave into the Malfoy Heirs scorching touch.
"Well, not yet at least," Julia mused. She always pegged her daughter as an intelligent woman except when it came to matters of the heart.
She further inquired curiously, "Haven't you been dating?" Before Malfoy's untimely entrance into Hermione's life, Julia had been a tad bit worried about her daughter's workaholic nature and lack of relationships.
Hermione shrugged sheepishly, "Not in months. There was this one guy, but it's too complicated with all that's going on."
Julia nodded in understanding, "I suppose you have a point." She had her there.
Hermione finished the juice, sat down next to her mother and asked anxiously, "What do you really think about Malfoy?" She was sure her mother thought highly of the once-abusive boy, but she wanted to be doubly sure.
Julia replied without a second's hesitation, "I meant what I said last night. I'm not trying to make you feel better, but there's something quite magical between the two of you." There was a hint of pride in the words she uttered.
Excellent choice of words, magical, indeed.
She implored, "Aren't you at least curious of what could happen between you two?"
Hermione scoffed, "I know what could happen. I know who he is, mother." But did she? Did she genuinely know who Malfoy was now? The answer evaded her with purpose.
Julia pondered with ease, "Hmm, that might be, but he turned up, was exceptionally well mannered and quite frankly went out of his way to defend you. A man who does not give a toss would hardly go to such trouble and lengths, sweetheart."
Again, her mother had delivered a perfect ringer between the eyes.
Hermione shrugged and countered, "I suppose he felt a sense of obligation."
Julia advised good-naturedly, "Just let it flow, darling. Please don't over analyse as you always do." She knew better than others how critical and rational her daughter could be, but with love, that simply wasn't possible.
Hermione cringed as she listened intently to her mother's words of wisdom. Why was everyone telling her that? Was she that insufferable to nitpick about everything?
She gave a military salute and promised, "Scouts honour."
Julia got to her feet with a smile and announced, "Come on, breakfast is getting cold."
They went down the stairs chatting about new ideas to refurbish the house.
Phyllis looked up and greeted them warmly, "Ah, good morning, love."
Hermione dropped a kiss onto her grandmother's head and helped herself to a piece of buttery toast. She bit into the crunchy goodness and yearned for more.
Richard cut a large pork sausage into bite-sized pieces and mused, "Back to the world of magic then?" He wore a light blue shirt and black trousers for work. It was the first day of the week and would be a busy one at the dental clinic.
Hermione sat down and frowned, "Yes, I'm not looking all that forward to it." Her job, she loved, it was the other things that were sure to dampen her mood.
Julia offered hopefully, "Oh, darling, you can stay for longer if you like." There was nothing more delightful than having her only child around. She enjoyed the company and girly chats.
Hermione sighed, "I wish I could. It's been so much fun." It was a refreshing change to bask in the comfort and security her parents offered without question.
Richard asked with a sarcastic connotation, "Are we going to have to wait months before you visit again?" He missed her more than he let on.
Hermione reached over, patted her father's hand and assured, "No, dad. I'll come by soon."
Phyllis instilled her own opinion, "We love having you around, dear." Though she lived by herself, she visited her son often and hardly ever saw her treasured grandchild.
Hermione was quick to respond. Her tone mirrored the admiration she had for her family, "And I adore being around you, Nana, but I do worry about you living alone."
Richard concurred, "She's right, mum. I think it's time you moved in with us. Lord knows we've been bugging you to do it for years."
Phyllis was having none of it. She waved her hand dismissively, "Ah, pish posh. I like my independence." That being said, she had almost fallen over in the bath just the other day, and that particular incident had scared her a little.
Hermione agreed but cautioned, "I understand, Gran, but it would be best if there were someone around you."
Phyllis conceded defeat, "Fine, I'll think about it, but if I do, I expect you and Draco over every Saturday for dinner." She knew once an idea got into her headstrong granddaughter's head, it was nearly possible to get away.
Hermione frowned, "Gran, Malfoy isn't a permanent fixture." For the duration of three years, he would be, and then they would part ways amicably.
Phyllis shook her head in mild disbelief but kept her thoughts to herself. Hermione was entirely oblivious to the situation at hand. Since it was easier to blame their unexpected feelings on raging hormones, they did so, but the underlying reason would probably shock them in the long run.
Hermione sneaked a peek at the clock, shovelled the remaining piece of toast into her mouth and hurriedly got to her feet, "Okay, I've got to run. I'll ring later."
Richard warned, "Bloody make sure you keep us informed about this blasted marriage. I will not be kept in the dark any longer. Do I make myself clear?"
Hermione swallowed hard and nodded slowly, "Crystal."
She kissed each of her family members fondly on the cheek, grabbed her handbag, walked into the backyard with her stylish heels clicking against the hardwood floors and looked around for any prying eyes before disapparating.
Draco slipped into the tailored pitch-black Auror robes and critically inspected his appearance in the floor-length mirror.
He was grateful for the long sleeves that covered his fading Dark Mark. The last thing he needed or wanted was the macabre snake to make its presence known.
Satisfied by the way he looked, he ran his long fingers through his hair, fetched the gold-plated name tag with DMLE insignia and pinned it boldly to the front.
His fingers brushed across the smooth surface of the new badge that held his name.
Who would've thought that Draco Lucius Malfoy would someday become an Auror? A man that upheld the law, tracked down unscrupulous characters and reported to Harry Potter.
Draco glanced at the clock. It was still early, and there would be plenty of time for a spot of breakfast before he left. He wondered whether it would be prudent to drop his intended a text message.
Narcissa raved the moment her eyes fell on her son, "My, don't you look handsome? The robes become you, son." She could hardly contain her proud delight. This was unquestionably his calling.
Draco touched the lengthy line of buttons on his robes and mused, "Black has always been my best colour."
Bernard spoke from his place at the table, "I couldn't agree more." A fond smile split the older man's face. He was exceedingly pleased with the young man standing before him.
Draco took a seat and greeted, "Bernard, good to see you. I hope all is well?" Dotty appeared at the moment and poured him a glass of cool pumpkin juice.
Bernard replied solemnly, "It is. I'm doing some research into a few missing members of my family. Finally, I seem to have made a breakthrough with a distant cousin of mine in Russia."
Draco offered comforting words, "I do hope you find what you are looking for." He was curious about what the older man was up to, but his mother's words that they mind their own business rang through his head. Bernard wasn't a man that would betray their trust.
Bernard breathed in exasperation, "You and me both, dear boy."
He perked up and wished, "Now let us wish you the best, and caution you just the same."
Draco chuckled, "I'm well aware that my employment at the DMLE will garner some mixed reactions, but that hardly matters." He was expecting some altercation but wasn't sure whether it would be mere insults or actual bodily harm.
Narcissa cautioned fearfully, "Please be careful, darling." She was aware her son had the necessary abilities to take care of himself. Still, that offered her little comfort.
Draco explained best he could, hoping it would alleviate her and offer some comfort, "Mother, the men in black are not going to take lightly to an ex Death Eater joining their ranks, but I'm there to do some good and hopefully, I'll be able to convince them of that."
Dotty interrupted without warning, "Would Master Draco like some breakfast?"
Draco smiled at the tiny elf awaiting instructions and said without haste, "Something light would be lovely. Toast and fruit if you please."
Dotty blushed at being addressed so kindly and disapparated with an audible crack to tend to her kind master's wishes.
Narcissa scolded, "That's hardly enough, Draco. You really must eat more."
Draco argued pointedly, "I get all the right nutrients. Overeating causes my mind to be more sluggish than necessary."
He grabbed a juicy green apple from the crystal bowl and bit into it enthusiastically.
Ministry of Magic
Hermione breezed into the office in high spirits. She hardly noticed her less-than-happy assistant.
Brenda nervously played with her fingers and rearranged the papers on her table for the tenth time. This whole thing with Boot was making her anxious for Michael, and she genuinely feared for his safety.
Hermione took a deep breath, dropped her handbag on the table, got behind it and lowered herself into the comfort of the sizeable chair.
It was barely nine am, and already some matters required her immediate attention. Everyone looked to her for answers during Kingsley's absence. Coincidentally, the Minister of Magic had sent her an owl.
She popped the seal eagerly and read the letter with an amused expression. Apparently, he would be returning at the end of the week because the French Minister was being a right pain in the rear. Kingsley had used a colourful slew of words to describe the arrogant, pudgy man with a thin moustache.
Brenda poked her head in and timidly requested, "Do you have a minute?"
Hermione looked up from the letter, kept it aside carefully and gave her assistant her undivided attention. Only then, she noticed the dark circles around Brenda's eyes and wondered if she had a row with Corner.
She replied at once, "Yes, of course. Come in," and urged in concern, "What's the matter? You look like you haven't slept a wink."
Brenda walked into the room, sat down on the sofa meant for guests, and exhaled, "It's Michael, but, umm, mostly it's about Terry."
That bit piqued Hermione's interest, and she questioned urgently, "What's happened?"
Brenda hesitated, unsure whether she was stepping out of place, but decided Hermione needed to know, "Terry is umm...." She couldn't bring herself to say the damaging words.
Hermione leaned forward and pressed undeterred, "What is it, Brenda?" The woman's conduct was beginning to alarm her, and she demanded an explanation.
Brenda blurted out, "He's been using cocaine for months. Michael says he's addicted."
Hermione didn't believe the words that left Brenda's mouth. She stared in utter disbelief and refused to comprehend the disturbing news.
She sat still in shock and stared deadpan at the wall and tried to understand.
Brenda coaxed, "Umm, Hermione?" Her words caused Hermione to snap out of her dazed state.
Hermione fired back, "What? That is impossible. Somebody would have noticed." It was a massive disappointment that she hadn't picked up on the subtle signs when they had been together.
Brenda hung her head and responded gravely, "Michaels with him. Terry crashed hard over the weekend."
Hermione felt her resolve crumble, "Oh, the poor bloke. I need to speak with him." She still cared about him greatly as a friend, and this turn of events was most upsetting.
Brenda replied unsurely, "Erm, I don't think they are in yet. It's debatable whether they will come in at all."
On cue, there was a knock on the opened door, and Michael hovered in the background, his face drawn and tired.
Brenda shot to her feet and hugged her boyfriend tight, and whispered words of comfort in plain view of her boss. Michael returned her enthusiasm and nearly lifted her clean off her feet.
After the night he had suffered through, Brenda and her sweet presence were to him an oasis in a desert.
Unwilling to interrupt the tender moment, Hermione kept quiet and inquired only after the couple broke apart, "Michael, where is Terry?"
Michael looked at her over his girlfriend's head and answered slowly, "In Potters office." No doubt getting an earful.
Hermione nodded in understanding and instructed, "Brenda, can you leave a message for him to come and see me once he's done."
Brenda acknowledged her boss's request with a firm nod, took hold of Michael's hand and led him out of the office.
Michael thought nothing of the exchange between the women. What he truly wanted was to knock off from work and get a good night's sleep. His body was running on empty.
Hand in hand, they walked towards the DMLE floor.
DMLE
Harry shot to his feet at once as Terry walked in and scolded, "You shouldn't be here. Go home."
What was the irresponsible git doing coming to work a day after detoxing? Was he trying to get sacked?
Harry thanked Merlin that Kingsley was away on some diplomatic trip, but unfortunately, substance abuse among the people at the DMLE was not unheard of.
Most turned to alcohol to numb the pain and forget the gruesome images that they saw daily.
Terry looked ashamed beyond words. His whole demeanour reeked of regret.
His shoulders slumped, and he spoke meekly, "I broke the law, Potter. There should be some punishment."
Harry gritted out, "And there will be, make no mistake. Your actions have put this department to shame. I had high hopes riding on you."
He warned forebodingly, "Get your act together. I'll think of something, but for fucks sake, do not go about advertising the fact that you were on drugs."
Terry shifted his feet and hung his head, "I'm sorry, Harry. It won't happen again."
Harry didn't mince words, "Sorry doesn't quite cut it. Go and do your job, but be assured I'm keeping my eye on you. Step another toe out of line, and I'll fire your arse without mercy." He had a killer to catch, and this was an unwelcome distraction, yet he would offer the support system Terry needed to come out of the dark hole he had fallen into. They always took care of their own.
Boot nodded slowly, "Understood, boss." The effects of the many calming draughts he consumed still lingered, and he found it easier to focus. He was relieved that he had escaped persecution with a mere slap on the wrist for the time being, but if he knew Potter, the worst was yet to come.
Harry stared at the closed door after Boot's departure in deep thought. Their job wasn't without stress, but to resort to something as strong as cocaine was a drastic measure and something he planned on addressing after they caught the elusive Dollhouse Strangler.
Terry almost bumped into Brenda, who lurked outside Harry's office, hoping to catch him on his way out.
She offered a slight smile and said, "Terry, hi."
Terry rubbed the back of his neck and grinned sheepishly, "Brenda, I'm sorry for hogging your boyfriend."
Brenda assured, "Please, that's alright. I hope you're feeling better."
Terry shrugged and replied awkwardly, "Loads, but there's a long way to go, I suppose."
He looked around for Michael, and when he couldn't find him, he offered helpfully, "I think Michael is in one of the interrogation rooms." A fleeting thought to escape and get himself a packet of the white dust entered his mind.
Brenda's voice bore into his thoughts, "I'm actually here to meet you. Hermione wanted to see you."
His eyes bugged out at the revelation. He demanded at once, "Blimey, does she know?" His tone turned accusatory, "Did you tell Granger about my little problem?"
Brenda averted her gaze and took an involuntary step back from the fuming man towering over her, and answered softly, "Well, yes, I did. I thought she needed to know."
Terry was beside himself with anger. His hands balled into fists, but he controlled the urge to smash the nearest table into smithereens and instead spat out harshly, "You had no fucking right. You meddlesome little cu..."
Michael's voice was low and deadly, "I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you, mate." He came from behind and moved his girlfriend out of harm's way, looking from one to the other for an explanation, "What the hell is going on?"
Terry hissed in displeasure, "She's gone and told Granger that I'm some fucking junkie."
Michael rounded on his girlfriend, "Is that true, Brenda?" Hermione's words before they left her office made perfect sense now.
Brenda was quick to defend herself, "I didn't say it like that." Boot was making it out like she gossiped about his condition and took the piss out of the situation.
Michael shook his head and chided, "You shouldn't have told Hermione." He sympathised that she did it with good intentions, but it certainly wasn't her place to do so.
Brenda argued, "She needed to know."
Michael countered, "Why? She's not his girlfriend. They're hardly anything." It was the harsh truth.
Terry bared his teeth and stormed off, leaving the couple to stare after his departing figure. He took the stairs two at a time, and by the time he arrived on the executive floor, he was exhausted, but the desire to clear his name fuelled his purposeful steps.
Draco stepped out of the Floo network and onto the crowded ground floor of the Ministry of Magic. It was bustling with people and other beings hurrying about their business. He took a moment to gather his thoughts and survey the busy scene before him.
He plunged his hand into the deep pocket and felt the handle of his wand with the tips of his long fingers.
It was almost time to report to work on his first day as an Auror, but he still had time for a detour. He skillfully sidestepped the people rushing about their work and approached the ancient lift.
Several witches threw him appreciative glances and chatted excitedly among themselves.
The doors to the lift opened. He stepped in and pressed the top button. A middle-aged, smartly dressed witch who stood at the back grew quite flustered by his presence. She pushed her spectacles up her nose and clutched the bundle of files she was carrying tightly to her chest, pressing her back hard against the metal frame of the lift.
Draco noticed he wasn't alone and flashed a flawless smile of greeting, "Good morning."
The blushing woman barely got a word out. She mumbled incoherently and stepped out the second the lift came to a halt without a backward glance.
Draco couldn't help but grin to himself. He blamed the robes for the avid attention that came his way.
Terry barged in unannounced and almost shouted, "Granger, please let me explain."
Taken back at first, Hermione composed herself enough to listen to the man breathing hard and trying to speak.
He managed to get out, "I was stressed."
Hermione couldn't help the tone of disdain that laced her words, "We are all stressed. That's no excuse for using drugs."
Terry stood his ground and gritted out, "Not all of us are perfect, Granger. You have no fucking right to judge me." He was livid that she would imply he took an easy way out.
Hermione retracted her earlier words, "I'm not judging you. Calm down, Terry." She was surprised by his conduct, but the need to help him was overpowering everything else.
She insisted, "You don't owe me any explanation, but go on if it makes you feel better."
Terry implored, "I do owe you. I care so much about you. The last person I would want to disappoint is you." That much was true. Her opinion of him meant the world, and that's why he had been so angry with Brenda for telling.
Hermione got to her feet, came around, closed the gap between them and cupped his face, "Terry, I'm not disappointed, but I'm mad with worry. Please let us help you." He leaned into her touch and inhaled the womanly fragrance that came off her in waves. It was such an irresistible smell.
Terry covered her hand with his, closed his eyes and muttered, "I'm better. I haven't touched the stuff in nearly two days."
Hermione dropped her hands from his person, took a step back and critically surveyed the man standing before her with a sheepish grin. She decided he looked decent for a man detoxing.
He explained with ease, "I took a bunch of calming draughts." More than the recommended amount.
Hermione wasn't convinced. She scoffed, "That's only a temporary solution, you know that, don't you?"
Terry agreed in a defeated tone, "I know."
Curiosity got the better of her, and Hermione found herself asking, "Why did you do it?"
Terry's face fell, and he replied gravely without hesitation, "I was having some terrifying nightmares about the dead girls." He could trust Hermione. Underneath her tough exterior was a caring, kind and loving woman.
He looked ashamed, "You must think I'm some weak sod."
Hermione stiffened when he mentioned nightmares. No one knew better than her the effects of unwanted dreams. She now wholly understood why Terry did what he did, and while she did not condone his actions, she could not fault him either.
Terry added in a defeated voice, "I took it to drive those dreams away, and before I knew it, I was drowning."
She didn't quite know what possessed her to do what she did next, but Hermione put her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. She rested her head on his chest and muttered, "I'm so sorry. I wish you had told me." Terry wasted no time in gathering her close and burying his face in the crook of her neck.
The door was open, and a deep irritated voice pierced the still air making them jump apart, "Ahem, I seem to have interrupted a private moment. My apologies, I will take my leave and visit later."
Hermione couldn't help but stare openly. He looked utterly magnificent. Terry wore a washed-out version of the identical robes, but there was no comparison. Malfoy wore them as if they were painted on him. He looked regal, electrifying, and equally menacing.
The material glided over him, fit him snugly at the right places and fell over the black trousers down to his ankles.
She caught his narrowed gaze move to where her hand rested on Terry's chest. He seemed to be staring unblinkingly at the engagement ring.
Hermione put a healthy distance between herself and Terry and said slowly after finding her voice, "Malfoy…."
Draco shot her a frosty glare and nodded curtly, "Madam Undersecretary." He had wanted to greet her before starting work and maybe sneak a kiss for good luck. The scene before him was unprecedented, and it caused a burst of anger to course through his veins. Despite his casual attitude towards her dating others, he did not take kindly to another man's hands on his betrothed.
Terry spun around and sneered, "You went ahead with it?" He could not believe Potter would hire the smug prick. It was unfathomable.
Draco purposely ignored the man in the room and said in a husky, deep voice, "I'll see you later, Granger." It was clear from his tone that he was far from pleased but kept it well hidden, turned on his heel and left without so much as a backward glance.
Hermione wanted nothing more at that moment to push Terry out of the room, grab hold of Malfoy, and stop him from leaving so she could sink her teeth into his porcelain white skin. Sadly, this was their place of work.
Although they had let their desires overtake them in the past, she could not risk her reputation by being caught in the arms of a work colleague, even if he was her intended.
Her heart sank as she watched Malfoy purposely walk away with his robes billowing behind him ominously. The echo of his purposeful footsteps grew faint as he disappeared from their line of sight.
Terry leered, "Can you believe that arsehole? How dare he!"
Hermione sighed, returned to the rightful place behind her desk, and recommended firmly, "You could do with his help." Terry had no clue what a valuable asset Malfoy was to the team.
Terry was insulted by what she foolishly proposed, "I would rather step off Big Ben and plummet to my death than ask the budding Death Eater for help."
Hermione saw just cause to defend her fiancé, "He was never a willing participant, Terry. Don't be childish."
He hated the tone of fondness she used when she spoke of Malfoy. Like she was softening towards him and falling for his fake charms.
She looked at the papers scattered across her table pointedly, "Listen, I've got to get back to work. Take care, and let's talk more later."
He insisted boldly, "Are you busy on Friday?" There might still be a silver lining in all this. If he could convince her to spend time with him, maybe she could be persuaded to look beyond their friendship and pursue something more solid.
Hermione frowned, "Terry, you know I'm marrying Malfoy. A relationship is just not in the cards."
Terry rubbed his chin and pressed undiscouraged, "So? It's not like it's a real marriage. Besides, I'm not looking for a girlfriend, just someone positive to be around."
He was genuinely in a bad place, and what sort of person would she be if she refused? After a moment's thought, Hermione retorted reluctantly, "That might be, but...umm, let me think about it."
Terry brushed the strands of long hair that fell over his eyes, and his face beamed with a happy smile, "Sounds positive. Have a good one, love."
He walked off, leaving Hermione to her thoughts.
She wished Malfoy had not seen her in that compromising position. They had agreed to see other people and were far from exclusive, but it still left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Despite all her talk, she found it hard to be intimate with more than one person at a time and with how the physical aspects of their relationship were progressing, it was only a matter of time before they ended up in bed.
Chapter 38
Notes:
Thank you so much to everyone who posted a review and for the kind, supportive words!
The first day of Auror training and certain feelings about Draco's appointment is brought out into the open.
Enjoy Chapter Thirty-Eight!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! :)
Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Arthur pushed his silver-rimmed glasses further up his nose, looked up from his pile of messy papers and smiled goodheartedly, "You're in a jolly mood, lad. Care to share the cause?"
Taken by surprise, John dropped the quill he was using and mumbled, "Oh, I've had a rather good start to the day. I'm planning a surprise for my beloved."
Perkins snorted and asked in an incredulous tone, "Beloved? Don't tell me you have a girlfriend?" That would certainly be a bizarre turn of events. John wasn't exactly what you would call a ladies' man.
Arthur cautioned, "Perkins, that is enough." He never understood the man's constant need to harass John. It was disturbing to witness the pleasure he derived from it.
Perkins defended at once, "What? It was just a question. I meant no disrespect, boss." It wasn't his fault they took it out of context.
John played with his fingers, stared at his polished black shoes and said shyly, "She's lovely, intelligent, and I'm going to marry her." His patience would be rewarded. For years he had waited for the perfect woman.
Perkins leered openly. He didn't even have the decency to be subtle about it, "Tough luck for her, mate." It came out before he could put the brakes on, but he regretted nothing.
Arthur glared sternly, "Don't listen to him, John. I'm glad to see you happy." He was getting tired of Perkin's irresponsible behaviour. It was one thing to voice your opinion, but to be openly cruel was unacceptable.
He enthused, "Go on then. When's the big day?"
John replied slowly, "Oh, it'll be a very private ceremony." He had no family or friends, and her family would be unable to attend, but she would be his whole world once they were married.
Perkins could not help the callous laugh that bubbled to the surface. He taunted frankly, "Bollocks. She's not real, is she? Is she one of those Muggle life-like sex dolls?"
Arthur inserted innocently, yet jokingly, "You seem to know a great deal about them, mate. Did you get one after Monica ran off with that fit bloke?" It wasn't his way to mock others, but Perkins desperately needed a dose of his own medicine. The man was a complete horror to be around.
Perkins shifted uncomfortably in his chair and struggled to control the anger that surged through him. It was public knowledge that his wife left him after seventeen bloody years of marriage.
What kind of a woman does that? He thanked Merlin they didn't have children. Not that he was the fatherly sort, to begin with.
He had been devasted, especially considering the boy toy with whom she was currently involved. There was no doubt the young sod was barely thirty, but apparently, age was just a number, and they were in love. Whatever that meant. It made him want to vomit every time it came to mind.
John tried to ignore the jibe from the petty man, but it was futile, and he frowned to show his displeasure, "Why would I lie?" The thought of a sex doll sickened him, but unlike humans, the China dolls his mother collected were perfect with white porcelain skin and painted smiles which always captivated him. No matter what he did, they were always happy.
Perkins spat out spitefully, "Because your fucking strange, and it's hard to imagine a woman would want to sleep with you." They were all thinking about it. Only he dared to say it aloud.
John slowly raised his head, stared his hated colleague straight in the face and snarled, "I am not strange." He hated the word. His mother preferred to call him an oddity. A fat lot of good it did her.
Perkins reeled back in fear at the intensity in John's eyes. They say never provoke a quiet man. John's actions reminded him of the age-old saying.
Unable to bear it any longer, Arthur brought his hand down on the table with a crack and admonished, "Perkins, I will not warn you again."
He turned to John and reassured, "Ignore him, son," and added somewhat cheerfully, "Okay. Well, I hope to meet her someday."
Arthur pushed the files aside and pulled out a folder that had clearly seen better days and queried, "Are you done with documenting the exploding toilet incident in Surrey? He thought an immediate change in conversation was in everyone's best interests.
John picked up a neat stack of papers, got to his feet and walked the short distance between his wooden table and his bosses. He placed it on Arthur's desk and beamed with pride, "Yes, I finished it last night."
Perkins scowled and said in a low, barely audible voice, "Fucking kiss arse."
Arthur heard the other man in the room grumble and questioned firmly, "Perkins, what about you? I've been waiting on the Smith case report for weeks." The man was useless. He would have a few words with him, again.
Flashing a sheepish grin, Perkins answered meekly, "Almost done, boss." That was far from true. He had barely skimmed the surface of the detailed report.
John scowled at Perkins, trying to find yet another excuse for why he never delivered his work on time.
He hadn't uttered a cruel word towards his colleague for the man to be so unpleasant towards him. Some people were born pricks, but they constantly got what they deserved in the end.
Draco stormed down the Ministry stairs in a proper jealous fit. It was plain to see that another's slimy hands on his intended romantically was causing some rather distressing feelings to rear their ugly two-faced head. He had never been good with sharing.
Friends? He had been a complete fool to believe Boot meant nothing to her. Yet, he had trusted her word undoubtedly. This was Granger. She was a woman you could trust. She had all these principles and whatnot that put others to shame.
Also, hadn't they agreed to see others? Yes, they most definitely had. Then why did he want to grab Terry by the collar and smash his stupid face into the nearest wall? That would have been most satisfying.
This would not do. He needed to gain a better command of his emotions and temper. Granger was well within her right to converse, snog, and shag anyone she saw fit.
Draco swallowed the bitter taste of acid the words left in his mouth and exhaled in a pointless attempt to regain control. This drama was a horrible inconvenience and unwelcome distraction before heading into his first day as an Auror. Brushing away such disturbing thoughts, he cleared his head and took the flight of stairs that led to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
He pushed the glass doors open and strode through them confidently. The administration assistant snapped out of her boredom and gave him an appreciative once over, unconsciously she undressed him with her eyes, pushing her bosom out as she greeted him enthusiastically.
Countless suitors had told her in the past that they were pretty appealing, and she saw no harm in using them to her advantage when the need arose.
Men were generally pigs, but she would gladly make an exception for the man coming towards her. He was a delectable treat smothered in white chocolate.
Draco ran his fingers through his hair and tussled strands fell over his face. It was an enduring touch. He greeted the woman with a flawless smile, "Good morning."
Merlin, his husky tones sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. She clamped her legs together and braved a look at his brand-new name tag. There it was, shining bold as brass, his name - Draco Malfoy.
She knew that name. His had been a highly publicised trial, but things were different now. It was nearly ten years since the war. People were different, or one could hope they were. She smiled broadly, "Good morning, Mr Malfoy, and welcome to the team."
Draco thanked her for her kind words and walked the short distance to Potter's office. Many turned his way, talking in hushed tones among themselves, but he purposely ignored them and concentrated on reaching his desired destination without too much of a hassle.
He came to an abrupt halt outside Harry's office, took a deep breath to relax and knocked on the heavy oak door. Seconds passed, and the unmistakable sound of the Head Auror's voice came through, "Come in."
Draco pushed the door open slowly and stepped into the carpeted room. He stood silently awaiting further instruction, taking the time to study the other recruits standing in the corner wearing similar black robes to his.
They were a good deal younger than him. He would be right in his assumption since most were straight out of Hogwarts. They were a nervous bunch, except for one that stood with his hands folded neatly behind his back, head held high.
Draco recognised him as the arrogant one who had joined him when getting new robes.
Harry looked up and said confidently with a curt nod, "Ah, Malfoy. Right on time." He had half expected the pampered Prince not to turn up. This would be most interesting.
Draco walked over to where the others were speaking to each other and tried to make small talk, "I'm Mal..," but he hardly got the words out.
The man scoffed, "Oh, I know who you are. Voldemort's youngest follower." He looked Draco over in repulsion and gritted out, "Why are you even here?"
Draco had no false sense of hope that his presence would be welcome. He cleared his throat pointedly, "That was a long time ago, and I didn't quite catch your name?"
"Dennis Creevey," The mousy hair-coloured man almost spat. He emphasised his surname proudly but was left wanting. Draco had no idea he was the younger brother of Colin Creevey.
Colin had been a brave soul who unfortunately fell at the hands of Voldemort's supporters once they breached the walls of the Hogwarts castle. He died a hero, and Harry, in particular, was traumatised by his death. The young lad had meant a great deal to him.
On cue, Harry walked over to them, clamped Dennis on the shoulder and said in a carrying voice with a hint of unmistakable pride, "It's so good to see you back in England, Dennis. Your brother would be very proud."
Harry couldn't help the look of resentment he shot Malfoy, but his former nemesis paid him no mind and stared at Dennis with a pained expression.
Returning to his place behind his sizeable desk, Harry instructed everyone to step closer and handed each a small booklet of sorts, preparing himself to run them through the plan. He had done it plenty of times but a bunch of fresh faces eagerly hanging onto his every word still made him slightly nervous.
He looked at the recruits waiting silently for him to begin speaking. Only Malfoy looked anything other than intimidated. The tall blonde patiently stood right at the back, away from the limelight and surveyed the gathered group.
Harry cleared his throat loudly, "Right, listen up, you lot."
He smiled at the new trainees and greeted them enthusiastically, "First of all, it gives me great pleasure to welcome you into the Auror program. You have been selected following your N.E.W.T results to pursue a career in law enforcement."
Practised words left his lips with ease, "You will go through a month of training and by the end of it, some of you will continue, but sadly, others will not." Nearly sixty per cent would fail the strenuous course.
He emphasised with great importance, "Each of you will be paired with an experienced Auror who will be your partner and mentor for all intent and purposes. They will educate you about working in the field and, most importantly, teach you all about teamwork. If we work as a unit, we survive as one."
Harry held up a copy of a tattered book he handed out over his head and stressed, "The book in your hands is your holy grail. It holds your assigned assessments and classes. Do not lose it and keep it with you at all times."
All trainees hurriedly read over the written words, and most took the gruelling schedule presented to them without fuss. Draco skimmed over the contents, confident that it wouldn't require too much skill to master.
Harry questioned the group in general, "Have I made myself clear?"
There was a nodding of heads, and some responded with a quick, "Yes, sir."
Harry smiled and encouraged, "Good. Any questions?" He didn't run the department on fear and intimidation like his predecessor. It was of the utmost importance that those he managed felt comfortable enough always to approach him with any problem.
Terry's situation prickled his skin uncomfortably. He wished the man had come to him about his struggles. There were many ways to help overcome such situations.
Almost every newcomer shook their heads, and the remaining few looked undecided but went along with the rest.
Satisfied by their lack of needless questions, Harry came around the table, walked over to the door, threw it open and enthused, "Right. Let's go meet your partners, shall we?"
The gathered young witches and wizards enthusiastically followed him out while chatting among themselves softly. Draco straightened to his full height and trailed behind with less enthusiasm.
Harry entered the bowels of the hectic division where nearly every Auror or Ministry worker was going over files, talking to each other about pending cases or arguing over forensic methods.
He spoke in a magically magnified voice over the noise, "Can I have everyone's attention?"
The second the words left his lips, pin-drop silence followed, and every single person within earshot gave him their undivided attention.
He gestured with his head towards the recruits standing behind him and introduced, "These are our new trainees."
Critical eyes skimmed over the black-clad new Aurors sizing them up, wondering if any among the bunch had what it took to be a part of the renowned department, but that was momentary as each person came to notice the familiar yet striking, pale-faced man among the crowd.
A deep voice from the back bellowed, "Why the fuck is that Death Eater joining our ranks?" It was more a statement than a question.
Draco felt his blood run cold. He closed his eyes, kept his composure, and thought, better now in front of everyone than later.
Terry narrowed his eyes and glared. He leaned against his desk and pursed his lips. He desperately wanted to hurl an insult, but after an arduous internal struggle, he settled against it after Harry's last words to him rang through his head.
Another sneering voice filled the space, "Didn't your father rot away in Azkaban, Malfoy?" There was a collective murmur, and a burst of mocking laughter followed. Many had taken great pleasure in throwing the once-great Lucius Malfoy into Azkaban.
Draco took a deep calming breath and remembered his teachings. Master Chun's words about patience and tolerance echoed through his mind. Let them say whatever they wanted about his father, Salazar knew he deserved it, but an unkind word against his mother he would not tolerate so easily.
A beefy heavy-set woman with a noticeable scar down her face came forward, crossed her arms over her ample bosom and hissed, "Are we supposed to work with and trust this two-faced git with our lives?" It was clear from her staggering arrogance and stance that she was respected among her peers. Many nodded in agreement and waited impatiently for Harry to answer.
Her straightforward statement gave others the strength to voice their opinions.
"What were you thinking, Potter, hiring this scum?"
"Kick him out, or there's going to be trouble."
The recruits moved away from Draco, leaving him exposed and vulnerable to any unprovoked attack that might follow. Still, he stood his ground with his hands at his back and face entirely emotionless. His fingers gently brushed over the black stones of his bracelet. If there was a time for lady luck to smile upon him, it was most certainly now.
An unexpected smile curved the ends of Harry's lips upwards. He slowly moved to stand in front of Draco and bared his teeth at the large group of seasoned Aurors glaring daggers his way.
Harry narrowed his eyes and snarled, "Where do you lot get off trying to tell me what to do? This is my fucking department and who I hire and why is none of anyone's business except for the Minister of Magic." He spoke slowly enough to draw attention to his point.
He pressed urgently, "I will never put anyone in danger, and I happen to believe Malfoy will be a valuable asset." His work meant a great deal to him, and past issues aside, Harry truly believed Malfoy could be a beneficial resource. Unbeknownst to others, he would keep his eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. Malfoy was on a short leash, but he kept that bit to himself.
The earlier hefty and dominating woman roared sarcastically, "Asset or spy? Bullshit, I don't trust the bastard."
Draco bit the inside of his cheek and swallowed the nasty retort that almost burst forth. He silently willed himself to keep his wits about him and not antagonise the beast any further.
Harry forewarned, "That is quite enough, Martha." The woman was capable of snapping him in half like a toothpick. She had to be dealt with calmly, if possible.
Malfoy thought it best to offer a further explanation on the matter. He could hardly let Potter defend him.
He took a step forward and stood by Potter's side. Harry looked at him in alarm and wished the man would not do or say anything stupid.
Draco addressed the frustrated crowd in a voice loud enough to be heard, "Look, get it out of your system because I'm here to stay, and your little insults aren't about to drive me away. I made mistakes when I was a blooming kid. Who the fuck hasn't? But I'm here today to try and make a wrong a right."
A man in faded robes that were more grey than black limped forward and growled, "You cocky fuck. Your bloody father and his gang of pureblood fanatics almost destroyed our way of life, and we're supposed to give you a chance?"
Draco saw the numerous burn marks and distinctive pattern of slashes across the man's arm and involuntary shuddered as a painful memory rose to the surface.
He knew the culprit responsible for the vicious yet precise cuts. He had seen it done countless times, and the screams of pain had haunted his dreams for years. His aunt Bellatrix had always been a sadistic cunt.
The same man argued, "I say no. You cannot be trusted." The offspring of a prominent Death Eater simply could not be relied upon, especially one that bore the dreaded mark.
Draco tried a different approach. He could hardly appeal to the softer side of hardened Aurors who had seen their fair share of horrors, but he tried nonetheless, "Am I to blame for my father's ideologies? Would you penalise the son for his father's actions?"
Terry had heard enough. He sprang to his feet and accused in disgust, "Don't fucking lie to our faces and pretend like you didn't look down your nose at Muggleborns. At Hogwarts, you took sick satisfaction in calling them Mudbloods."
Draco flinched. Sadly, it was the truth, and there wasn't a viable word he could say in his defence.
Terry pressed forward triumphantly, "You hated them and treated everyone like they were second class citizens."
Draco knew precisely the kind of boy he had been at Hogwarts. Instead of coming up with some ridiculous excuse for his behaviour, he owned up to it and took full responsibility for his actions.
He countered with absolute misery, "I did hate them because I was misguided enough to believe they didn't belong, but I couldn't have been more wrong." He fondly thought of Granger and their upcoming nuptials.
A hooded man watched the unravelling scene before him intently from the shadows. He didn't utter a word, only watched with a disapproving frown. The Malfoy kid had some guts. Grudgingly he had to give him that.
Undeterred by the judgmental glances that came his way, Draco pleaded ardently, "I've never killed anybody, and this is my way of doing something right for once in my life."
The man with the limp narrowed his eyes and warned darkly, "I'm watching you, Malfoy. Step one toe out of line, and I'll personally end the Malfoy line." The young wizard's speech had some impact on him. He knew firsthand how damaging a parent's influence could be to a young child. His father had a raging alcoholic, and while he wasn't a pureblood frantic, he had been a monster in his own right.
Another harsh voice made it to everyone's sensitive ears, "Potter might believe in second chances, but we certainly fucking don't."
Harry had just about enough. He had patiently listened after his initial outburst, and the fact that his colleagues thought him to be some weakling caused anger to ignite in the pits of his being.
He thundered for all to hear, "I'm not here to cater to everyone's personal agendas. Malfoy stays. My decision is final. If anyone has a problem with that, my door is open to discussing it further, though I warn you, it will be a waste of your time and mine."
Harry walked to where an enlarged picture of the Daily Prophets front page was pinned up.
The words Dollhouse Strangler were easy to see. He pointed to it and scolded, "We have far more important things to attend to. Get back to work!" Most shot disapproving glances, but they let the matter slide momentarily and hurriedly returned to work.
Without wasting another moment, Harry pulled out a lengthy list from his coat pocket and informed, "I'll be calling out your partners. Please step forward when you hear your name."
He had purposely left Malfoy for last, knowing another bout of drama would follow. The others were paired up, and everyone seemed at perfect ease except the bloke who got partnered with the hefty angry-looking woman who was quick to call him a pussy.
Harry moved towards the darkness that covered a small side of the room. He knew exactly where to look. It was a sacred area that none dared to enter without invitation.
He raised his voice but kept his directive more polite than he had with the rest, "Thomas, you will partner with Malfoy."
Draco curiously peered into the shadows. Darkness was nothing new to him. He welcomed and thrived in it. He anxiously watched for any movement, as did the others in the room. His fingers prickled with the sensation of centuries-old magic running through his veins.
The seasoned veteran stepped out of the dimly lit corner, lowered the hood that covered his face and scrunched up his nose. He thought the whole idea was ludicrous.
He was respected, and feared by his peers and fought in two wars against Voldemort and his merry gang of misguided lunatics.
He had been overlooked for the head of the department by Kingsley, who favoured The Chosen One in his stead. The Minister thought it would assure the Wizarding World that their security was in good hands. Potter was loved, revered and looked better in pictures than an armless man with numerous battle scars littering his face.
If the truth was told, he was still sore about that. Potter was exceptionally talented but still lacked the ability to head the department. The young wizard was learning. He had to credit him where it was deserved.
Alastair Moody had been his trainer and later his partner. Rookie Nymphadora Tonks tagged along with them after she arrived, eager to learn and make her mark on the world. Her death was a tragic loss.
Working with a branded Death Eater was unheard of. It went against everything they stood for, and he wasn't going to have any part of it.
Thomas strode forward with a confident stride and twirled his wand absentmindedly, "No offence, boss, but I want nothing to do with Malfoy's brat." Others quickly stepped out of the way to accommodate the imposing man's purposeful stride.
Harry was incredibly fed up with the disobedience of his team. He had decided to pair the two up because Malfoy would require less training than the others but needed someone to show him how to be street-smart.
He gritted out, "Mind your attitude. I won't have past prejudges hanging over us."
Thomas leered, "I won't do it, Potter, and I daresay you can't make me." He wouldn't be ordered to do anything against his will. The department was his life. He had no wife or child because he had come to harsh terms with the job detail early on, and he would not stand by and watch Potter ruin it, even if he was Kingsley's golden boy.
Harry fired back, "You have no bloody say in the matter." It was his decision, his call, and while the senior members of the team had a profound issue with his leadership, he would not tolerate blatant insubordination, even from his most experienced Auror. An Auror, who his mentor, Moody, had held in high regard.
A womanly voice cut through the tension like a heated knife through a stick of butter, "Oh for fucks sake."
Thomas glanced over his shoulder and questioned, "Abbott, something you like to add?" He was fond of the blonde-haired woman, her eagerness to learn reminded him of Tonks.
Her confidence slightly weaned after being addressed by Thomas, but keeping her head on straight, she adjusted her jacket, came to the front and spoke to Harry directly, "I'll do it. I'll partner with Malfoy if that's alright with you, Harry."
Harry was taken aback and then realised it was a far better fit than his original choice. He nodded, wordlessly giving his consent that it was okay. Internally he was beyond relieved that Hannah stepped up.
She had a few issues dealing with typical male chauvinists who regarded her as too pretty and fragile to be an Auror. It was a male-dominated field, except for a few exceptions, but she was twice as bright and meticulous about her approach to the job.
Hannah couldn't help the resentment creep into her words, "You buggers are acting like a bunch of two year old's." She wore her badge and robes proudly, but some instances made her cringe.
A tanned man heckled from the back, garnering laughter from the rest, "Wetting your knickers already, Hannah?" It was a crude, pointless comment.
Terry grabbed hold of her arm, pulled her to his side before she could answer and demanded, "Abbott, what the hell are you doing?"
Hannah's eyes settled on where Boot's fingers dug into her flesh. She warned ominously, "None of your fucking business, now I suggest you unhand me immediately."
Draco took a step forward. He wasn't about to stand on the sidelines and watch Boot maltreat Hannah, especially not after the way she had stood up for him. Still, Harry stopped him midstride and spoke directly to Terry in a menacing tone that none had heard before, "This is your last warning to let her go."
Michael stepped in at once. Terry dropped his hand off her person instantly and apologised profusely, "I'm sorry, Hannah." Merlin knew what possessed him. He felt on edge and grew alarmed that the effects of the many calming draughts he had consumed were leaving him.
The bronzed man openly mocked, "He's not going to fuck you, darling. Unless he's utterly desperate." The bold statement had nearly everyone reeling around in shock.
Hannah spun around so fast it was a blur. She held her wand out and hexed the tall, dark man effortlessly before biting back, "He's got a better chance than you, love." The man toppled over and vigorously struggled to remove the sticky tape that now covered his vile mouth.
She came to stand by Draco and smirked, "You okay there, Malfoy?"
Draco grinned in a grateful manner, "I'll live." He peeked a look at the man still moving on the floor and stifled a laugh, "Nice work."
He dropped his voice so only she could hear and inquired unsurely, "Are you sure about this?"
Hannah shrugged, "Yeah, how bad could it be?"
She gave an encouraging smile, "I'll take you through the ropes after your training session today."
A strict-looking older woman entered the area and clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. All eyes fell on her, and she announced loudly, "Will all the newbies, please follow me to the training arena.
She turned on her heel, glanced over her shoulder and scolded, "Hurry up now. We don't have all day," and exited the area with the recruits following her out.
Hannah gave Draco a thumbs up and mouthed, "Catch you later then."
Terry stared at the exchange, Michael shifted his feet uneasily and kept a watchful eye over his best friend, and Thomas scrutinised Draco, wondering what the boy's true intent was.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief and supposed things could have gone much worse. At least, no blood was spilt. Yet.
Hermione drummed her fingers on the table and slipped into an avid daydream of her own making.
Malfoy did look utterly irresistible in his uniform. An erotic scenario painted itself within her mind.
Draco burst into her room with a look of hunger in his eyes, his usually straight hair dishevelled in an unruly swirl.
He approached her hurriedly, grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her onto the table and rasped in utter desperation, "Granger, I can't stop thinking about you. Let me take you. I want you here and now, my darling."
Steady on, Malfoy. Whatever happened to wooing a woman?
His fingers were already making their way up her thin silk blouse to cup sizeable breasts that had filled out since Hogwarts.
All Hermione could do to calm the raging hormones in her body was nod and offer herself to him whole.
His mouth descended upon hers, intent on claiming her lips in a searing kiss that quite often rendered her senseless.
Brenda walked in to inform Hermione of her morning meeting but found her boss with her eyes closed, lips puckered and, frankly, in another world.
What the blooming heck?
She interrupted hesitantly at first. By the looks of it, Hermione was in the midst of such an ecstatic dream, "Ahem, Hermione?" When she didn't get an answer, Brenda raised her voice enough for her boss to snap out of her dazed state, "Hermione! Your eleven o'clock appointment is here."
"No!" Hermione cried in frustration as the dream of Malfoy evaporated.
She blinked rapidly, looked up, blushed and tried to hide her discomfort, "Oh, yes, sorry. Dozed off there."
Brenda raised a sceptical brow and led the smartly dressed man who had been waiting into the room.
Before the meeting started, Hermione pondered how Malfoy was getting on. She unconsciously hoped he was still in one piece.
Draco quickly learned the strict older woman was called Audrey Jones. She was a retired Auror who handled the training of people with a firm, no-nonsense attitude and an iron fist. She was willing to help and quick to analyse.
They did a few drills that most wizards and witches could handle—disarming charms, protective charms and how best to deflect an unfavourable hex coming your way.
Draco lazily went through the motions because it was expected, but he could've done all that was taught with his eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back.
He thought it wise with his current predicament to keep to himself and complete the tasks assigned to him, completing them with such flair and style it caused the others to stop and stare at him in awe. The only person who showed him any contempt was Dennis Creevey.
Audrey walked over and circled Draco like a predator would its prey and nodded curtly to show her approval, "Impressive, Mr Malfoy." He was a natural, but she assumed that he was far more advanced and competent than the rest because of his age. She, of course, had no real clue about the other talents that had prompted Potter to hire him.
Draco mumbled a quick, "Thank you," and returned to the task at hand, deflecting a fireball aimed directly at his chest by the nervous petrified girl he was practising with. He almost lazily brought his wand across, and the burning ball transformed into a fluffy ball of snow that landed near his feet.
He offered the girl an encouraging smile, and she seemed to relax around him afterwards. As the minutes dragged on, he gave her a few pointers on handling certain things, and unlike the rest that shunned him, she eagerly drank up all the information.
She was an innocent-looking little thing with chestnut brown hair, eyes the colour of melted chocolate and braces. They exchanged a few pleasantries, and Draco discovered her name was Emily Taylor. She was in Ravenclaw, graduated at the top of her class, had an aptitude for potions, and quite bizarrely knew extraordinarily little about who he was. It was a refreshing change.
Audrey walked around the class observing and barking instructions.
"Better form, Mr Creevey. Hold your stance for longer."
"That was shite, Jason. You can do better, son."
"Good work, Miss Charlotte. That was a good first attempt."
"Heavens, Kyle! What have you done to this poor girl?"
At the end of two hours, Audrey stood at the front of the large room and spoke to the recruits, "Good job. You have an hour's break. Use it wisely and return. Do not be late. If one of you is late, then all will suffer the consequences."
She waved her hand with authority, "Dismissed."
Emily tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and smiled broadly at Draco, "Thank you for all the terrific tips."
Draco assured, "Ah, that's quite alright. Glad they were useful."
They chatted on the way out, but Hannah's voice stopped him from going any further, "Malfoy!"
He turned towards the sound and found Hannah leaning against the wall with her feet crossed at the ankles, and an amused expression spread across her face.
Draco politely excused himself from Emily and walked over to Hannah. He raised a curious brow and inquired, "Erm, what exactly are you doing here?"
She smirked, "Come on, let's get lunch. I'm bloody starving." Grabbing his arm, she pulled him towards what he assumed was the cafeteria.
Draco glanced at the woman holding tightly onto his arm and couldn't help but like her. She was fearless, intelligent, pretty and good at her job.
The large cafeteria was packed with Ministry employees having lunch and chatting animatedly during the one hour they had to themselves.
They stood in line patiently, and Hannah whispered, "I'd stay away from the pudding if I were you. It's disgusting."
Draco laughed quietly, "I'll remember that." That was great advice considering his fondness for all things chocolate.
Many people passing by threw Draco suspicious looks, moved purposely away from him as he was carrying some transmittable disease, and started talking amongst themselves, which caused Hannah to sigh in exasperation and roll her eyes.
Their turn came up, and a cheerful elderly woman asked Hannah first, "Hello love, what can I get you today?"
Hannah beamed, "The usual, Gladys and my friend here would like...." She turned to Draco and waited for him to answer.
"Oh, sorry. A chicken sandwich and cup of tea, please," He answered off the bat. Gladys grinned, placed a tray in front of them, and their order materialised out of thin air.
Hannah picked up the tray. They thanked the ageing lunch lady and walked towards one of the last empty tables, sidestepping through the crowds of people surrounding them.
Draco plopped down onto a seat, and Hannah followed suit. He took his sandwich out of the protective case it was in and said before sinking his teeth into it, "Thank you for what you did earlier. That took some nerve." She had singlehandedly stood up to her entire department to help him.
Hannah bit into her beef burger and chuckled with her mouthful. She managed to say between mouthfuls, "Think nothing of it. Look, I'm not saying you weren't an arse back at Hogwarts because you were, but that was years ago, and I'm hoping you've changed."
Draco concurred, "I have changed. It took a war for me to realise how wrong I had been about everything."
Hannah touched his sleeve and reassured him, "Stop beating yourself up over it. You're here now, so make the best of it."
They made light conversation about Hannah's starting days as an Auror and the challenges she faced then and now, and where he had been for the best part of ten years. They ate the rest of their meal in companionable silence.
Once Draco swallowed the last bit of his delicious sandwich, he pushed back the chair, got to his feet and said politely, "Excuse me, I need to use the little boy's room."
Hannah giggled and pointed the way, "Knock yourself out, Malfoy."
Her meeting over, Hermione glanced at the clock, and heard the distinctive sound of her stomach rumbling with hunger but pushed it aside and thought it was the perfect time to visit Teddy.
She grabbed her bag, slipped on her recently purchased Gucci sunglasses and breezed out of her office. She informed Brenda, "I'm stepping out for lunch. Ring me if anything important comes up."
Brenda looked up from the book she was scribbling in and acknowledged, "Have fun."
Once again, Hermione's thoughts went to Malfoy. She wondered if he had lunch and how he was getting on. Merlin, she was beginning to simper after him, and that really would not do.
Draco opened the sink tap in the public toilet and let the water run for a bit before washing his hands and splashing cool water on his face.
It was while he washed his face, his vision obscured that he heard the clear sound of leather shoes and the unmistakable sound of a latch closing him in. The incoherent muffled ramblings of whoever it was were hard to make out.
It was a typical cliche scene out of every gangster movie, or high school teen movie but still held enough magic to entertain.
The drops of water cascaded down Draco's face as he opened his eyes, brought his head up and through the mirror, caught sight of four men in Auror robes standing around him.
He calmly finished the task he started and waited for the men closing in around him to make the first move. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco kept watch over their slow and sluggish movements.
Terry cracked his knuckles. This was the distraction he needed from his current predicament. Malfoy would soon learn his place. That spot was not as an Auror and not by Hermione's side.
There wasn't much Draco could do against three skilled Aurors, four if you counted Michael, but he stood in the background and refused outright to take part. It would be simple if it were a fair fistfight, but wands drawn at such close range made it nearly impossible.
Terry sneered, "You have some nerve showing your face here, don't you, Malfoy?"
Draco wiped his hands clean, tossed the tissue into the bin and mused, "Do you make it a habit of following men to the lavatory?"
Terry narrowed his eyes and spat, "You think you're being funny, do you?" Why don't you quit before things get out of hand."
Draco turned around, faced the men with a bored expression and said slowly, "I don't want trouble, mate." That much was true. He wanted to be left alone to atone for the sins of his past, not pile new ones on top of each other.
A man standing to the left took a step forward and scowled, "Well, trouble's found you. We put away your filthy kind."
Terry pressed undiscouraged, "You have no place here, scum." Granger is mine.
Draco almost laughed, but he goaded with calmness, "I was wondering when you would grow the balls to confront me, or perhaps, you're scared I'll break something else this time?"
Terry was reminded of their humiliating altercation at the Leaky Cauldron. He paled, shook with anger and gritted out, "Do you really think a pathetic, pampered twat like you could keep Hermione happy?"
Draco refused to back down. He replied somewhat smugly, "Hmm, she hasn't complained so far, mate." If only he knew just how receptive she was to his touch.
Terry did not believe anything intimate had taken place between the two. Hermione would never sleep with Malfoy. His confidence waned, "Liar. Shut up!"
Draco was growing tired of their conduct. The hour was almost up, and he needed to return to his training session or suffer Audrey's wrath, and he had no desire to receive that.
He tried to exit, but Terry blocked his path and crossed his arms over his chest.
Draco felt his composure slip. He hissed darkly, "Move out of my way, Boot."
Terry needed a diversion. He wanted to cause Malfoy pain, "Make me, Death Eater."
Draco exhaled, stepped back and ridiculed, "The name-calling is getting rather juvenile, isn't it?"
Michael sprang into action, tried to pull Terry away and pleaded, "Let it go, Terry. Come on, mate, or Potter will fire you."
Terry broke free from his best friend's secure hold and snarled, "Get off me, Corner."
He jabbed Draco in the chest and addressed him directly, "This is payback for breaking my nose, bastard."
Draco mused, "Is this about your nose or Granger? Because trust me, she doesn't give a toss about you."
The harsh truth in Malfoy's words caused Terry to relapse. His eyes glazed over, and sweat dripped down his back. He balled his hands into fists and instructed the others firmly, "Hold him."
Draco stood still as solid hands held him straight against the wall, and long fingers dug painfully into his upper arms.
It wouldn't do to be caught fighting on his first day. To show he wasn't afraid of them.
He didn't lift a finger to stop them. Instead, he decided to endure whatever came his way. However, he could help the sarcastic retort that left his lips, "Oh, very heroic. Three on one, you must be so bra...."
His last word was cut short as a hard punch landed on his ribs. He would be lying if he said it didn't knock the wind out of him, but there was hardly time to react as a fist collided with his face busting his lip.
It was then it hit him. They were not using magic. Magic left marks that could be traced back to the owners but mainly, using one's fists was more satisfying than resorting to a wand.
Draco saw drops of blood spray in slow motion through a haze onto the clean white tiles of the bathroom, but still, he did not resort to his Kung fu training or wandless magic to thwart the cowardly attacks.
He heard Master Chun's last words of advice echo through his mind and knew his decision was the wisest course.
"You have a good life waiting for you; make it a good one… Don't forget our ways."
He closed his eyes tightly and nodded, holding firm to Chun's words, repeating them over and over to give him the strength to endure.
"It is my way of life. I will never deviate from this path."
He meditated to control his inner demons. One's who, if given leave to take flight, might have slaughtered every one of his assailants. Knowing its bite was fatal, the black mamba chose peace over violence, never to allow the terrors he had mastered to come forth once more.
They had been banished before he had left the gate of the Shaolin Temple and they would stay banished. Only the peaceful flicker of a yellowing paper lantern lit his way. A continuous stream of merciless blows connected with all parts of his body until he slumped in the arms of his captives, coughed up blood and hovered between consciousness.
The men holding him exchanged looks of concern, threw anxious glances at Terry's bloodied knuckles and let go. Draco fell forward onto the dirty floor. He gathered all his remaining strength, got on all fours, spat a mouthful of blood and laughed manically, "Granger is mine, and nothing you do will change that, arsehole."
An angry growl of unadulterated rage filled the small space as Terry lept forward, but Michael held him back with all the strength he could muster and barked, "Are you trying to fucking kill him? That is enough!"
Terry looked quite deranged now that the effects of the calming draughts had left his system. He yelled at Draco lying on the floor, spit flying out of his mouth like a rabid dog, "You dishonour her and disgrace this badge. Fuck off while you still can."
The last thing Draco saw before darkness claimed him was Michael dragging an unwilling Terry out of the bathroom as the latter screamed a slew of obscenities trying to escape his vice grip.
Finally alone, Draco groaned as he rolled over, stared at the ceiling and tasted the rustic metallic taste of blood on his lips before the room started to spin and everything went black.
Chapter 39
Notes:
Thank you for the kind reviews. I will reply to each one soon :)
It's been a difficult month, to say the least, but things will seem normal once again with time.
The unprovoked attack on Draco spreads through the Ministry.
Teddy and Draco officially meet, and it's the sweetest introduction. I love Teddy Lupin :)
There's a lot of detail throughout the story, I hope everyone's enjoying it so far.
Enjoy Chapter Thirty-Nine! 🤗
Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :) 🥰
Chapter Text
Harry grabbed his sandwich around the middle, took a large bite and almost choked. He assumed if he kept it up, he could devour the cold turkey treat Ginny had lovingly packed for him in four bites and be out the door to meet the potential eyewitness in the case.
Alas, the distinctive sound of a loud knock interrupted his quick lunch break, and he looked at the door with a frown on his face. The untimely intrusion was not in the least bit welcome.
After their horrid fight over the weekend, Harry had every intention of finishing early and spending the rest of the evening with Ginny and James. He wanted to tuck his son in, kiss him goodnight and relax with his beloved wife, without whom he would be a broken shell of a man with only his job to fuel his purpose.
He called out with his mouth full of turkey and rye, "Come in!"
Thomas pushed the door open, strode in confidently and requested, "Potter, you got a minute?" He wasn't keen on how things had played out on the floor in front of the entire department. Whether he accepted it or not, Potter was a fair man and his boss for all intents and purposes.
Harry raised a curious brow, took another bite and savoured the taste of mustard that exploded in his mouth. He swallowed hard and almost mumbled, "Yeah, just heading out, but I can spare a moment."
Thomas sat down uninvited, leaned back, got comfortable and exclaimed, "Look, it's nothing personal about Malfoy." It was personal. How could it not be? The boy still carried the macabre snake and skull mark on his arm. Granted, it was faded and looked more like a poor choice of a tattoo but seeing it earlier had brought forth some ghastly memories.
Harry spat in a spiteful undertone, "You undermined my authority in front of everyone and refused a direct order." He scoffed and mocked with enough sarcasm to make the man before him slightly uncomfortable, "How am I not supposed to take it personally?"
Thomas looked mildly ashamed but not enough to regret his actions completely, "I don't trust the git."
Harry sighed in frustration, "If anyone has reason to distrust and hate Malfoy, it would be Hermione, Ron and me, but if I can overlook his past deeds, at least for the time being, then it should be a breeze for you lot."
He emphasised with a certain degree of mystery, "He's got a specific skill set." Harry did so to feed the ravenous curiosity of the veteran. There wasn't much that got past him.
The carefully recited statement piqued Thomas's interest. He raised a sceptical brow in question and tried to show indifference but failed in his poor attempt to appear uninterested, "What do you mean?"
Harry smirked. He couldn't help but feel triumphant in his endeavour, "You will learn in due time. There's still stuff that can surprise even you, Spencer." The man would be beside himself when he figured out that Malfoy was a skilled Legimens and able to perform wandless magic at will—a feat so rare that hardly anyone had seen it performed since the passing of Albus Dumbledore.
Thomas scowled openly to show his displeasure at being left in the dark. He did not enjoy surprises, especially in their line of work and preferred everything in black and white—the shades of grey he usually eliminated. The Malfoy brat was shrouded in grey, and he didn't quite know what to make of it.
Harry popped the last piece of his sandwich into his mouth and chewed slowly. He took his time to swallow and cleared his throat, "Look, I know you deserve this seat." He pointed to the black leather sizeable chair where he usually sat.
Without skipping a beat, he added with immense importance, "Merlin knows you've given up more than your fair share of limbs to protect the ones around you, but I'm not here to do this department an injustice." Deep down, Harry was sure Thomas knew his intentions for the DMLE were proper and, most importantly, justified.
Hiring Malfoy had not been an easy decision, but he knew it was the right thing to do in his heart of hearts.
Thomas said dismissively, "That's got nothing to do with it. I respect Kingsley's decision." That was a blatant lie, but given the circumstances, it worked in his favour to keep his true feelings hidden.
Harry was not convinced. He had always known how Thomas felt about The Minister's rather hasty decision, but Shacklebolt was adamant and didn't waver from it once. His mind was made.
Thomas was overlooked despite his many years of devoted service, and Harry's appointment as Head Auror came swiftly despite his continuous refusal to undermine a respected colleague and trusted friend.
He cocked his head to the side and mused, "There's no need to pretend. You and I both know that is a load of horseshit," He included pointedly, "but unless I die on the job, I am not going anywhere, and I have the utmost respect for you, mate."
Harry brought his hand down hard on the table and urged, "Work with me, Spencer. I need your expertise and advice." The man was a walking legend after Moody.
Thomas nodded slowly in agreement, "Alright, Potter. I will keep an eye on the Malfoy kid. Hannah's got a good head, and she will be a good partner." He rubbed his healed stump where the rest of his hand used to be. Werewolves were nasty beasts. The scar itched unbearably at times.
Harry concurred almost at once, "Yes, I know. I see her going far." Hannah hadn't been the same woman she was today back at Hogwarts. She had been timid, hung around Neville often and listened to his rather dull stories on magical plants when no one else bothered.
He pocketed his wand and said with a sense of urgency, "Listen, I've got to get going. The witness isn't going to hang around for long, and I want to get to the bloke before he changes his bloody mind."
Hopefully, this man who came forth would prove to be a valuable lead. It was baffling how one killer, they assumed it was one, kept evading capture. He was either extraordinarily intelligent, or they had missed something substantial. There was always that one small thing that blew every case wide open.
With a curt nod, Thomas got to his feet, turned on his heel and followed Harry out. He wondered whether he should accompany Potter to meet this so-called witness, but since the boy hadn't asked, he didn't volunteer his services.
The doorbell rang once, but it was loud enough to travel through the modest abode.
Andromeda looked towards the door from the kitchen, kept the mixing bowl aside, wiped her hands free of the excess flour stuck to her fingers and walked quickly towards the living room.
She tenderly patted Teddy's head as she passed him. He was hunched over a bunch of papers doing sum after sum and absentmindedly chewed on the rubber at the end of his yellow pencil.
Teddy did not pay much attention to who was at the door. The last sum was a tough one and required all his concentration to solve it.
Andromeda brushed the long strands of greyish hair off her face, opened the door a crack and smiled broadly. Hermione threw her arms wide open in a dramatic yet elegant manner to present herself and announced in a carrying voice, "Surprise!"
The ageing witch opened the door without a single moment's hesitation, pulled Hermione into a tight hug and gushed, "Merlin, it's good to see you, darling." Andromeda was not your everyday overly affectionate person, except with her grandson, but she had her moments.
Hermione hugged her back with enthusiasm and hated herself for not coming around more often. After the war, Harry, Ginny and her would find any excuse to visit Andromeda and Teddy. They felt a deep sense of obligation towards them after Remus's and Tonk's passing.
The once wary Black sister softened towards them and welcomed their little visits. Over time they came to depend on, love and cherish each other. It was an unbreakable bond of the purest form.
She looked around and probed eagerly, "Where's my handsome little man?"
Andromeda pointed with her head towards the kitchen and smiled warmly, "Doing his sums."
She walked towards the clean kitchen, and Hermione followed close behind.
Once she saw Teddy's unmistakable tuft of messy hair, Hermione yelled in delight, "Teddy!"
Teddy dropped his pencil, turned in his chair, and the biggest smile split his adorable young face.
He leapt out of the chair and jumped into Hermione's waiting arms. She held him close and inhaled the sweet scent of him as a mother would, "Oh my bunny, I've missed you so much."
Teddy beamed, "Aunty Hermione! You came." He repeated in relief, "You came."
A surge of intense emotions surrounded Hermione. Never again would she leave him wanting.
She cupped his face and invited excitedly, "Teddy, how about I take you out to McDonald's for lunch?" It was one of the child's favourite places to eat in Muggle London.
He added sadly after his initial excitement of seeing her died out, "I thought you'd forgotten about me." His sincere words made her heartache, and she silently berated herself for not being around more.
Hermione bent down to Teddy's level, held him gently by his shoulders and said firmly, "Look at me, Teddy." He slowly raised his head and stared into her face anxiously, "I will never forget you. Ever." He was not of her blood, and she did not birth him, but she felt every bit of motherly affection towards the loving boy in her arms.
A clear sniffle punctured the stillness in the room, and Teddy bobbed his head in understanding.
Hermione took his small hand in hers, rose to her feet and informed Andromeda happily, "I'll have him back soon, Meda."
Andromeda choked back a sob and replied with a quick nod, "Of course, love. Have a good time."
Teddy ran off to put on his best trainers and get his backpack. He emerged five minutes later wearing a black t-shirt with a silver Batman logo printed on the front. He urgently pulled Hermione away from her conversation with Andromeda and towards the door excitedly, "Come on, let's go!"
Hermione stumbled on her high heels and laughed, "Hold on, Teddy. Not so fast."
He waved at his grandmother, "Bye! See you later!"
Andromeda closed the door behind them and watched the duo walking down the street hand in hand in high spirits through the window. She reached over and took the framed photograph of her darling husband, spirited daughter and brave son-in-law smiling up at her and touching it with quivering fingers.
She closed her eyes, and the unshed tears from earlier travelled down her cheeks in despair.
Bernard got to his feet and went towards the portly, jovial man that entered. He held out his hand and enthused, "Ivan, it's good to see you. I trust your journey was pleasant."
Ivan sucked in his belly and moved remarkably fast for a man of his size. He had a thick Russian accent, a trimmed moustache and rose-tinged cheeks, "Bernard, my brother. It is a rare privilege."
He rubbed his back and scoffed, "Ah, Portkey. I hate the landing. Growing old has severe consequences, my friend."
Bernard grinned and apologised, "I understand, but I wish the circumstances for our reunion were better."
Ivan waved his hand dismissively. "Ah, at our age, it's always something. Every time my phone rings, I think someone's died."
Bernard walked over to the exquisitely structured minibar he kept in his extensive study and nodded in agreement, "Aye, I know the feeling."
Ivan sat on the wide three-seater velvet sofa and looked at his friend and relative in concern, "What is this all about, Bernard?"
Bernard poured a splash of whiskey into two crystal tumblers, added two ice cubes each and inquired curiously, "You still drink scotch?"
Ivan laughed good-naturedly. It was deep and pleasing, "Back home, we drink vodka more than water. Do you remember when you used to visit? We were drunk from dusk till dawn."
His eyes clouded over with lust, "Ahh, I recall a certain Russian dancer was highly fond of you."
Bernard chuckled, "How is Natasha?" After completing Hogwarts and shunning his family's increasing demands and needless interference in his life, he travelled and studied abroad for a bit, and that's when he came across the luscious, insatiable Natasha Makarov.
She was an exotic dancer of sorts for the upper class that discreetly circulated the underground circuit and a gifted temptress. Still, Bernard was immune to her advances, trying as she might.
It was possibly because he was in love with Narcissa at the time, but Natasha simply would not take no for an answer. She considered it a great insult that he wouldn't fall for her obvious charms.
Ivan laughed aloud, "She's on husband number seven, but that woman ages like fine wine. She is an exquisite sight to behold."
Bernard rolled his eyes. He knew Ivan harboured a crush on the promiscuous woman, and even after years had passed, his feelings for her remained unbroken.
He strolled over, handed Ivan the glass of rich amber liquid, and sat on the adjoining sofa. Reaching over, he fetched the beautiful ivory cigar case, a gift from Narcissa and pulled a Cuban cigar out.
Ivan quizzed impatiently, "So, what can I do for you?" He had at first been surprised by Bernard's brusque invitation, but curiosity was a curse.
Bernard puffed on the cigar, and instantly the area around them filled with the pungent smell of tobacco. His face set in stone, he looked at Ivan directly and questioned, "What do you know of a Gustav Nicolave?"
Ivan grew thoughtful. He stirred his drink and took a sip, relishing the decade-old blend, "Ah, not much. He married a Flint sister nearly fifty years ago. The marriage did not fare well."
He shrugged, "Can't say I am surprised. Gustav was a dominating brute of a man that treated those around him like scum." The man had been known to abuse his wife violently and shamelessly parade his many mistresses in front of her as a form of punishment.
Ivan sighed. A hint of sadness reached his deep brown eyes, "His ill-treatment of her turned her inwardly mad. I'm afraid I don't quite recall which sister it was."
Bernard pursed his lips in frustration, "I was hoping you could shed some light on that." Another dead-end, by the looks of it. It was exceedingly frustrating.
Ivan hung his head in disappointment at not being more helpful and took another gratifying sip, "I'm afraid not. There were so many back then, but I do know her existence was erased from the books."
Bernard pressed urgently, "Is Gustav still alive?" He hoped for the best.
Ivan shook his head and said with an amused expression, "Alas, he is not. He died over a decade ago in the arms of his Swedish mistress. The death was ruled natural causes, but there was much speculation that the woman poisoned him."
Curiosity got the better of the lively man, and he urged, "What's all this about, Bernard?"
Bernard gritted out, "A serial killer is running loose in London, and I am absolutely sure the murders are connected to someone in our bloodline."
Ivan couldn't believe his ears. Indeed there was some mistake. He gave voice to his thoughts, "Well, that's bloody grim. What makes you so sure?"
Bernard gravely explained further, "The killer leaves behind an owl and wand pendant as his calling card. I am one hundred per cent certain I've seen the wand before."
Ivan thought long and hard, and a suppressed memory surfaced, "They had a child, if I'm not mistaken."
Bernard nodded and said despondently, "Yes, but their name has been burnt off the family tree. The child must have been a squib or lacked something."
Ivan let out an exhausted sigh, "I wish I could be of more help, but I've heard nothing more of the child, and anyone who would've known is buried six feet under."
He suggested candidly, "You could try speaking to the portraits, but I highly doubt they will answer the questions of a blood traitor."
Bernard laughed aloud, "Arsehole."
Ivan leaned forward and grinned, "It is good to see you. I miss our old Quidditch days and drinking binges."
Bernard clamped the porky man on the shoulder, "Likewise. I do hope you will stay for lunch. There is a special someone I would like you to meet."
Ivan held his round stomach and burst out laughing, "Word has reached me of your involvement with Narcissa Black."
He winked much like a mischievous adolescent boy, "You always did hold a torch for that one."
Bernard drained his drink, snubbed his cigar and smirked, "Indeed. I'm finally at peace."
Ivan stated goodheartedly, "It is plain to see by the sappy look on your face."
He struggled but got to his feet and bellowed, "Well, come on. I'm starving. Let us go meet this woman of yours."
Thomas always preferred to eat alone. It was a widely known fact, and none invited him to join them out of fear of insulting him. He couldn't stomach pointless gossip and needless chatting.
Most of his peers had families or close friends, he had friends once, but most were deceased. They were taken away unfairly and without just cause. Now, he had a tabby cat that scarcely depended on him but lived under the same roof and shared his food.
The sudden call of nature tugged heavily on his bladder. Tossing the crusts of his sandwich and banana peel into the nearest bin, Thomas walked hurriedly to the closest men's room.
The door creaked as he pushed it open, and he walked in on a surprising sight. Draco Malfoy was lying motionless on the floor, covered in what could only be assumed as his own blood and bile.
Thomas looked him over, took in the slight movement of his chest that often came with laboured breathing, and concluded that the man was beaten up badly but still very much alive. Malfoy would have to wait. He stepped over the unconscious man and strode towards the urinals to relieve himself before attending to the half dead man.
Only once he was done did Thomas pay attention to the seemingly lifeless body on the water-soaked floor. He zipped up, washed his hands calmly and approached the unmoving man on the floor.
He took out his wand and waved it over Draco in a fluid figure-eight motion, muttering in an ancient language, causing the air to still and the blood and water to disperse.
Draco's eyes snapped open. He sat up abruptly, disorientated and hazy and took a sizeable gulp of air. Blinking rapidly, he tried to gather his bearings and recall the events that led him to his current predicament.
Thomas poked Draco in the arm with his wand without hesitation and mumbled in his deep voice, "Fuck. Up you get, boy."
Holding onto Draco's arm with his good hand, Thomas prompted him to move and get to his feet.
Draco obliged without so much as uttering a word. He tried to stand on his own, but his legs simply weren't cooperating. He swayed dangerously but managed to stand his ground.
Thomas let go and demanded, "What the hell happened?" He stood ready to catch the imposing man should he lose balance.
Breathing hard and heavy, Draco stared deadpan at the wall and channelled all his strength inward. His magic spread through him like rapid fire, and a growl escaped his lips as his strength returned.
Thomas stared at him oddly and insisted loudly, "Malfoy, can you hear me?"
When Draco remained still and quiet, Thomas forced adamantly, "Who did this?" Was the boy mute? He was not used to repeating himself twice. His silence was beginning to annoy him.
Finally, Draco managed a weak reply, "I tripped."
His chest hurt, his head was throbbing, and he was sure at least one of his ribs was cracked. That would explain the difficulty in breathing. The need to leave the suffocating stench of the bathroom before he vomited propelled him into further action.
Thomas looked him over and mocked, "Yeah, and beat yourself up, I assume." Did Malfoy think he was a blithering idiot?
Draco pursed his lips, ignored his saviour, scrambled out of the bathroom, followed closely by Thomas, and almost collided with a very concerned Hannah.
She had noticed Terry, pale-faced and shaking, walking across the cafeteria, and the other lot looking pleased with themselves while Michael was beside himself with anger. He had shot her a weary look, and that's when she suspected something was horribly wrong.
She took one look at Draco and gasped, "Oh shite, what happened?"
Thomas crossed his arms over his chest and hissed, "The obvious, Abbott. Malfoy here is the victim of an unprovoked attack by cowardly men."
He scolded, "It is your job to watch out for him."
Hannah bit back, "I can hardly follow him to the bloody men's loo."
They heard the unmistakable sound of heels coming their way. The distinctive noise bounced off the walls, and Audrey came around the corridor looking furious, "Heavens, I knew something was amiss when he didn't return on time."
Without hesitation, she cupped Draco's ashen face and peered into it, "Well, looks like you need to visit Doris."
Draco stepped back and croaked in a pained voice for all to hear, "I'm fine. There's nothing to fuss over." He appreciated their concern, but besides the excruciating pain in his chest that caused him to lean heavily onto Hannah, there wasn't cause for alarm.
Thomas murmured almost incoherently, "Audrey."
Audrey caught sight of the Auror standing to the side and blushed, "Ah, Thomas. I didn't see you there."
Thomas smirked. Hannah was baffled by the rare occurrence, "You look lovely." He complimented her effortlessly and recalled their training days together.
Hannah rolled her eyes in exhaustion, "Ahem, can we focus, please." Malfoy was groaning quietly not to draw attention to himself but seemed to be in quite a bit of pain. He was whiter than usual and looked ready to pass out.
Audrey snapped back to focus, brushed her greying hair off her face and snapped, "Yes, yes, to the infirmary."
Draco pleaded unconvincingly, "I'm alright."
Thomas directly questioned Audrey, "I trust you will look after him."
She raised a sardonic brow, "Was there any doubt?"
He grinned and backed away, "None whatsoever." Thomas turned away from the group and went down the now deserted hallway, disappearing from their line of sight.
Hannah sighed, "I'll come with you, Audrey."
Audrey nodded to show her approval, "If you wish, Hannah."
When Draco tried to interrupt, the stern instructor rounded on him, raised her hand to shut him up momentarily and spoke firmly, "That's a nasty cut above your eye, Mr Malfoy. Your lip is busted, and by just looking at you, I can tell a minimum of two ribs are broken."
She wagged a warning finger in his face, "I will not have anyone saying I don't look after those in my care."
Draco thought it best to adhere to her instructions. He conceded defeat and slowly followed the woman while clutching onto his side, hoping the pain would subside.
Audrey glanced over her shoulder and quizzed, "Hmm, why didn't you defend yourself?" The man had promising skills, and she was quite frankly shocked at his state.
Draco breathed, "They needed to lash out, and I have much to pay for. I was a Dea..."
Hannah threw him a guarded look. His past deeds did not merit such a vicious, unjustified attack.
Audrey frowned to make her displeasure clear and finished the sentence for him, "Death Eater? Oh, I know who you are, Mr Malfoy. Your family is famous."
Draco mused, "Infamous, you mean?" Despite his discomfort, his humour was still intact.
Audrey rattled off, "Well, I'm not going to lie, son. Your father was a nasty piece of work, but you could not have been more than sixteen. What choice would you have had against The Dark Lord?"
"Not much," Draco said breathlessly. His windpipe was closing in on him. He felt its squeeze even though the tightness was primarily in his chest area.
Hannah threw him anxious glances and sighed in relief as Healer Doris came into view.
Her usually cheery face fell as the true extent of Draco's injuries came to life.
She yelled to her assistants, "Clear the area. This man needs immediate assistance."
They rushed Draco inside, leaving Audrey and Hannah flabbergasted outside. They exchanged a serious look but shared no words.
Audrey returned to the training session and informed the recruits that Mr Malfoy would not be joining them for the rest of the session.
Emily frowned and wondered what had happened. Dennis hid a satisfied smirk and doubled his efforts.
Hannah grew thoughtful as she returned to the DMLE floor. The poor bloke couldn't catch a break.
She plopped down on her wooden chair and randomly picked up a photograph of one of the dead girls and stared at it intently, begging, "What are you hiding?"
Hermione held the door open at the closest McDonald's for Teddy to enter and then walked in herself. She was consciously aware of the appreciative glances Muggle men threw her way.
Her outfit hardly screamed casual outing, but she did not give a toss. They placed their order with an enthusiastic girl with neat braids and a pleasant demeanour.
Teddy always ordered the Big Mac, it was almost the size of his head, but no, he insisted and moped if others suggested he get the happy meal along with a toy.
Hermione opted for a chocolate milkshake and large order of fries. She avoided greasy food at all costs except the occasional instance she took Teddy out. He loved it, and he was young enough to indulge. At her age, the extra fat in the meal went straight to her thighs.
She grabbed hold of their tray filled with food and followed Teddy to his choice of the booth near the window. He slid in eagerly and popped a few fries into his mouth before Hermione sat down and reached for some herself.
"So, what's new?" Hermione probed while squeezing sauce into the provided plastic cups.
Teddy shrugged, "Nothing much." He grabbed the burger with both hands and took a bite.
"I can turn orange." He swallowed slowly and added after a moment's thought, his eyes sparkled, "Do you want to see?" Teddy could be a naughty scamp when the need arose.
Hermione giggled, "Well, that sounds like fun, but not in front of all these Muggles."
Teddy chuckled, "Gran said it's a gaudy colour, and she would prefer green over it."
Hermione couldn't help but laugh. Teddy shared other comical happenings as a child would, and they enjoyed lunch to its fullest. That was until a text message from Brenda put a damper on things.
Draco heard the voice of an older woman through a haze.
Was it his mother? No, it couldn't be.
"Mr Malfoy, can you hear me, son?" The voice demanded once again.
Salazar, the excruciating pain was gone. Only a dull throb remained, but that was easily manageable.
He slowly opened his eyes and squinted to get a better view. A head full of grey hair with kind eyes and a bright smile stared down at him. She reminded him of Madam Pomfrey, the Matron from Hogwarts.
Draco struggled to sit up and managed to do so with some help, "Yes, I can hear you. Thank you, Madam...."
"Doris, no Madam nonsense here. Just Doris is fine," the Healer tugged at her blouse and quipped.
She waved her wand over him and nodded to herself, "Oh, good. You're on the mend. The fractures have healed nicely. You had one fully broken rib and a partially shattered one." There was a hint of pride in her words.
Doris poked his side with her wand, and Draco whimpered, "Ah, still sore, I see. No matter, you will be good as new by tomorrow."
Draco tried to hop off the table, but Doris shot him a stern look, "And what do you think you're doing?"
He looked at her sheepishly, "Oh, I thought of returning to my training session."
Doris stated firmly, "Well, son, I think you're done for the day. Besides, I want to monitor you to make sure there is no internal bleeding."
"Do you recall who did this to you?" She inquired.
Draco instantly shook his head, "No, I haven't a clue." He remembered every bit of the attack but pushed aside the anger that coursed through him. There would be no vengeful thoughts or actions. What was done was done, and hopefully, Terry Boot had now gotten it out of his system.
As soon as Hermione and Teddy came into view, Brenda greeted them, "Oh hello, Teddy. Look at the wee lad. Growing like a weed, you are." He visited on and off, and she would often be tasked with keeping the child entertained while Hermione was in a meeting or Harry was busy with his band of Aurors.
Hermione hadn't planned on bringing Teddy to the Ministry. Still, Brenda's urgent reminder that her signature was needed on an official document in Kingsley's absence had her cutting lunch short and rushing back to the office.
Teddy slurped his drink loudly through the straw and smiled broadly at Brenda, "Hi!"
Hermione instantly signed the document that Brenda pushed her way and looked up, "Any messages?"
Brenda hesitated, "No, but..." She battled internally over whether to spill the beans on Malfoy's attack. The news was spreading through the Minister like fiendfyre. No one knew who the culprits were, but there was speculation that it had been a group of disgruntled Aurors looking for retribution.
Hermione exhaled and asked in frustration, "Merlin, what now?"
Brenda fidgeted anxiously and muttered, "Umm, Mr Malfoy is in the hospital wing."
Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief, "What? Why?" She had felt on edge regarding Draco all day, and her fears had been justified.
Brenda quickly explained further, "He's, well, injured. Doris is taking care of him." She had been meaning to ask Michael for more details, but her boyfriend was babysitting his drugged-out best mate, and they hardly had ten minutes together.
Hermione sighed, "It's one of those days, isn't it?" She felt drained at once. A sense of fatigue swept over her.
Brenda agreed without argument, "I'm afraid so."
Taking Teddy's hand in hers once again, Hermione turned away from her office and marched out.
Teddy tossed his empty cup into the bin and questioned curiously, "Where are we going?" He hoped it was somewhere interesting.
Hermione chewed on her bottom lip and muttered, "To see someone." A hundred different scenarios ran rampant through her mind, and she grew more thoughtful with each passing minute.
Doris attended a nasty burn on one of the employees from the Care of Magical Creatures department. The man's entire arm was burnt, and his skin peeled off its bone. She spoke calmly to the man writhing in pain and applied a greenish paste over the affected areas.
She looked towards the door as it opened, and the superior sound of heels clicking against the clean tiles made it to her ear.
It was Hermione Granger. She admired the young witch who held a high position at such a young age, but her visit surprised her. Besides the odd appointment every six months, the smartly dressed woman never came by. She pondered if it had anything to do with a particular patient in her care.
Doris greeted enthusiastically, "Madam undersecretary."
Hermione mustered a smile, "Doris, I hear you have a new patient."
Teddy could not help but glance at the many jars with odd things floating about in potions. He was particularly drawn to the sizeable dragon's heart that sloshed within a glass container.
Doris giggled and replied rather devilishly for a woman her age, "Indeed we do. I wish we got more like him. He is quite fit for his age. I haven't seen such defined abdominal muscles since Kingsley was a lad."
Hermione couldn't help but laugh, "Steady on, Doris. I'm quite certain Mr Malfoy is a unique specimen." She would bet money on the fact without a second thought.
Doris's tone grew severe and professional, "He's not too bad, few broken bones, cuts and bruises, that sort of thing. No magic was used. Thank Merlin for that." It made her job of patching him up relatively easy.
They moved towards a pair of double doors through which Draco was visible. A permanent frown was etched onto his face as he moved his arms about, trying to restore proper circulation.
He made a fist causing the ribbed nerves running down his hardened arms to bulge as he went through a succession of quick punches.
Doris added in a humourous undertone, "Just beaten up to a pulp the old-fashioned way."
Hermione bit her lip, eyed Draco from her place by the glass door and muttered, "He looks fine."
Doris stated frankly, "You should've seen him when he first came in. The man could hardly breathe."
Hermione barely heard the words. She was too busy staring at Malfoy. Her eyes raked over the visible contusions on his body and came to rest on a sizeable angry-looking purple bruise decorating his side.
Doris interrupted politely, "Ahem, how can I help you, Hermione?"
Hermione realised how utterly pathetic her conduct was. She snapped to attention and adopted a business-like tone, "I'm here to see Mr Malfoy. He was assaulted, and I need to know who is responsible for such a heinous act."
Doris rolled her eyes and mumbled, "Good luck with that." The man kept mum on the identity of his assailants.
Hermione lied unconvincingly, "It's procedure, you understand?"
Doris wasn't persuaded, but she played along, "Of course," and returned to the burnt man who had regained consciousness and was now howling in pain.
Alarmed by the distressing sounds emitting from the man, Teddy moved closer to Hermione as she pushed the glass doors that served as a barrier between Malfoy and herself and strode towards him with intent and purpose.
He looked up as she approached, and his signature smirk neatly lifted the corner of his lip.
If she wasn't a sight for sore eyes, it was the child hiding behind her that grabbed his intense interest.
Hermione mused, "Well, you're having quite the eventful day." He looked positively dreadful.
Draco laid back on the uncomfortable makeshift bed, rested his arm behind his head, looked her over in a manner that made her squirm and quipped, "Is it time for my sponge bath? You really shouldn't have, Granger."
Without much thought, Hermione instinctively trailed her fingertips over his swollen lip, down his body and over the many bruises that adorned his flesh. Draco closed his eyes involuntarily and winced slightly in pain, but he welcomed her soothing touch.
A low groan escaped his lips, and she demanded an explanation, "What happened?" Teddy hovered uncomfortably in the background and wondered whether he could go home.
Draco kept his eyes closed and breathed, "Nothing I didn't have coming." He wished she kept her hands on his body. It felt deliriously good.
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and scoffed, "Hell of a first day. They have no right to treat you this way."
His eyes flew open, and they darkened with evident anger, "Your boyfriend seemed to think that I needed to learn my place from the second I stepped onto the DMLE floor."
Hermione gritted out, "He is not my boyfriend, but I will speak with him." She was livid and knew without a shadow of a doubt that Terry was responsible for Malfoy's current state.
Terry's behaviour would not go unpunished. There would be severe consequences for his actions, but she needed solid proof before making an allegation, and it didn't seem likely that Malfoy would cooperate.
Draco rolled his eyes and quipped, "I don't need you to fight my battles, Granger." He hoped she would take his advice and leave well enough alone.
He included firmly in a tone that was not to be trifled with, "Besides, I didn't tell you it was Boot, so drop it. I deserved this, and I'm quite capable of handling him if the need arises."
She pushed undiscouraged, "No, you don't deserve such crude treatment, and why didn't you fight back? I'm pretty sure you could have annihilated them with one swift kick." It baffled her that he had allowed such a thrashing.
Draco smiled in a manner that radiated serenity despite the painful alterations to his body and said earnestly, "That's not the way, Granger."
She argued, "Neither is this. We have rules and restrictions."
The image of her in Boot's arms earlier that day twisted his handsome features unpleasantly, and he hurled without mercy, "You two looked quite chummy earlier or am I to believe you treat all your friends that way?"
It caught her off guard at that particular moment, but Hermione composed herself and said slowly, "Let me explain, and frankly, I don't care for your accusatory tone or what you are insinuating." The man was lying on a hospital bed battered and broken, and that's what was running through his hot head?
Draco paid no heed to the warning in her tone and hissed, "Spare me the gory details of your make-out session with Boot. I rather not colour these clean floors with my vomit."
Hermione was beginning to lose her patience. He had no right to grill her this way, especially without letting her explain the circumstances that led her to hug Terry.
She took a deep breath to control her temper and tried again, "Malfoy, listen, it wasn't like that...." but couldn't help but add in a disgruntled undertone, "Not that I owe you an explanation."
He heard her clearly even though he had been watching the small boy she brought with her examining the drawings of plants on the white walls and their medicinal benefits.
Draco snapped, "No, you don't. So do not bother. Why are you even here?" His disrespectful question caused a flicker of hurt to flash across her face.
Hermione softened her gaze, swallowed her pride, went closer and whispered, "I don't know, Malfoy, but I guess I was worried about you."
Draco threw his legs off the bed, sat up and reached for her hand. His long fingers encircled her arm, and he pulled her towards him, she went willingly, and they locked eyes meaningfully.
There was much said between them. Her eyes held the burning desire he seemed to bring to life every time they were together. The flattering beams of the sun came through the enchanted window and fell across her face emphasising the softness that lay within.
He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and said in a low husky voice meant to intimidate, "Were you now? You look lovely, by the way."
Her fingers outlined the pink-tinged Sectumsempra scar sprawled across his chest in plain view of Teddy, and Draco grabbed her gently by the wrist and mused, "As much as I enjoy your touch, I doubt it's appropriate for the child you brought along."
Bollocks.
Hermione blushed. She had momentarily forgotten all about Teddy.
Draco ignored her moment of humiliation and spoke directly to the young wizard in the room, "And, who is this fine young man?"
Teddy fidgeted nervously, rocked on the balls of his feet and waited patiently for Hermione to make the formal introduction.
Hermione pushed Teddy forward and gazed upon him lovingly and subtly pointed to the platinum blonde looking at him eagerly, "This is Mr Draco Malfoy."
Draco didn't skip a beat. He enthused, "Ah, let me guess, you are the famous Teddy Lupin." Of course, he knew who the boy was. He had seen him at Tracey's wedding.
Teddy's cheeks turned beet red, but he said confidently, "Hello, how do you know my name?"
Draco fondly looked over his head at Granger and replied with ease, "Hermione speaks of all the time. It is an honour to meet you finally."
Hermione joked, "So you better watch what you say to me. Teddy here will protect me."
Draco laughed good-naturedly and clutched his side in pain but managed to say, "I have no doubt he will."
Blimey, the child, looked much like a younger version of him, minus the prominent nose. His was more suited to his cute, childish face.
Teddy cocked his head to the side and raised curiously, "Does she really talk about me?" His eyes sparkled brilliantly as he waited for a favourable answer.
Draco nodded without hesitation, "Quite often, yes." She hadn't mentioned him, or had she? But who was he to break the child's heart? His small white lie was rewarded when the youngster's face split in half with a happy smile, and Hermione offered a genuine smile of gratitude and mouthed, "Thank you."
Teddy scrunched up his nose, and his chestnut brown hair turned turquoise. It was a common occurrence when he was feeling sensitive. The colour mirrored his mixed emotions.
Draco stared in awe, "You have a remarkable gift, Teddy." It was a rare talent indeed and a useful one at that. The boy before him was destined for remarkable things.
Teddy nodded shyly, "Thank you, Mr Malfoy."
Draco leaned forward and winked, "Please call me Draco. We are cousins, after all.
Teddy's eyes widened at the revelation, "What? Gran never told me about a cousin." He had relatives. Blood relatives? It couldn't be. Surely someone would have told him.
Hermione glared. Draco melted under her stern gaze and regretted his words. He had gone and done it now. Of course, his estranged aunt wouldn't have mentioned any ties to them.
Teddy looked to Hermione for answers, his little heart beating fast within the confinement of its ribcage, "Is he, my cousin?" He found it hard to get the words out.
She saw little point in lying. Teddy was a bright boy for his age, and the truth had to come out at some point whether Andromeda preferred it or not.
Hermione took a deep breath to calm the rapid beating of her own heart and answered truthfully, "He is, Teddy, but it's a long story, love."
Teddy pressed adamantly, "But..." He wanted a proper explanation and answers.
Hermione replied firmly, Teddy, let's talk about it later. Alright?" She smiled encouraging, "I promise!"
Teddy shifted his feet uneasily, "Yeah, okay."
Draco swapped a look of concern with his intended and could not help the surge of feelings that consumed him. He noticed her engagement ring change colour and pulsate. He could quite literally feel each beat of her heart, making him double over uncomfortably.
Hermione cried in panic, "Draco! Are you okay?" Even in his pained state, he could appreciate her using his given name.
She turned to get Doris, but he held her back and mumbled, "No, don't. I'm fine."
Teddy stared in panic. This wasn't his idea of a fun-filled afternoon with his aunt.
Hermione held Draco against her body, letting her hand slip into his hair and other travel down his broad back. His strong arms went around her, his fingernails still caked with his blood dug into her back over the flimsy material of her shirt. He pulled her close enough to rest his head on her chest from his seated position and sighed in relief.
The words left her lips seamlessly, "I am worried about you, but I don't want to be." When Brenda told her he had been attacked, her mind went blank for a second out of pure fear. She didn't quite understand her compulsion to rush to his side.
He swallowed hard and let her warmth engulf him, "I know." The concern she felt for his well-being was genuine.
His wet lips dampened her blouse, and she felt its heat against her skin, causing her to reluctantly break free of the embrace and pull Teddy to her side.
She bit her lip and exclaimed, "It's getting late. I best get him back to Andromeda before she worries."
Draco nodded in understanding, "I look forward to seeing more of you, Teddy."
Teddy smiled politely and waved, "It was nice to meet you, umm, Draco."
Without much thought to her audience, Hermione dropped a quick kiss onto Draco's busted lip, and she tasted the rustic taste of his blood. Once the realisation of her actions hit her, she blushed a brilliant shade of pink while Doris, who had just entered to check on them, chuckled with an amused expression.
The procedure, indeed. The girls working for her would be sorely disappointed to know that the young Mr Malfoy was a taken man. They had diligently fought over who got to heal his bruises and apply ointment.
Draco licked his bottom lip sensually and said smugly, "I guess I'll see you later."
Hermione took Teddy by the hand, bid Doris a quick farewell, tried her best to hide her mortification and hurried off as fast as her heeled feet would carry her. She heard Malfoy's distinctive deep laughter echo in her head.
Teddy glanced over his shoulder and then at Hermione and frowned, "Is he your boyfriend?" He was pretty possessive over his favourite aunt.
Hermione said thoughtfully, "Oh, what? Oh, no-no." She couldn't call Malfoy a friend, and the more she thought about it, the more horrified she became by her behaviour in front of Teddy.
She cleared her throat, "He's, well, we are going to be married. It's a grown-up thing."
Teddy raised a brow, "Is it because of the marriage law?" He had always been rather astute for a boy his age.
Hermione was surprised he knew and tried to persuade him into telling her just how he came to find out, "It is, and how would you know about that?"
Teddy shrugged, "I heard my gran and grandma Molly talking about it." Ah, that would explain it.
He pouted, "Do you love him?"
Hermione stiffened but managed to hide her discomfort with an ill-timed giggle, "There's only one man I will always truly love." She stopped walking, turned him towards her, and probed with a big smile, "Any guesses who?"
Teddy answered without blinking, "Uncle Ron?"
Hermione was momentarily stunned, "Huh? No, of course not." She patted him on the head and kissed his forehead, "It's you, silly."
Teddy beamed and hugged her around the middle, "I love you too, aunty Mione."
It was then Hermione noticed the crimson stain on her blouse. She stared at the stubborn mark and thought about the superficial importance placed on his blood.
Was it truly any different than hers? Not really, except hers was a richer red while he was almost maroon in colour.
Teddy glanced at her oddly, wondering why his aunt was so enthralled by a small patch of blood on her blouse. He tugged on her sleeve to get her attention, and when she slowly turned to look at him with a lost expression, Teddy smiled.
That small gesture was enough to spur Hermione into action, and she pulled out her wand, pointed it at the dirty patch and muttered a quick Scourgify.
Teddy took her hand in his, and silently they walked towards an apparition point.
Terry staggered up to Hannah, wiped his brow of sweat and leered, "Where's your partner, Abbott?" He shook violently and held onto the nearest chair to steady himself.
Hannah barely looked up and scowled, "That was low, Boot. Even by your standards." She knew he was responsible. His reddened knuckles grasping the chair were a testament to that.
Terry looked over the passing crowd innocently and mocked, "I haven't the foggiest. Why did something happen to him?"
Hannah replied slowly, "Nothing at all. Thomas found him before he bled to death." Despite their differences, Terry and Michael were her friends, but now, she was not sure where to place them. Unfortunately, Corner got lumped with Boot even if he wasn't directly at fault.
The blood drained from Terry's smug face. He stammered, "Thomas?" The veteran's involvement in the matter could spell disaster for the lot of them.
Hannah noticed the sudden change in Terry's demeanour. He went from arrogant to gutless in mere seconds after she mentioned Thomas.
She capitalised on his discomfort and the others sulking around him, "Yes, Thomas. He was livid and said it was a spineless attack." She stretched the truth a tad bit.
Terry took a step back and stumbled. His head throbbed, and a wave of nausea tore through him. He was detoxing and not handling it well.
Hannah grabbed his arm and spoke in hushed tones, "Your pale and trembling. You should not be here. Get your arse home, Terry."
He shook her hand off and snarled, "I don't need you to tell me what to do."
She scoffed, "Yeah, you seem to be doing so well on your own."
Michael made his presence known, "She's right, mate. Let's call it a bloody day." He should never have let Terry talk him into letting him come to the office. It had been a horrible misjudgment on his part.
Terry looked around at the others walking around him. The room was beginning to spin. He desperately needed to sit down. Ignoring the looks of concern, Hannah and Michael shot his way. He managed to walk over to his desk and collapsed into the chair.
Draco gingerly slipped into his Auror robe. The blood stains were gone, and it was once again in pristine condition. He attended to the gruelling task of buttoning up.
Doris looked at him closely, patted him on the back and gave her consent, "Off you go, Auror Malfoy," but gave fair warning, "I expect you here bright and early tomorrow to change those bandages."
Draco gave a curt nod of acknowledgement and said gratefully, "Thank you, Doris." She was a lovely lady who treated those around her with kindness.
Doris smiled warmly and advised, "You're welcome, love. Do not let those boys knock you about. It might stick."
Draco smirked knowingly, "I'll remember that." There wouldn't be a repeat of what happened. He had let it slide this once, but if Boot thought it would be an everyday occurrence, he was sorely mistaken.
Teddy burst into the living room the second Andromeda opened the door, plopped down on the sofa, and looked at his grandmother anxiously.
Andromeda knew something was awry. She closed the door slowly, looked at Hermione for answers and inquired in interest, "Did you have a nice time?"
Teddy nodded and said offhandedly, "Yes, I had a Big Mac and met my cousin." He was curious to see his grandmother's reaction, and sure enough, she did not disappoint.
Andromeda stepped back and held the edge of the dresser to steady herself and blurted out, "What?"
Hermione offered a sheepish grin and pleaded, "We, umm, ran into Draco. Please don't kill me!"
Andromeda looked at her curiously and regained her composure enough to ask, "And he openly called Teddy his cousin?"
Hermione was taken aback by her question and answered cautiously, "He did, actually. I thought you would be livid." She had not banked on Meda acting so casually about the whole thing, especially after her initial reaction upon hearing it.
Andromeda smiled, "Quite the contrary, I'm utterly shocked." She included after a moment's thought, "Maybe, the brat has grown up." She had always seen Draco as a miniature version of his overbearing father.
Hermione accepted, "Hmm, maybe." Well, that was still up for debate, wasn't it? He had been back for a grand total of three weeks. That was hardly enough time to judge him on his newfound redemption arc.
Andromeda sat down next to her grandson, took his hands in hers and started to explain in a way he would understand, "Yes, Teddy, Draco is your cousin. You see, I have, well, I had two sisters."
Her voice filled with emotion, "My eldest sister, Bellatrix, died a long time ago." She didn't think it prudent to burden his young mind with the specific details of her death and the horrific path of pureblood arrogance that led her to her well-deserved fate at the hands of none other than Molly Weasley.
Hermione cringed at the mere mention of the dark witch, and thought it best she took her leave, "Meda, I need to get going." She had recently been spared the nightmares that plagued her.
She hugged Teddy and assured him, "I'll see you soon, darling."
Teddy nodded but gave his gran his undivided attention and waited for her to continue telling him what sounded like an interesting story.
The last thing Hermione heard as she left was Andromeda speaking fondly of Narcissa.
"So, Narcissa is your other sister and Draco's mother?" Teddy asked after Andromeda concluded. He wondered why nobody told him about any of this. It wasn't like he was a toddler; he would be off to Hogwarts soon.
She nodded once and answered painfully, "Yes."
Teddy watched his grandmother intently and inquired curiously, "Do you miss her, Gran?" He had only seen her as vulnerable as she was now when they spoke of his mother or grandfather.
Andromeda wiped a tear and smiled, "Very much."
Teddy touched her cheek and said with determination, "I think we should go see her."
She replied without much conviction, "It's not that easy, darling."
Teddy tried to make her see reason through the eyes of an innocent child, "But, why not? I bet she misses you too. You're the best grandmother in the world."
Andromeda cupped his face and peppered him with loving kisses, "I love you so much, darling, but you will understand when you are older."
Teddy pouted and said with determination, "Well, it seems silly, and I'm going to fix it."
Andromeda smiled affectionately and patted his head, "Of course you are. Now off you go."
He jogged up the stairs and called out, "I will. Just you wait and see, Gran."
Andromeda could not help but choke back a sob and marvel at how mature Teddy sounded at his tender age.
Times were changing, and they all best brace themselves for what lay ahead.
Chapter 40
Notes:
The comments are genuinely amazing. ❤
A huge thank you to everyone who took the time to post such fantastic feedback. 😍
So sorry for the late update, but I have made up for my tardiness by posting a long chapter.
Conflicts, genuine confessions of love and moments of friendship.
Oh, I have included a line in French. Google translate helped! Lol
My French is poor and I'm welcome to anyone pointing out any mistakes.
Enjoy Chapter Forty!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! ❤
Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! 🥰
Chapter Text
"Neville!" A stern voice made it to his ear, making his hair stand on end and causing him to drop the parchments he was going through as he glanced in her direction.
He was in his late twenties, but his strict paternal grandmother still had the uncanny ability to frighten the living daylights out of him.
Lord have mercy. He braced himself and responded from the living room, "Yes, grandmother?"
Mrs Augusta Longbottom moved with ease for a woman her age. From her disgruntled tone, it was abundantly clear that she was far from pleased.
She demanded sternly, "What's all this that I hear about a trip to Hawaii?" It sounded more like an accusation than a question, and Neville thanked Merlin that Pansy was out to lunch with her mother.
She had texted earlier and informed him that she would be running late but not to go to bed because she had a fantastic surprise for him. A soppy grin curved his lips as he thought of his wife's sensual body pressed up against his.
Pansy was a woman of many talents, but she excelled in the bedroom. He had never met a more willing woman to entertain his fantasies.
"Boy, are you listening?" Mrs Longbottom put forth with a frown forming on her aged face.
The clumsy, forgetful boy was long gone and in its place was a man that would make his parents proud, but Augusta worried about him when it came to matters of the heart.
Neville snapped to attention, "Yes, grandmother, you were saying?" He could not afford to daydream in her presence.
Augusta said with a hint of disgust, "I heard your wife instructing the maid..." She was cut short by Neville.
He massaged the bridge of his nose in exhaustion and exclaimed wearily, "She has a name."
The elderly woman could not be bothered to play nice and scowled, "Who?"
She knew exactly who but refused to accept the spoiled brat that the Ministry had dumped on her grandson.
The Algorithm, dwindling population or otherwise, the fools at the Ministry had no right messing with people's futures.
Neville pleaded sincerely, "I wish you would stop referring to her as my wife." There was no love lost between his grandmother and Pansy, but he hoped against hope that they would at least behave cordially towards each other.
Augusta glared and conceded defeat, "Fine!"
She explained further in a tone that mirrored her distaste for the situation, "Pansy was directing them on how to look after that mangy cat she can't seem to separate from." Saying the girls name out loud left a far worse taste in her mouth than the bitter potions she took each morning to ease the pain in her back.
Neville sighed and decided he needed a drink, but Augusta stated with dripping sarcasm, "Hopefully, she will care of her children as diligently as she does her cat."
She included rather harshly, "If she can have children, that is."
Neville bit the inside of his cheek and ignored the crude remark. His grandmother was not known to be a gentle and sympathetic soul.
He admitted his plans with a certain degree of reluctance, "Well, yes, I'm taking her to Hawaii for a week, and some of our friends are joining the trip."
A brilliant idea struck him, and he quickly added, hoping to appease his headstrong grandmother, "You remember Hermione and Luna." He did not know whether Hermione had agreed to tag along, but he truly hoped she did.
Augusta replied proudly, "Of course I remember those fine girls."
A slick well thought retort left her lips, "Either one would have been a far better match for you than the daughter of a known Death Eater."
Neville sighed. It was pointless to argue with her. She was set in her ways, and there was no changing her mind.
She scoffed, "I doubt a change of location will help her fertility."
Neville tried to keep his composure and insisted, "Gran, stop! We are not ready to start a family." He honestly wasn't ready to become a father.
Augusta was having none of it and blatantly declared, "Nonsense, you are almost thirty. The longer you wait, the more the chances of bearing a child decrease."
She included in a snide undertone, "More so for her than you."
Neville argued with just cause, "This is ridiculous. We are not on our deathbed. When the time is right, Pansy and I will have a child."
The elderly woman mocked cynically, "She's got you properly brainwashed."
Neville closed the gap between them and pleaded, "Please give her a chance. You mean so much to me, and all I ask is that you try to get along."
Augusta felt her heartstrings tighten. She touched his cheek and implored, "I worry about you, Neville." He was more like her son than grandson, and she loved him fiercely.
Neville smiled gratefully, "You always have, but you don't have to. Pansy loves me as I love her."
Augusta sighed, but she wasn't wholly satisfied, "Hmm, I hope your right."
Neville grinned happily and assured, "I am, you'll see."
Hermione slowly entered through the glass doors and walked over to Doris, the Head Matron and Healer at the Ministry of Magic.
Doris got to her feet and greeted, "Madam Undersecretary, two visits in one day?"
She was pleasantly surprised but also curious as to why and voiced her thoughts, "This is an honour, but I'm afraid I discharged Mr Malfoy. The lads magic is uncharacteristically strong. He was able to heal himself by directing his magic towards the damaged areas in next to no time."
As fascinating as it sounded, Hermione's mind was caught up in a great many things, and she replied unsurely, "Actually, I'm not here about him."
Doris raised a sceptical brow, "Oh?"
Hermione exhaled and spoke slowly, "It's about Terry Boot."
She didn't go into the finer details but came straight to the point and summarised Terry's current situation in a few words, "He's addicted to cocaine."
Doris widened her eyes but didn't appear as surprised as her expression, "Oh dear, he must seek help immediately."
Hermione gave fair warning, "He's not going to come quietly, I'm afraid." She knew without a doubt that Terry would put up a fight, and she mentally prepared herself for whatever insult he chucked her way.
Doris replied solemnly, "Well, we've had worse and seen our fair share of Aurors under the influence of various substances." It was the sad state of things. The black-clad men and women who protected them paid a heavy price and resorted to other means to numb the images, trauma, and pain they endured daily.
Hermione said with a sigh, "I will be sending him your way shortly." She had already instructed Brenda to inform Harry and had made plans to take up the matter with Kingsley upon his return.
Doris reassured, "Don't worry, love. We will take good care of him."
She beckoned a man forth, "Jordon, have the Portkey to Ireland ready. We have a guest visiting shortly." The rehabilitation centre was located in Northern Ireland, away from prying eyes, with plenty of nature and fresh air to reinforce positive thinking.
Jordon was a man of average build with a full head of messy dark hair and a deep voice, "Another Auror?" He inquired rather sadly and shook his head despairingly.
Hermione hovered awkwardly in the background, and Doris exhaled, "I'm afraid so.." They hated seeing one of their own suffering.
Jordon said despondently, "I pity those blokes." It was no secret the Aurors faced more than an average person's share of horrors.
Hermione couldn't help but feel a deep sense of grief as she walked out of the surgically clean room in search of Terry Boot.
Harry stepped out of the Floo network in a foul mood. The so-called witness had been more focused on asking questions about the ongoing case than answering any of the queries directed at him.
After the third question, Harry caught on that he had been had. The man impersonating a possible witness was an undercover piece of shite that worked for Skeeter.
At first, the lowlife scum had denied the truth and maintained that he remembered nothing much from the night Sarah was abducted. When Harry probed further, the man had cracked under pressure and revealed reluctantly that he indeed worked for The Daily Prophet. Without hesitation, Harry had the man committed to Azkaban for a day on an obstruction of justice charge.
The man's horrified expression was enough to convince Harry that he would not dare try such a foolhardy attempt to gather information again.
He lumbered into the DMLE, and his heavy boots echoed through the deserted corridor. So caught up in his thoughts, he did not notice the tall man in front of him and walked right into his broad back.
The towering blond-haired person lethargically turned to face him.
Harry took in the marks, coagulated blood and nasty cut above his eye that was healing and gnashed out, "What the hell happened to you?"
Draco croaked, "Let it be, Potter." His throat was dry and scratchy, but nothing a cool glass of pumpkin juice could not fix.
Harry peered into Malfoy's face and exclaimed in anger, "Merlin, you look like shite. I will not have this sort of childish behaviour in my fucking department."
He insisted on an answer, "Who did this?"
Draco frowned and stated the obvious, "Do you honestly expect me to snitch on them? It wouldn't help my cause, and quite frankly, I'm not bothered by their little punches and spiteful words."
Harry was taken aback by his response. He had fully expected Malfoy to hand over his assailants on a silver platter. The git from their earlier days at Hogwarts would not have hesitated.
He hissed his displeasure and disappointment in a team he had come to respect, "Well, I'm having none of it."
Without hesitation, Harry enhanced his voice magically so it could be heard over the noise, "Can I have everyone's attention?"
The department was bustling. Nearly everyone except the odd few was on their feet. The previously neatly arranged desks and chairs were in disarray, and a few offenders of petty crimes sat perfectly still in the row of wooden chairs assigned to them, silently watching the imposing men and women in pitch black doing their best to uphold justice.
When nobody paid him attention, Harry repeated significantly louder this time, "Shut it!"
Draco rolled his eyes and honestly wished Potter would let things be.
The chatter stopped, and everyone turned to face their boss with intriguing and anxious expressions. Their eyes shifted to Draco, and some gasped in surprise; others snickered, but no one uttered a word.
Harry pointed to Draco as if he were a child and demanded an explanation, "Who is responsible for this cowardly attack?"
Draco felt on display and shifted his feet uneasily, but for Potter's sake, he stood still and looked into the crowd of curious faces. His discerning eyes moved over the people eyeing him with contempt and came to rest on Terry Boot's rigid form looking about anxiously.
Pin-drop silence ensued.
Harry was livid by the actions of who he assumed were a few people and thundered, "I am going to say this once, and I'm not accustomed to repeating myself. The decisions I make, I make with the best interests of this department and the community in mind. You might not like it, but tough shit, at least give the man a bloody chance."
"I told you lot that I hired Malfoy, and you aren't expected to fucking like it." He gritted out, not caring what others thought of his behaviour.
When nobody dared to answer, Harry stormed away and banged the door to his office shut behind him, causing those within earshot to flinch nervously.
Terry exchanged a look of concern with Michael. He was sweating, his eyes were bloodshot, and he looked pretty deranged.
Michael inconspicuously grabbed Terry's arm and muttered, "Let's go before we both get the bloody sack. I've had enough of your behaviour, and I'm trying to be a good friend, but you are not making it easy."
Terry got to his feet and almost collapsed. He begged with renewed desperation, "I need it, Michael. Just one quick hit to take the edge off."
He added urgently, "I'll be back before anyone notices I'm gone." One call was all it took for the powder to be delivered. His fingers itched with want, and he chewed incessantly on his bottom lip until he breached the barrier and tasted fresh blood.
Michael grabbed Terry by the lapels of his coat and hissed, "No, have you lost your fucking mind! Come on, let's grab a smoke and leave."
Thomas had his feet up on the table and took in the situation with a solemn expression. He would honour his word and keep an eye on the Malfoy brat. There was something there that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
Draco made eye contact with the veteran and gave a curt nod of acknowledgement and appreciation which, to his immense surprise, Thomas returned with a distinctive nod of his own.
Others stepped out of his way and let him pass by without fuss, only offering colourful phrases along the lines of deserving what he got.
Hannah offered an encouraging smile as Draco approached her small desk, but a short girl stepped in front of him and inquired suddenly, "Are you okay? I knew something happened, but I didn't expect it to be this bad."
Draco grinned reassuringly, "I'm fine, Emily. Nothing too much to bother about." His face hurt when he smiled, not to mention the soreness that spread throughout his body.
He asked in an attempt to make small talk, "How was the rest of training?"
Emily shrugged, "Okay, I guess."
She glanced over her shoulder at Hannah, "I'll let you get back to work with your partner then," and added sincerely, "Take care of yourself. I will see you tomorrow?"
Draco gave a confident nod, "Definitely, and Emily?"
Emily questioned at once curiously, "Yes?"
He said with a genuine smile, "Thank you."
She grinned and said in a slightly loud voice, "No worries. Don't let these stuck-up fools get to you." The girl had guts for a new recruit.
She didn't know half of it, but he appreciated her kind words, "I won't."
Hannah smirked, "Well, she's cute. Feeling better?"
Draco shook his head gently, "Like I got stomped on by a giant."
Hannah chuckled and gave the enlarged pictures on her desk her undivided attention. Draco sat down next to her and glanced at the many disturbing images cluttering up her table. He reached over and moved them about. His astute eyes went straight to the beautifully carved pendant of the owl and wand.
It intrigued him, and he was confident it held significant meaning, but his mind was sluggish from the potions he had been forced to take to manage the pain.
A high pitch seductive laughter filled the air, but a crowd of black cloaks covered the source.
The sound was pleasing, and he couldn't help but look towards it and ask Hannah, "What's the commotion?"
She rolled her eyes. Her frustration was apparent, "That would be the dulcet tones of Michelle." The stupid French cow.
Draco raised a curious brow, "Michelle?"
Hannah explained further in an annoyed tone, "An Auror sent over for training by the French Ministry. She's not bad if she can manage to keep her big fat mouth shut for more than five minutes."
A realisation struck home, and Draco grew thoughtful, "I see."
A group of wizards gathered around a witch he hadn't seen before. She seemed to be holding centre stage, and it was obvious why.
Her uniform wasn't their standard issue but consisted of a fashionable blue knee-length skirt, a white silk blouse, and a stylish jacket. The material skimmed over her flattering curves and fit her perfectly.
She sat on top of a desk, crossed her legs, purposely letting her skirt hike up as she addressed the wizards gathered around her animatedly.
The woman was a looker. Tall with long legs, smooth skin by the looks of it, a slim yet toned figure and dark blonde hair, which she had carefully pulled back into a neat ponytail.
Her startling blue eyes were her most captivating feature. The appreciative look she sent in his direction was filled with pure flirtation. It was abundantly clear she liked what she saw and made it obvious.
Draco yawned pointedly, looked away and once again gave Hannah his full attention.
Hannah noticed his lack of interest and chuckled, "Well, that's a first."
Draco raised a brow in question, "What do you mean?"
She pointed to the wizards fawning over Michelle and teased, "How come you're not drooling over her like those other miserable sods?"
Draco answered with a devilish glint in his eyes, "She's not my type." His type was sitting two floors above him in what he assumed was a very comfortable leather chair.
Hannah snorted, "Right."
Michelle eyed the towering, gorgeous man with ice-blonde hair who seemed immune to her charms.
It was a refreshing change. She loved a challenge and somehow knew her efforts would be rewarded.
"Who is that?" She boldly pointed at Draco and drawled in a thick French accent
A well-built man glanced over his shoulder at who she was pointing at and openly scowled, "That's Malfoy. You shouldn't waste your time on him."
An olive-skinned good-looking man added grimly, "He was a Death Eater."
Michelle bit her lip and continued to stare unashamed, "Mmm, he is very handsome." She did not care much about his past. If he was an Auror now, wasn't it clear that he had renounced his old ways?
Another man thoroughly smitten by her uttered a blatant lie, "He's also very gay." He didn't take kindly to the way she was looking at Malfoy.
Michelle wasn't convinced. She cocked her head to the side and studied Draco intently, answering, "Hmm, really? I don't think so."
Hannah looked up from the pictures she was scrutinising in time to catch Michelle gawking at Malfoy. She coughed to get his attention and muttered, "Merlin, she's been staring at you for the past five minutes."
Draco couldn't be bothered to look at the woman who was clearly taken by him and shrugged instead to show his indifference, "That's her bloody problem." He wasn't the least bit interested in whoever Michelle was.
"Are you free for dinner tonight?" The same man asked eagerly. There was a quaint restaurant on the outskirts of London that she would love.
Michelle stroked his cheek and replied in her native tongue, "Le dîner a l'air merveilleux, ma chérie, mais je préfère aller avec lui que toi."
She finished in a carrying voice and glanced expectantly at Draco out of the corner of her eye.
Loosely translated, she had said, "Dinner sounds wonderful, darling, but I would rather go with him than you." These boorish Englishmen were uneducated in the fine art of the French language, she thought candidly.
Draco smirked the second her comment made it to his ear. She would be pleasantly surprised to find that he spoke her language fluently with a slight accent, he admitted to himself.
Hannah raised a brow, "What's so funny?"
He brushed it off, "Nothing at all."
He changed the topic quickly and insisted, "Go on, hand me the pictures of the first victim."
Hannah looked at him curiously but pushed the pictures in his direction and let things be.
On the way back from Doris, Hermione found Terry in the smoker's lounge. She was thankful that they were alone.
She took a deep breath and sashayed forward confidently with a bounce in her step and letting her hips sway.
She entered the smoke-filled area, gasped for a breath of fresh air but composed herself enough to approach the duo.
Hermione leaned against the wall made of glass, twirled a strand of rogue hair, and spoke sweetly, "Hi, I thought I might find you here."
If Malfoy were not going to corporate, she would have to resort to other means to find out who was responsible and reprimand them for their insubordination. Harry had enough on his plate rather than having to play Headmaster to a bunch of unruly boys with inflated egos.
Terry took a deep drag and tried to steady his trembling hands, "Were you looking for me?"
Hermione nodded, touched his arm, and replied earnestly, "Uh-huh, I was worried about you." She paused for a moment and took in Terry's quivering fingers wrapped around his cigarette before requesting, "There's one other thing I wanted to ask, darling."
Terry smiled tiredly, "Go ahead, Hermione. Ask away." He knew what she was after. He wasn't a complete idiot.
Hermione stepped closely and invaded his personal space. She looked at him through hooded eyes and questioned innocently, "Are you responsible for the assault on Malfoy?" Her womanly fragrance overpowered the stench of smoke that lingered.
Michael stiffened and averted his gaze. This was not going to end well for either party.
Terry leered at once, "Is that what the little shit told you?" The no-good bastard was the same two-faced asshat he was back at Hogwarts.
Hermione shook her head and lied convincingly enough to fool Boot, "No, I haven't seen him. Why would I? His wellbeing means nothing to me."
She touched his reddened knuckles and simpered, "But I can see your bruised fingers. Poor baby."
Terry sighed. Her fingers brushing over his was soothing, "Ah, I punched a wall earlier to take the edge off."
"Hmm, well, it's a good thing someone put Malfoy in his rightful place," she added while continuing to trail her fingers along his fingers. Her actions filled her with a certain amount of guilt. Still, she deemed it necessary to rectify the violation of conduct and, most importantly, get Terry the help he desperately needed.
Her answer surprised him but pleased him just the same. It wasn't like Granger to condone violence of any kind, but he wasn't thinking straight in his current state. In a moment of pure weakness in front of the woman he supposedly loved, he confessed smugly, "Yeah, you should see his pretty face. I fucked him up real good."
Michael paled and cursed under his breath. How could Terry make such a costly mistake?
Terry tried to pull Hermione close and muttered, "You know I would do anything for you."
She stepped away from him. Her demeanour changed as she narrowed her eyes and accused, "How dare you attack him?"
Terry struggled to grasp what was happening.
His head pounded relentlessly, but he managed a weak, "What? You just said..." Did Granger trick him into a confession?
Hermione scowled, "You're a bigger idiot than I give you credit for if you believed that little act." She was, unfortunately, letting her emotions fuel her actions.
She spat harshly, "What were you thinking, Terry? Oh, that's right, you weren't. I mean, look at you." He looked a right mess, but was it fair of her to throw his weakest moment in his face? It wasn't, but she was consumed by the unfairness of his unprovoked attack on Draco.
Hermione could feel the magic within her come alive. She hurled spitefully, "Did you honestly believe I would support your cowardly attack on a man who refused to lift a finger to stop you?"
Terry argued feebly, "He had it coming for breaking my nose."
She pressed undeterred, "You are not fit to work."
Michael made his presence known. He stepped forward and spoke to Hermione in hushed tones, "Granger, calm down."
She looked at him, frowned and replied with disappointment, "Stay out of this. It does not concern you. I expected more from you, Michael."
Michael felt his temper rise and defended, "You need to get your facts straight."
Hermione mocked, "You probably stood by, watched and did nothing, Michael. That is much worse."
Terry growled, "Leave him out of it. I take full responsibility for my actions as they were mine alone." He wasn't about to let Michael take any blame for his recklessness.
"Good, because your "actions" are not without consequences," Hermione made air quotes to emphasise her point.
Witnessing the intense argument and not wanting to intrude, many turned away from the lounge, pocketed their pack of smokes, and returned to their department's grumbling.
Terry struggled but straightened to his full height, so he loomed over her and gritted out, "What are you going to do about it, Granger?" He hoped to intimidate, but Hermione wasn't in the least bit swayed by his effort to seem threatening.
He didn't even show a smidge of remorse. Boot was too far gone.
Hermione stood her ground, took a deep breath, and stated plainly, "Terry, you are suspended until further notice."
Terry could not believe the words she spoke. He questioned in disbelief, "What? Because of Malfoy?"
Hermione shook her head and countered, "No! It's because you need help to overcome this compulsion."
He spluttered viciously, "You have no fucking right."
Hermione did not take lightly her position being questioned. She reacted with authority, "I am the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, and you will find that I have every bloody right."
She declared frankly, "You are a liability that we cannot afford." Albeit, it was a harsh statement even though it was true.
Terry tried to come up with a suitable answer but spat instead, "Potter is my boss, and you are...."
Hermione glared sternly and warned, "I wouldn't complete that sentence if I were you."
She ignored the frothing man before her and recited somewhat calmly, "Following a full psychological evaluation in a month and hoping you pass, you will be reinstated, but until such time, you will be enrolled into an anonymous Ministry program to overcome your issues."
Terry barked, "Bullshit. I disagree. You cannot force me!" The visible veins on his temple pulsated under the stress of the situation.
Hermione frowned and held out her hand, palm up, "Fine! If that is your wish. Hand in your resignation and badge."
The blood drained from Terry's face, "What?" No! He refused to accept what was happening.
Michael could not help but come to the aid of his best mate, "Granger, don't you think this is all a bit cruel?"
His choice of words stung, but Hermione shut him down and cautioned, "This is none of your business, Corner. You are lucky we have decided to overlook your involvement in this matter."
Terry laughed manically, "You've crossed over to the dark side then, Granger?"
He bowed elaborately and said in a hurt tone, "I'll do as you command, but I'll never forget it. My biggest mistake was not the drugs. It was loving you." His true feelings were out in the open, and there was no going back now.
Hermione was stunned into silence by his bold declaration, but after a few seconds had passed, she retorted, "That's neither here nor there." It was a horribly weak response.
Terry knew she didn't return his affections, but it broke him just the same. He wanted to cause her a smidge of pain he was feeling, "Oh, the truth finally comes out, doesn't it?"
Hermione answered firmly, "Yes, and the horrid shameful truth is that you attacked an unarmed man. Merlin, you disgrace the name wizard."
Terry laughed out loud and sneered without regret. He asked incredulously, "I disgrace the name wizard? And I suppose Malfoy is innocent?"
He took a step forward and hissed, "Why are you sticking up for a man who belittled you at every opportunity?" They had all witnessed the arrogant Slytherin's disgusting behaviour towards Granger.
Hermione couldn't believe the following words she uttered, "He's trying to make up for everything's he's done, but look at you. You're nothing but a drugged-out waste of space."
Her words caused Terry to reel back and his features to contort painfully.
She knew she crossed a line and tried to form a proper apology, "Terry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that.."
Michael intervened, "Look, let's talk about all this later."
"You two-faced bit...," Terry started to say but swallowed the last word. He could never bring himself to call her that unforgivable word.
He cried helplessly, "This has nothing to do with helping me. This is about you punishing me for putting your fucking boyfriend in the hospital wing."
Hermione tried to argue, "That is not true..." It wasn't, was it? But she knew it was his addiction that clouded his judgement.
Terry cut her off, "You act all high and mighty, refusing to initially entertain the very thought of marrying Malfoy but now, it's all miraculously changed."
Had it? Was she changing towards Malfoy?
Terry bared his teeth and taunted without mercy, "Tell me something, is it his money or his puny cock that's got you bending for him?"
Hermione balled her hands to make fists, her fingernails dug into the palm of her hand, but she kept them firmly at her side and grated out, "You disgust me." Her inner thoughts screamed for her to control her anger.
Terry didn't skip a beat with his reply, "And you repulse me, Princess. At least, I don't pretend to be someone I'm not while fucking the enemy on the side."
Her temper spiralled out of control. Hermione brought her hand across and slapped Terry hard across the face. The sound of her hand connecting with his cheek bounced off the walls and caught him off guard but only momentarily.
He pushed her back effortlessly, pinned her to the wall with his body, nuzzled into the warmth of her neck and rasped, "You cut me deep, Granger. Your mere presence drives me insane with lust."
She struggled to push him off, but he was too strong. The pungent stench of stale smoke emitting from him was sickening, but she brushed it aside and hissed, "Get off me."
Michael snapped into action, pulled Terry off and held him at bay while he sneered, "You are nothing but a filthy little hypocrite. Malfoy will tire of you and toss you aside."
Corner shoved Terry back and warned darkly, "That is enough."
Hermione instructed while trying to keep the tears at bay, "Take him to Doris, Michael. He is not himself."
Terry laughed once again, "I think it's you that's lost herself along the way. Is Malfoy a fantastic shag? Did you give him what you denied me?"
Michael tried to drag Terry out, but he wasn't corporating, "Let's go!" A few bystanders were now watching the exchange and listening intently.
Hermione scowled, "I won't dignify that question with an answer." His words stung, but she was convinced she had done the right thing.
Terry departed with the final words, "Have a good one, Hermione."
She held her head high and spoke directly to Michael, "Doris and Jordan are expecting him. They will process and admit him."
Corner pursed his lips and gave a curt nod.
They did not see the tears of frustration finally breach her flattering composure and stream down her face as she fled the area.
Draco decided to call it a day. He simply could not concentrate or offer any helpful insight without a good night's rest. He informed Hannah, who was engrossed in the details of the case. She waved at him without looking up.
Michelle scribbled on parchment with her quill and looked up eagerly as Draco passed by her desk, but he didn't so much as a glance in her direction. It irritated her that like the rest he wasn't eating out of the palm of her hand, but she figured there was plenty of time to rectify his gross oversight.
He thought it best to stop by Hermione's office before heading home but was disappointed to find her elsewhere.
Brenda cleared her throat and said, "Christ, I heard about the attack, but you look bloody awful."
Draco chuckled, looked around and asked in interest, "Where is Granger?"
Brenda shrugged but looked uncomfortable, "She didn't say where she was off to." Her boss had been gone for hours, and it did not sit well with her.
Draco had a good idea what Hermione was up to, but there was a wild look in Terry's eyes that hadn't been there before. The man seemed unhinged and unpredictable.
They heard the unmistakable sound of heels against the hard marbled floor, and as soon as Hermione appeared from around the corner, Brenda exclaimed, "Oh, here she..." She didn't finish her sentence after taking in the distraught and drawn face of her boss.
Hermione hurried her footsteps, didn't stop to greet either of them, breezed past them into her room, and shut the door with an audible bang.
Brenda sprang to her feet and swapped a grave look with Draco, who in turn mustered a comforting smile to appease the worried assistant and entered the room without announcing himself.
He locked the door behind him and found Hermione with her hair down, tossing her shoes aside and reaching for the bottle of red wine she kept hidden in the secret compartment under her desk.
Her cheeks were red and tear-stained. It was clear something substantial had occurred.
Draco approached her cautiously and said deliberately in a husky undertone, "Granger..."
She choked back a sob and almost shouted, "Just leave me alone."
He was adamant he would find out what had transpired and tried a more direct question, "What happened?"
Hermione tossed back the drink she had poured herself, rubbed the aching area on her arm that Terry grabbed and lied rather feebly, "Nothing happened, Malfoy."
Draco closed the gap between them in two strides, spun her around and narrowed his eyes to mere slits and hissed darkly, "Don't fucking lie to me. Did he hurt you? I'll tear him limb from limb."
He would take the punches, name-calling and every unpleasantness they threw his way, but he wouldn't tolerate any ill-treatment towards his mother and fiancé.
The possessiveness in his tone caused her to halt and stare at him oddly. His eyes urgently raked over her trying to find a smidge of evidence that Terry had maltreated her.
She pushed him back with all her might and cried in desolation, "It's you that's hurting me! Ever since you came back, everything has gone right to hell."
Hermione yelled, her high-pitched voice bouncing off the walls of her office, "I want my life back!"
She walked around in circles, waving her arms about madly. "It was going exactly how I wanted, and I hate that it's not anymore. What's worse is that nearly everyone thinks I've willingly fallen into the Malfoy pot of gold." She exclaimed bitterly.
"Your bloody Galleons mean nothing to me," She spat after rounding on him. Her golden-brown eyes burned with renewed anger.
Draco watched his intended pacing around the large area and smirked, "Yes, I'm well aware it's my charm that's got you smitten."
She came to an abrupt halt at his teasing tone and warned, "This is not the time to make ridiculous jokes. I am not amused, Malfoy."
Undiscouraged by her rage, he mused, "Clearly. Although I do find your temper tantrums mildly arousing."
Despite his attempts to lighten the mood, he could see she was hurting. The need to comfort her was overwhelming.
Draco questioned impatiently, "Did you confront Boot, even after I told you it wasn't him.?" He added wisely, "Some things are best left alone, Granger."
Hermione scoffed, "Stop it, Malfoy! You are not the only one who can tell when someone's lying." Did he think she was a fool? That she wouldn't find out?
Draco tried again to offer some words of comfort, "Granger...." She interrupted without much thought, "What happened to you was wrong."
She gripped the edge of her desk and said solemnly. Her voice and tone were heavy with regret, "I said some horrible things to him. It was completely uncalled for. Merlin, I feel like such an unprofessional thundercunt."
Draco raised a quizzical brow, "A what?" He had never heard such an odd word.
Hermione smiled sheepishly, "It's a word Ginny uses quite often."
Her lips quivered as she fought hard to control her emotions, "Why did you come back and ruin my life, Malfoy?" It was an unfair question, especially since that was not his intention. He hadn't known about the marriage law or his unbelievable pairing with Granger. He was as helpless as she was.
She pressed forward, "I was happy. I had everything under control."
Draco eyed her almost lazily and quipped, "So you keep saying." He did not believe her. Sure, from the outside, Hermione Granger appeared to be a woman in control, but underneath the facade was a woman desperate to find her true self.
He moved close enough to make her squirm, "Are you quite finished?"
Hermione tried to step away but found she could not, thanks to her lumpy desk. Instead, she looked at Malfoy through hooded eyes and opened her mouth to reply, "No, I....."
His long fingers fisted her hair and pulled it back as his mouth descended upon hers and claimed her lips in a soul-shattering kiss. It was no gentle embrace. He wanted to possess her, chase away the darkness and claim her as his.
She was surprised by his actions, but only for a second as she willingly opened herself to him and returned his enthusiasm fervently, pushing her pert tongue against his and wanting to drown in his presence.
He kissed the sensitive area behind her ear, sending shivers down her spine and murmured between kisses, "You don't always have to be in control."
Her fingers found themselves in his hair, his silky strands slipped from her grasp, and she protested, "But, I..."
Draco tilted her chin and once again claimed her blood-filled lips hard. If she wasn't the most captivating creature, he had ever met.
Surrendering to the situation, he rasped, "You forgot to mention the undeniable chemistry we share. I can feel your magic hum under my fingertips."
He placed a feathery kiss on the pulse point of her neck, "It likes me, even if you don't."
She held onto him and pleaded halfheartedly, "Stop, anybody could walk in on us."
Draco couldn't care less if the Minister of Magic himself walked in on them, and he voiced his thoughts with confidence, "Let them."
"We are about to become husband and wife in a matter of weeks, and if I can't sneak a kiss during office hours, what's the bloody point?" He argued with good reason.
Hermione was quick with her retort, "This isn't a conventional marriage, and we are not a couple." She would have sounded more convincing if they weren't locked in a passionate embrace.
Draco chuckled, and the soft tip of his nose brushed up against her skin, making it come alive, "So you keep reminding me."
His fingers ghosted over the exposed portion of her collarbone and groaned, "The mark I left on you has healed. I think this is the opportune moment to rectify that."
She offered little to no resistance moving her head to the side. Hermione let him have his way.
His mouth closed around the diminished love bite on her collarbone. He gently pulled at her skin with his lips, allowing his teeth to graze the smoothness. His movements garnered a low moan from the woman in his arms, and he couldn't help but ask, "Does that give you pleasure?"
The punishing pulsating bruise he was bestowing upon her caused a sudden rush of desire to tug at her navel, "Oh, God..."
She breathed, "Draco, I..."
He silenced her with his lips, "Ssh...just let me kiss you."
His desperate plea was muffled against her lips, "Please..."
He unbuttoned her shirt and pushed it off her slender shoulders, exposing her lacy black brasserie to him.
Their little office escapades were getting out of hand. Still, at that particular moment, good sense went out the window, and all that remained was heavy breathing, intense kisses and marks on their skin that would serve as a remembrance of their heated exchange.
She looked completely vulnerable, and it caused his breathing to still as his eyes hungrily raved over her delectable mounds pushed together to form a perfect valley between her breasts. He ached to pull down a cup and take an eager rosy, pink bud in his mouth.
Draco was cruelly brought back by Hermione's petite hands with moderately long painted nails digging into his flesh over the rough material of his Auror robes.
In her eagerness to pull him close, her fingers dug into a particularly painful spot on his side which caused him to wince.
The dull pain reminded him not to take things any further.
Hermione broke free as soon as the barely audible sound of his discomfort made it to her ear.
She widened her eyes, mortified by her actions, "I'm so sorry."
Draco smiled and rubbed his side, "You have nothing to apologise for."
Hermione reached out, touched the area herself allowing her fingers to brush along his and asked in concern, "Does it hurt much?"
Draco sighed, "I'll live. Trust me. I've survived much worse." She wasn't the only one to have suffered his aunt's wrath.
Narcissa had been furious. It was one of the only times he'd seen her use spells with deadly force against her own sister.
Bellatrix educated him in the fine art of Legilimency, but he perfected it through hours of mediation at the Monastery. He grasped the bits and pieces he was taught and patched them together to teach himself.
Besides, those sessions were more torture than learning and often resulted in him writhing on the floor in pure agony at the slightest infringement.
Despite stern orders from the Dark Lord to not intervene, his mother barged in one day and caught her beloved sister in the act of brutalising her only son.
The lessons came to an abrupt halt after Narcissa threatened to murder her older sister without mercy if she so much as touched her son again.
Draco reluctantly backed away and let Hermione button up, restoring her to her earlier decent state.
With one hand on the door to let himself out, he smirked in his usual semi-arrogant way, "Thank you for defending my honour, Granger."
Hermione willed her rapidly beating heart to return to normal and mused, "Oh, sod off you egotistical prat."
His deep laughter carried him out, and she couldn't help but smile herself. She felt drawn to him despite her efforts to thwart his existence.
The ring that sat majestically on her finger emitted a golden hue that washed over her. It was making its approval of their union known.
Terry stormed into Harry's office unannounced, leaving Michael to sulk outside.
He was trembling and looked ready to collapse, but gathering every bit of remaining strength, he yelled, "Granger has fucking suspended me!"
Harry remained calm; Boot was in no state to be reprimanded. He waved a piece of paper with the Ministry's official seal and replied, "I'm aware." Brenda had sent it earlier. Hermione was a stickler for the procedure.
Terry brought his hand down hard on the table and growled, "This is unacceptable, Potter. She has no fucking right."
Harry leaned back and forewarned, "Mind your tone, Boot." He would not tolerate nor listen to an unjustified word against Hermione
Terry was livid, "Oh, so you agree with her decision?"
Harry slowly got to his feet, "As a matter of fact, I do." He had intended on doing it himself, but Hermione had beaten him to it.
He softened his tone, "Look, mate, you need help. Get this thing under control before it destroys you."
Terry lied with no conviction, "I'm fine." He was far from okay. It took all his inner strength to keep standing.
Harry narrowed his eyes, "Like hell you are," and added what he believed to be the truth, "Granger cares about you."
Terry bit back sarcastically, "Yeah, and pigs can fly."
Harry wasn't about to argue and instructed sternly, "Report to Doris immediately or do I need to assign an Auror to escort you?"
Terry frowned, "No thanks, I can find my way there." He walked out without a second glance, and minutes later, they were speaking to Jordan.
Jordon spoke kindly and placed a box on top of the table for Terry to put his belongings, "Boot, your admittance is anonymous. No one besides Granger, Potter and Corner, here will know."
Terry was still seething over Hermione's actions and what he regarded as a betrayal of the worst sort.
He glared, "I don't need this treatment or whatever. Put that on record." They were treating him like some lowlife junkie, and it didn't sit well with him at all.
Michael clamped him on the shoulder and tried to make his friend see reason, "Mate..."
Terry interrupted in anguish, "Granger is way out of line. I cannot believe she picked that blonde fuck over me."
Michael sighed and said, "She didn't..."
Terry shot him a look of loathing, "You're supposed to be my mate." Michael was the brother he never had. His only true friend.
Michael stated firmly, "I am, but I'm not going to agree with you blindly. I should have never let you come to work in your current state."
Jordon pushed a paper towards Terry and instructed politely, "Sign here."
Terry read the words sprawled across the parchment, signed it reluctantly and demanded impatiently, "Do I need to go get my belongings?"
Jordon shook his head, "That won't be necessary. Everything you require will be provided for you."
Boot scoffed, "I get to wear underwear that's been picked out for me. Bloody marvellous."
He questioned mockingly, "Are they going to help me wank off too?"
Jordon was an overall nice bloke until you pushed his buttons. He fired back without remorse, "Awww, would you like me to assign someone to do that, you bloody prick?"
Michael said wearily, "Come on, man, let's not make this more unpleasant than it already is." He was exhausted from trying to keep Terry in line. The man was as stubborn as a mule.
Terry bared his teeth and gritted out, "I'm going to kill Malfoy the next time I get my hands on the pale-faced arsehole."
A burly Healer appeared and took Boot's arm to lead him in, but Terry shook it off and warned, "Don't fucking touch me."
He glanced over his shoulder at Michael standing sadly by the entrance and, for the first time, shot him a look of fear, regret, and hopelessness.
Michael smiled reassuringly and silently hoped for the best. Terry was in for a couple of rough nights, and secretly he thanked Hermione for making the right decision.
The sun was setting, and Draco was thankful that the gruelling day was almost at an end. He walked up the stone stairs, and no sooner did he enter the Manor, Max reared his head, ran in his direction at breakneck speed and demanded affection.
Draco ruffled his head and stroked his back while he sat still at his master's feet and enjoyed the attention.
The playful yet protective Alsatian grew with each passing day, and his pure white coat of fur almost reached the ground.
Narcissa looked upon her only child with love, rose from her seat by the fireplace and walked towards him, intent on learning about his first day as an Auror. His injuries became known when she got close enough to see his face.
She let out a small cry of shock, cupped his face and implored, "Oh son, what happened?" Her eyes urgently moved over the marks on his face in despair.
Draco smiled pleasantly, "The inevitable, mother. I'm fine."
The pressure in her nose grew heavy, and Narcissa felt the rush of tears to the surface, "It pains me that you still must pay for our mistakes."
Draco took her hand in his and kissed it, "It's not your fault. I'll be fine."
Narcissa sighed, "I'll have dinner sent up. Rest, darling." She didn't bother to ask why he didn't defend himself; she knew the answer to that.
"How was your day, mother?" Draco inquired, eager to stir the conversation well away from his current state.
A small smile lit up her face, "Delightful. I met one of Bernard's old friends."
She giggled like a schoolgirl, "What a charming man. I haven't laughed like that in years."
A sudden thought came to mind, "Before I forgot, the contractors called about the cottage renovation. I asked them to come around on Wednesday."
Draco almost pleaded, "Thank you, mother. Can you handle it, please?" He didn't quite understand the fuss over matching curtains, bathroom designs and colour pallets.
Narcissa smiled knowingly and nodded in agreement, "Of course, I'll speak to Hermione about her preferences and set up a meeting between them to discuss further."
He thanked profusely and bowed to show his gratitude for being excused from such an arduous task, "I am forever in your debt."
Once in his room, he took off his bulky uniform but kept the trousers on and sat crossed-legged in the middle of the room facing the last dying embers of the sun and closed his eyes in meditation.
He willed all thoughts of revenge and lust to leave his troubled mind and let the overwhelming feeling of calmness and serenity replace them.
Brenda had left for the day with a disturbed and unhappy Michael trailing after her miserably.
Harry poked his head into Hermione's office and raised a brow, "Care to explain why Boot was in my office earlier yelling bloody murder?"
Hermione stood firmly by her decision, "I'm not going to change my mind."
Harry walked in, plopped himself down on the sofa and waved his hand dismissively, "Don't worry about it. I support your judgment. I was about to do it myself. The bloke desperately needs help and a serious attitude adjustment."
Hermione was beyond relieved, "Well, yes. I was worried you would think I acted out of place." It had been eating away at her ever since she suspended Terry.
Harry smacked his lips together and invited, "Do you fancy a drink?"
She was on her feet and reaching for her bag, "Always. Let's go."
Minutes later, they piled into the Leaky Cauldon. It was a slow day considering it was Monday, and hardly any tables were occupied, but still, they opted to sit at the bar.
Harry reached for a bunch of stale peanuts and asked, "Rough day?"
Hermione threw him a mild look of disgust. Everyone knew better than to eat peanuts in a dish at a bar.
She rubbed her temples and answered grimly, "Like you wouldn't believe."
Harry saw Tom limp towards them and greeted enthusiastically, "Good evening, Tom." The ageing Innkeeper was still getting on with the help of others. He stubbornly refused to retire and joked about dying on the job.
Tom enthused, "Mr Potter, Miss Granger, always a pleasure to have you."
Hermione smiled warmly, "Lovely to see you, Tom."
Tom grinned and invited, "What can I get you? The usual?"
Harry and Hermione replied together, "Yes, please."
Seconds later, two glasses of Firewhiskey with three ice cubes each were placed before them.
Harry took a sip and raised thoughtfully, "Did you have any idea about Terry?"
Hermione shook her head and stared into her glass. The tawny liquid sloshing within captivated her, "Not at all. I am, however, worried about him."
Harry nodded in agreement, "As am I, but he's always been the reckless one."
Hermione groaned in exasperation, "Can we not talk about Terry Boot. We had a rather nasty argument that I would like to forget."
Harry looked her over and couldn't help but grin, "Over him beating up Malfoy or having him committed?"
Hermione turned to face him with a look of shock written all over her face, "You knew about Malfoy? Why didn't you take action?"
Harry laughed aloud, "Of course I knew."
He nudged her and admitted, "You've gone and done my dirty work for me by suspending him. Besides, it was a hunch, I didn't have proof, and Malfoy kept his big mouth shut on the matter. It wouldn't have looked good if everyone labelled him a rat on top of every other foul name they have for him."
Hermione pulled her hair into a messy bun, got comfortable and frowned, "I guess." The consequences of her actions hit her, "Shite, maybe I shouldn't have confronted Terry." The last thing she wanted was for the situation to escalate.
Harry shrugged, "Yeah, maybe you shouldn't have, but it's too late for that now."
Hermione sighed, "I thought spending more time with Terry would help him."
Harry rolled his eyes and mocked, "And feed into his infatuation with you? If you haven't noticed, and I'm sure you have, Boot is in love with you."
Terry's earlier confession of love floated through her mind, and it made her heart ache. Life would have been so much simpler if she returned his affections instead of snogging Malfoy in her office.
Harry took a sip of his drink, pushed aside the burning sensation and teased, "You always were one to tend to a wounded soul."
Hermione argued, "I was willing to do what I can to help him."
Harry chuckled, "That would have been brilliant. Malfoy would have been thrilled."
He added in a severe tone, "Speaking of the Slytherin git, he had a rough go of things today."
Hermione averted her gaze so Harry would not see her expression of concern and nodded, "I know. He didn't even attempt to fight back. Says he deserves it."
Harry frowned, "He's an idiot. I hired him for a reason. He is no use to me dead."
Hermione urged, "They shouldn't pick on him it's utterly unfair."
Harry raised a curious brow, "Is it? Half of the DMLE lost loved ones in the war."
Hermione hung her head, drained her drink and replied, "I know, it's just that....."
Harry smirked and teased, "Aww, do you have genuine feelings for the tosser?"
Hermione denied the accusation, "Of course not."
Harry chuckled, "If Ron could hear you now."
Hermione grimaced, "Very funny. Pity, we should have asked him to join us."
Harry shook his head vigorously, "And listen to him moaning about how horrible Malfoy is? No thanks, I've had enough of that all day."
A sickeningly sweet voice that they knew all too well interrupted their moment of peace and fun, "Harry, Hermione, how lovely to see you both."
Hermione held nothing back, "Piss off, Skeeter."
Rita grinned, "Well, that's rude." Nothing threw her off.
Hermione tried a more direct approach, "What do you want?"
Rita shrugged casually, "Oh, nothing, I just came over to say hello."
Harry muttered angrily, "Next time, try not to send a complete idiot to do your dirty work."
Skeeter acted shocked and reacted innocently, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Harry glared sternly, "Of course you don't. Try something like that again, and you'll be sharing your mate's cell in Azkaban."
Rita paled but smiled, displaying her crooked teeth to hide her discomfort. Then her eyes caught sight of something far more interesting.
Hermione rested her hand on the bar counter, her legendary engagement ring on full display.
Skeeter could barely contain her excitement. She knew without a doubt it was pairing against their wishes. There was simply no way the righteous, stick-up-her-arse Granger would ever agree to a union with former Death Eater Draco Malfoy. This was the work of the marriage law.
"Yum, yum," Skeeter muttered under her breath. The headline was already forming in her devious little head.
She excused herself at once, "Well, it was nice to see you both, but I must run. Toodles."
Hermione mumbled, "Fuck off, you twat."
They sipped the second round of drinks in companionable silence until Hermione thought of Ginny and how upset she had been over their fight.
She cleared her throat and approached the topic cautiously, "Listen, Harry, you know Ginny loves you."
Harry looked miserable at the recollection of the stupid fight he had with his wife, "Of course I do. I just lost my head."
Hermione suggested, "She needs a relaxing holiday." Silently she pleaded, don't hate me, Gin.
Harry concurred, "We both do, but I can't leave in the middle of all this." How would it look if he took off on a holiday while a serial killer was at large, and one woman was still missing?
Hermione swallowed hard and said slowly, "She's going to kill me for this, but Malfoy and his lot, Luna and Neville, are going to Hawaii."
Harry asked abruptly, "Are you going too?"
Hermione fidgeted and answered nervously, "Well, yes, I am going, as a matter of fact. "
Harry seemed genuinely concerned, "Moving rather fast, aren't we? Meet the parents and now a holiday? What's next, a pet?"
Hermione laughed candidly, "Don't be ridiculous. Besides, there's Max, and I wouldn't dream of getting another."
Harry looked perplexed, "Who the heck is Max?"
Hermione smiled fondly and explained, "Oh, Max is Malfoy's Alsatian. He is so cute, playful and utterly adorable."
Harry couldn't help himself, "Malfoy or the dog?"
Hermione scolded, "Shove it, Potter."
She included hopefully, "Anyways, I thought Ginny could go with us. You know, enjoy herself for a few days."
Hermione inquired, "Do you think Molly could help you watch James?"
Harry was feeling a bit peckish and ordered a sandwich. He answered without a doubt, "I don't see why not. I'm sure she could be persuaded. She loves her grandchildren to bits."
He added thoughtfully, "Maybe I could have Teddy over. Make a day out of it."
Hermione bobbed her head in agreement. It was going better than she expected until Harry raised his head with a wild look in his eyes, "Will Zabini be there?"
She swallowed hard and answered slowly, "Considering he's Malfoy's best mate, I'm pretty sure he will be, but honestly, you have nothing to worry about."
Reaching over, she squeezed Harry's hand and reassured him, "Your wife loves you to the moon and back, you blithering idiot."
Harry tossed a disgusting peanut at her and frowned, "You know, Hermione. I might pity Malfoy."
Hermione giggled, "Oh, fuck off, Harry."
Harry said after a moment’s thought. His voice heavy with emotion, "But I do agree that Ginny should go. She deserves a break. I know it is not easy on her. She gave up so much when James was born, and it's been rather selfish of me to go along with it."
Hermione punched him in the arm, "That's the spirit. Besides, I will be there and Merlin knows I could use the company." She needed someone levelheaded to make sure she didn't make a complete fool out of herself.
Harry raved, "It's settled then, but let me tell her. I want it to be a surprise."
Hermione beamed and drew an imaginary line across her lips, "My lips are sealed."
They clinked glasses in celebration of their brilliant plan.
Chapter 41
Notes:
HAPPY CHRISTMAS! Be always blessed! ❤
First of all, my sincere apologies for the late update, but work has been demanding and the plot of the story is expanding and as we advance I will be updating every ten days! There are some exciting twists and turns, which I hope everyone will enjoy!
The comments are genuinely amazing. ❤
Also, I want to point out that I appreciate the time taken to leave such fantastic feedback. 🤗
A huge thank you to everyone who took the time to post such amazing feedback.
Enjoy Chapter Forty One!
Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! 🥰
Chapter Text
Nott Manor
It was a reasonably warm day, but the couple embracing on the second floor of Nott Manor could not be bothered to go out into the world. They were exposed with only a cotton sheet thrown across them haphazardly to cover their nakedness.
Luna pulled her leg free from under Theo's leg, pressed into his side and trailed her fingers slowly up his torso, avoiding the light patches of hair on his otherwise bare chest.
She sighed in exhilaration, "Was it good?"
Theo adjusted his weight, got comfortable, pulled his loving wife to his side and placed a kiss on her forehead, "It gets better each time."
That much was true, Luna was exceptionally different from any woman he had been with, and that didn't change in the bedroom. She preferred to be on top, and he had no qualms about it.
Frankly, he enjoyed a dominating woman, and she pounced on him as if she were a caged animal set loose with her intense passion for him.
She grew forlorn and disappointed, "It's the last day of ovulation." They hadn't been trying to get pregnant for long, but somehow she figured it would have happened by now. Every time the pregnancy test came back negative, it filled her with despair.
Theo rested his head on the pillow, averted his gaze and mumbled, "Oh, is it? That's a shame." He could not lie to his beloved. Having sex to a timetable was emasculating, and the more Luna bounced into the room excitedly to announce it was time to have sex, the more his cock wanted to dislodge itself and flee.
While he wanted to have children and build a family with Luna, an underlying and problematic issue caused him to think twice.
Luna was perceptive. She had noticed her spouse's odd conduct ever since they collectively decided on having a child.
Somberly, she supposed that she hadn't wanted to pay too much attention to his mood swings and had purposely ignored them since she was so adamant about starting a family.
Deciding her possibly selfish behaviour could spell disaster for their relationship in the long run. Luna thought it best to address the problem head-on and devise a tangible solution.
She took her husband's large hand in hers, entwined her fingers through his and tried to get his attention, "Theo?"
Theo was deep in thought, but he heard her sweet voice bore into them, "Hmm?"
She let go of his hand, sat up and let anxiety fuel her question, "Do you want to have a child?"
Theo gave her his undivided attention. If there was a time, to be honest, it was now. He struggled to find the right words to say without hurting her feelings, "Oh, umm..."
Luna stared at him through tear-filled eyes. Her face fell, and she exclaimed in utter mortification, "Merlin, I've forced you into this, haven't I?" A part of her had known it all along. How could she have been so thoughtless?
Theo shook his head, sat up himself and cupped Lunas's small, sweet face. She looked ready to cry out her frustrations.
He implored, "No darling, I want to have children, but it's just, I'm afraid."
Luna brushed aside her feelings and raised a curious brow, "Afraid?" She had been expecting many things, but being afraid was undoubtedly not one of them.
Theo sighed and said with raging bitterness, "My old man was a bastard, Luna. I've told you bits and pieces, but I spared you the true horrific details of my upbringing."
She scooted closer and encouraged, "You can always talk to me, Theo." She would help him overcome his past demons and chase away the pain that affected him.
Theo looked entirely defeated. His usual casual demeanour vanished, and in its place was a scared little boy who fought hard to keep his emotions under control, "It's not easy for me to talk about my childhood. If it weren't for Hogwarts, I'd probably be dead or committed to an asylum like my mum."
This was the first Luna was hearing of it. They hardly ever spoke about his parents, and since it was a sensitive topic, she didn't want to push him into talking about it. To hear that his mother spent her last days in an institution was disturbing, and she gave voice to those thoughts, "What? How come you never told me?"
A small smile crept up his face as he spoke of his mother. It was apparent she meant a great deal to him, "She was the only saving grace in my life, and he made her life a living hell."
By he, Luna assumed Theo was referring to his father.
Her assumption was proven correct when Theo barrelled into an explanation, "I had to watch him physically and mentally abuse her daily."
He included helplessly, "She was such a fragile woman. There was nothing I could do! He would use her body to practise the Cruciatus curse and laugh at her agony." Memories he had suppressed rose to the surface, he clutched the sides of his head and willed them away, but they remained to torment him.
A sharp pain stabbed his heart as an image of him lying in the comfort of his mother's arms while she read him stories of faraway lands came to mind. Those were his best childhood memories, and he cherished them.
Luna pulled his hand free and looked upon him with tears streaming down her face, "Oh, Merlin. That's terrible." She couldn't begin to imagine the misery and pain they had endured at the hands of a man she knew to be intelligent but a deranged lunatic who took pleasure in others' suffering.
It was as if a floodgate opened, and Theo spilt out his tragic story, "A year after I started at Hogwarts, she was committed. She, umm, passed away when I was twelve."
Anger coursed through his veins at the very thought of his father's callous attitude. He gritted out in disgust, "I didn't even know. One day, my father turned up at school, handed me a black leather box with her diamond broach pinned inside, and told me she had died. He didn't show a hint of remorse."
Oh, he remembered that day well. Professor Snape had fetched him, and despite the usual sour disposition of their House Head, Snape bestowed a look of pity and sadness upon him. Perhaps, because he knew what the child was going through, having gone through it himself and sympathised.
Theo could no longer hold his feelings at bay. He cried bitter tears, "I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to my darling mother."
Luna cradled him and repeatedly whispered, "I'm so sorry." She knew firsthand what it was like to lose a mother but not being allowed to say a final farewell was beyond cruel.
Theo composed himself somewhat and said bluntly, "I never went home during the holidays. Usually, I stayed at Hogwarts or quite often at Malfoy Manor." Narcissa had become a foster mother to him, and in her care, though temporary, he felt true happiness.
Luna nodded slowly in understanding, "I can only imagine." She pictured a terrified teenager hiding from his domineering father.
He continued to confess. It felt oddly comforting, "One night when I was fourteen, he came looking for me, and Draco hid me best he could in this ancient cabinet smelling of mothballs. Narcissa tried to protect me, but Lucius did not think twice. He handed me over to my father without a shred of mercy."
Draco had literally begged his father to stay silent and let Theo be, but Lucius was having none of that. The older men were friends, bound to the same cause, and their unruly sons would not get in the way of that.
Theo said dejectedly, "I will never forget that day. I can still recall the sound of his heavy belt as he brought it down hard on my back time and time again until I lay in a pool of my blood."
Luna stroked his cheek lovingly, "Theo..."
He swallowed hard, "After his imprisonment in Azkaban, he showed some remorse, I was told, but despite his countless pleas to see me, I could never bring myself to forget all he had done and visit him. He died alone, covered in his filth. I hardly recognised the body." The figure that was supposedly his father was unrecognisable, but from the unique tattoo of a Basilisk on his back, Theo successfully identified the corpse.
Theo grabbed Luna by her arms and shook her, "What if I turn out like him, Luna? Our children will hate me."
She broke free from his hold and pleaded, "No, baby! You will not. I know you and what's in your heart." She touched the area on his chest just above his heart and implored, "Don't let your past define who you are."
Theo leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on her lips and muttered desperately, "I love you so much, Lovegood."
She pulled him close and whispered between kisses, "And I love you, so much, always."
The Institute
Terry wore the standard-issue white shirt and jogging bottoms. His feet were bare.
His room was not much. A colourful painting hung on the wall, a single bed rested in the corner with a clean mattress and matching sheets, and a table with a few books neatly stacked on top of it to chase away the boredom when the gut-wrenching pain stopped. The floor was cold, but he welcomed the coolness that seeped into his skin.
They had confiscated his wand. He hadn't given it up without a fight. Being a highly skilled Auror, it had taken no less than three Healers to restrain him and relieve him of his beloved item, but he supposed it was for the best.
As Granger so eloquently pointed out, he wasn't a drugged-out waste of space. There was still much he needed to, wanted to accomplish.
Terry sat by the one window in the room, overlooking the breathtaking view of a lake. There seemed to be a gentle breeze, noticeable by how the trees were swaying lightly in the wind.
Grudgingly he was forced to admit the place was decent. The staff of Healers and Learners were helpful, went out of their way to inquire about their well-being, and the food was better than the drivel he had been shovelling into his mouth back home.
Others overcoming issues like him reached out upon his arrival, but Terry stayed away, kept to himself and ignored the friendly gestures of the other patients. The night had been particularly rough. He had been plagued with such violent hallucinations and dreams they had to restrain him once again for fear of harming himself.
His appetite was beyond control. He grabbed the food tray as it arrived and greedily devoured the contents within minutes.
Terry tapped his head against the pane of thick glass that separated him from the real world and thought exclusively about Granger. Thinking about her caused him mental and physical pain, her refusal of him did not sit well, but she entered his thoughts against his will and festered within.
The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that Malfoy had done something to her. Perhaps slipped her a potion or used a spell to make her complacent. It was the only plausible explanation for her sudden change in attitude towards him.
The Hermione he knew would never soften towards a bastard like Malfoy. He shuddered as a wave of frosty coldness engulfed him. It was hard to keep his bearings in such moments. He collapsed to the floor and convulsed.
After an unsatisfactory shower, her thoughts revolved around Terry Boot and his current predicament. Remembering the harsh words she had unjustifiably thrown at him and his declaration of love, Hermione retorted to pushing aside such thoughts for another time and chose her outfit with care. A black, sleeveless dress where the hem flirted with her kneecaps and a flattering set of purple silk underwear.
Following Malfoy's employment and their moments of unbridled passion in her office left her wanting. It put a mischievous smile on her face.
She was not one to break the rules often, but it felt heavenly to push the boundaries as long as their activities were shielded from wandering eyes and gossip.
It was a reason to look forward to going to work. She loved her job, but not knowing what lay ahead each day further motivated her.
Fetching a pair of golden hoops from her jewellery box, and was attaching them to each delicate earlobe when the phone rang. Hermione looked at the name pulsating on the screen and smiled.
Hermione connected the call and said happily, "Good morning, Narcissa."
Narcissa sounded quite pleased herself, "Darling, how are you?"
Hermione answered with what she truly felt, "It's lovely to hear from you."
Narcissa smiled, "Likewise. I miss you terribly."
Hermione made a split-second decision, "Are you free for lunch?"
Narcissa was quick to reply, "That sounds marvellous."
Hermione queried casually, "At the Manor?" She hoped they could go out for a chance.
It seemed like Narcissa shared her sentiment, "Oh Merlin, no! I'm fed up with staring at these walls."
Hermione was relieved, "I completely understand. Where would you like to go?"
Silence surrounded them as each thought of an appropriate place, but it was Narcissa that suggested, "How about J.Sheekey? I do have a craving for seafood."
Hermione bobbed her head in approval even though the person on the other end could not see, then said in agreement, "As you wish. Does one pm work for you?"
Narcissa tittered, "It does indeed. I look forward to it." She sounded more like an excited teenager than the aristocratic woman she indeed was. Hermione wondered if Narcissa had any part of her childhood that hadn't involved proper manners, long dresses, hours of etiquette training and lessons on pureblood dominance.
They hung up on a high note. Hermione tossed the phone back into her sizeable handbag, threw open her cupboard, gazed fondly upon the neat rows of shoes and chose a pair of red heels to complete her ensemble before heading off to work.
Harry sat fully dressed in his Auror robes at the small wooden table in the modest kitchen of Grimmauld Place and read The Daily Prophet with mild interest. James coloured a picture he had drawn of a winged dragon while Ginny piled her hair on top of her head, yawned while she fixed them breakfast and fussed over her only child.
She looked over James's shoulder before setting down his favourite cereal and gushed, "That's lovely, darling."
James beamed at his mother's encouraging words, scooped a spoonful of milk and crunchy flakes and stuffed it into his mouth before grabbing a thick green crayon to colour the dragon's head.
Harry gathered his courage. After his discussion with Hermione for half the night, he had gone over it in his head and weighed the pros and cons once he returned home.
Of course, the advantages outweighed the massive disadvantage that was Zabini tagging along. After much deliberation, he came to a decision. Still, once again, he was in two minds but decided it was for the best and blurted out before he could change his mind, "Ginny?"
Ginny applied a thick layer of mayonnaise on the slice of bread, covered the rest of the sandwich with it, pressed down hard and cut it in half. She wasn't paying attention to her husband and responded with a disinterested, "Hmmm, yes, love?"
Harry spoke timidly, "I have something for you."
Ginny set the packed lunch bag in front of him and looked at the piece of paper Harry pushed in her direction, "Oh?"
He had conjured a postcard with the word Hawaii written across it in a desperate attempt to appear creative.
She wasn't amused, but the surprise on her face was apparent, "What's all this, Harry?" Hermione's upcoming trip to Hawaii had slipped her mind entirely, but it dawned on her within seconds, and she widened her eyes in realisation.
James tugged at her sleeve to get her attention, "Mummy, look. Please look, mummy." He was proudly trying to show his now completed drawing of the dragon.
Harry patted his son on the head, "That's gorgeous, mate. Why don't you run along and watch some cartoons on the telly?"
Drawing forgotten, James jumped down from the chair and ran into the living room screaming, "Yay! Cartoons." His mother never allowed him to watch television until he had finished breakfast.
Ginny sat down and continued to stare at the printed picture of a voluptuous hula girl, white sandy beaches, and a clear blue sky. One could almost feel the warmth, and it did look quite appealing.
Harry covered her hand with his, mustered a smile and insisted, "I want you to go, darling."
Ginny raised a quizzical brow in question, "Did Hermione put you up to this?" She was sure their mutual best friend played a substantial part.
Harry was quick to defend, "No, of course not. She mentioned she was going, and I thought it would be the ideal holiday for you."
Ginny protested, "Harry, I don't think...."
Harry interrupted undeterred, "You do so much for us, Gin. You deserve a break and treat." He could not remember the last time they went on holiday. His attitude towards the job was to blame.
She exhaled and argued, "But you couldn't possibly manage James and work. I wouldn't want you to be more stressed out than you already are." There was so much going on at the DMLE. He needed her around to hold down the home front.
Harry waved a hand dismissively, "It's only for a couple of days." He was already regretting his choice but kept it well hidden.
He put in with a triumphant grin, "I can ask Molly and Andromeda to help out. I am sure they will agree that you need a bloody holiday."
Ginny grumbled, "Language! And no, I don't think it's a good idea." Especially if a certain Italian man was joining the trip, their last encounter left many unanswered questions. Ginny resentfully questioned her darkest fears about whether she could trust herself around Blaise.
She pouted and tried her best to convince her loving husband, "Besides, I would have no fun without you."
Harry sighed, "Ginny, do you want to go? Be honest." He could see in her eyes that she was sorely tempted.
Ginny accepted defeat and confessed, "Yes, I do, but not without you."
Harry got to his feet with purpose and put his foot down, metaphorically speaking, "Then it's settled. You are going to Hawaii with Hermione, and that's final."
Ginny implored, "Harry...."
He turned on his heel and called out over his shoulder, "No, I don't want to hear another word."
Ginny grasped her warm coffee mug with both hands and took a deep breath.
After his dramatic escape, Harry sheepishly re-entered the kitchen and picked up the brown paper bag that held his lunch.
He gave a lop-sided grin, "Oh, umm, forgot my lunch."
Ginny couldn't help but laugh as he scrabbled away. She finished her coffee in deep thought, placed the mug in the sink to wash later, put up James's drawing on the refrigerator and went in search of the little scamp with the half-eaten bowl of milk and cereal firmly in her grasp.
Draco skipped his vigorous routine and went straight to meditation under the big oak tree. He closed his eyes and let the feeling of peace and serenity wash over him.
The weather was perfect. He felt the warmness of the sun fall upon his cheek, the rustling of leaves caress his inner ear, and the joyful sound of nature filled the space abundantly.
His body still ached from the battering the previous day, and though his ribs were fully healed, a dull pain lingered when he moved his arms in a circular motion. His training would undoubtedly aggravate the condition and cause Healer Doris to reprimand him severely.
He had to remember to stop by her office for a checkup. After all, she had insisted, and the motherly yet stern Matron was not to be trifled with.
Draco was dressed in pitch-black Auror robes and ready to head off to work within an hour. He was determined that his second day on the job would be better than the first.
His mother was nowhere in sight, and Max barked at him in greeting and whimpered when he left after grabbing a piece of toast. He fancied a stroll among Muggles and made a mental note to take the dog out of the Manor grounds for a walk.
Hermione breezed into the office in less than high spirits. She was determined to check on Terry's progress. His pained face haunted her, and she was once again wracked with guilt over her actions and decisions.
She greeted Brenda fondly, "Good morning! Any messages?"
Brenda put aside her phone. She was busy texting Michael who had coincidently decided to take a well-earned day off and catch up on his sleep.
"Nothing so far, boss," Brenda answered almost at once.
Hermione nodded and entered her well-furnished, immaculately neat office, tossed her heavy bag aside and threw herself onto the sofa.
She leaned back and closed her eyes for a few blissful seconds. The endless ringing of her phone destroyed the sanctity she tried so hard to maintain.
Hermione got to her feet and headed towards her bag with a frustrated groan, fished out her mobile and connected the call without hesitation.
A voice she knew all too well hissed, "You conniving little twat."
Hermione stifled a laugh and responded innocently, "What? I have no clue what you are on about."
Ginny snapped, "Oh, don't you dare act like a doe caught in front of headlights."
Hermione grinned and admitted, "I just gave him a nudge. The decision was completely his."
Ginny rolled her eyes, "Harry's too blinded by his love for you to know when you're manipulating him."
Hermione pulled a face and scoffed, "You cut me deep, Weasley."
Ginny giggled, "Looks like you're stuck with me."
Despite her pleas to Harry that her place was by his side looking after their son, she neglected to mention how happy she was to be going.
Hermione joined the laughter, "I wouldn't have it any other way." She was over the moon that Ginny was going with her to Hawaii.
Ginny reminded devilishly, "I hope you haven't forgotten our bet." A bet she had every intention of winning.
Fuck.
Hermione looked at her nails and played dumb, "And what bet might that be?" She would spare her spirited friend the right to gloat by keeping to herself and possibly avoiding Malfoy at all costs.
Ginny jogged her memory and repeated with glee, "The one where you jump Malfoy's bones in Hawaii." It was bound to happen. She knew Hermione was physically attracted to Malfoy. It would take the right place and encouragement for it to happen.
Hermione countered confidently, "It will be the easiest hundred Galleons I've ever won." Her confidence hung by a proverbial thread.
Ginny was not in the least bit convinced, "Let's see about that."
She inquired reluctantly, "Erm, are you sure Blaise will be there?" She dreaded seeing him again amid such a romantic setting.
Perhaps Daphne and his kids would be accompanying? She secretly hoped they were.
Hermione shrugged, "I guess so, but don't worry, I'll keep you in line."
Ginny scowled, "Excuse me, I love my husband." There was no doubt where her feelings for Harry were concerned. Blaise was a distraction she would sooner avoid than face.
Hermione gushed, "Of course you do."
Ginny grumbled, "Merlin, I have to go shopping and get some decent clothes. Everything I own is rather outdated." When had she let herself go? It really wouldn't do.
She invited eagerly, "Do you want to tag along?"
Hermione politely declined, "I've got lunch plans with Narcissa."
Ginny admonished, "Not today, you daft bint. How does Saturday sound?"
Hermione bantered, "What's with the bloody name-calling, you ginger biscuit?" Sophistication aside, she could genuinely be her wonky self with Ginny.
She heard her best friend's good-natured laughter.
Hermione perked up, "Let's make a day of it." She loved nothing better than spending the day with her opinionated friend.
Ginny grew thoughtful and queried, "When are we leaving, by the way?"
Hermione tried her best to recall, "According to Malfoy, next Friday. The others are heading over on Monday." They hadn't discussed the details since the dinner at her parents' house.
She liked to plan ahead and made a mental note to discuss it with him without further delay and, less importantly, a possible date for getting married.
"Magic or Muggle transportation?" Ginny posed wearily. She assumed it would be a long flight.
Hermione shared her sentiment, "I'll get Kingsley to authorise a Portkey. I don't fancy sitting next to Malfoy on a plane for over ten hours."
With a certain degree of importance, Ginny said, "Perks of working for the Ministry."
Hermione chuckled, "Indeed."
A brilliant idea struck Ginny, and she suggested excitedly, "Shall we ask Luna to go shopping with us?"
"Another excellent idea," Hermione replied right off the bat.
Her enthusiasm was cut short by a knock on the door. She thought it might be Malfoy quickly visiting to wish her good morning and grew stupidly excited at the prospect. She swiftly informed Ginny, "I got to go, love. Call you later?"
Her excitement came to an abrupt halt as Brenda aversely led in an ageing witch with a sour expression and lips pressed down firmly to form a thin line.
Hermione swapped a look with her assistant and mustered a smile.
Draco stepped out of the Floo network onto the crowded Ministry floor. It was barely nine am, but the place was packed with an assortment of Magical beings going about their business.
He stepped into the elevator and pushed the button to his desired floor. The gates were about to close when a woman's petite hand stopped it, and a fashionable dressed witch stepped inside and smiled at him brightly in greeting, "Good morning, Draco."
Draco wished he had taken the stairs, but still, he returned the mannerly gesture, "Good morning, Stacy."
She came closer and gushed, "I heard about the cowardly attack. I was so worried about you." Her words were thick with emotion and longing.
Draco pointedly moved to the side, "Well, I'm fine as you can see."
Stacy looked him over and beamed, "Yes, you look very handsome." Her voice and tone were heavy with lust. She made it rather evident that she wanted to establish a connection.
Draco shifted his feet awkwardly and willed the rickety old lift to move faster. Finally, it came to a halt on his preferred floor, and he hurried out with so much as a have a lovely day.
Stacy's face fell in disappointment. She had anxiously hoped to sow some wild oats before marrying the sorry excuse of a man assigned to her by The Algorithm.
Draco saw Doris tending to a patient. He pushed open the solid glass doors and closed the distance between them with two long strides.
Doris raved, "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes? You look completely cured, Mr Malfoy."
She spoke kindly to her assistant, who was hovering in the background, "Catherine, do you mind fetching the paste and finishing up here while I run diagnostics on Draco here."
It was clear from Catherine's hesitation that she would rather run diagnostics than apply the paste on a very questionable area of the patient's body. Still, she shielded her true thoughts and attended to the task assigned to her without so much as a complaint.
Doris gave Draco her undivided attention and instructed firmly, "Spread your arms wide and hold still."
He did as instructed and felt a coolness wash over him as the Matron moved her wand over him slowly, stopping only at the points she deemed necessary. The inspection ended, and Doris declared, "Everything looks fine and in place. You have an extraordinary command of the magic in you."
Draco brushed it aside, "No more than anyone else, I assume."
Doris eyed him sceptically, "Hmm, you are a curious fellow, aren't you?" She dismissed him after a few seconds had passed, "Off you go. Try not to get into any more physical altercations."
Draco laughed and promised with a small respectable bow, "You have my word."
He didn't risk using the elevator this time around and running into more undesirable characters. Instead, Draco used the stairs and walked into the training room of the DMLE confidently.
A few recruits were already gathered, and Emily waved and beckoned him over. He smiled at her. At least he wasn't hated by everybody.
Draco went to pass the assembled bunch of men when a deep voice of loathing made it to his ear.
He spun around and caught Dennis Creevey looking smug and pleased with himself, "Heard you took a beating, Malfoy?"
It was far too early for a confrontation. Draco pretended not to hear and tried to walk over to Emily, who looked slightly alarmed.
Creevey gnashed out, "Don't ignore me, scum."
Emily made her presence known, "Leave him alone, Dennis."
Draco spun around, faced the fuming man and apologised profusely, "I'm very sorry about what happened to your brother, Creevey, but I played no part in his demise."
Dennis stepped closer without fear, jabbed him in the chest and blamed, "You led those bastards right into our school."
He spat harshly what he believed to be the truth, "Their blood is on your hands whether you choose to accept it or not." It was a truth most acknowledged and rightly so. Only a few knew the true nature of the events that led to that fateful night.
Draco reeled back from the unforgivable truth and tried to explain, "I know, I'm trying...."
Dennis cut him off and sneered, "Does your mother cry, Malfoy?"
"What?" Draco inquired through bared teeth. His fingers curled slowly to make fists.
Dennis answered without skipping a beat, "Because mine does! She cries every single fucking day over my brother." His tone mirrored the evident anguish he was experiencing.
He insisted further in anguish, "Do you know what it's like to helplessly watch as the woman who raised you slowly descend into chronic depression?" His voice cracked on the last word.
Emily listened intently. She felt divided in her opinion but decided on giving Draco the benefit of the doubt. He certainly didn't seem like the vile creature everyone made him out to be.
Draco did know. He knew all too well how it was to watch a loved one suffer from the sidelines and be utterly helpless.
He confided desperately, "I do know what it's like! I watched Voldemort torment and torture my mother for weeks as punishment for my father's failure while we watched in despair." Countless times he had tried to save her, Lucius himself appealed to the Dark Lord for mercy, but their request fell on deaf ears of a madman bent on his own needs.
Draco recalled the vacant expression on Narcissa's face. Her malnourished body and thinning hair as she endured a fate worse than death.
He raised his voice for all to hear, "I did what I did to save her. I hated myself for it, but I loved her enough to not care a damn about anyone else."
Draco stressed desperately, "We suffered at his hands just as you all did."
Dennis was unmoved by his honest declaration. He taunted sarcastically, "Oh, I'm sure you suffered living in your castle, looking down your nose at everyone. Thinking you were better than us."
Draco knew it was a pointless argument and hissed, "I cannot change the past, but I can try my best to make amends for my mistakes."
Dennis opened his mouth to hurl a clever retort, but Audrey walked into the room and snapped, "That is enough chit chat. You two are holding up the entire session."
The door opened with an audible click, and Sarah stirred. She wasn't feeling well and had vomited twice during the night. The pool of sick festered uncleaned on the floor, and she tried hard not to breathe in its acrid fragrance.
The man entered with a cheery grin that vanished the second he saw the retch on the floor and sizeable patches of blood on the sheets.
"Disgusting," He muttered in a carrying voice, and Sarah pulled at the chain that held her in place and cowered. Her menstrual cycle was hardly her fault.
Did the animal not understand basic womanly needs? Hadn't he used her body enough? Didn't she deserve a stitch of clothing?
She found her voice and croaked, "Please, let me use the bathroom. I need to clean myself."
He stared at the blood in repulsion—the filthy creature.
Sarah cooed, "You like me clean, don't you, darling?" Directing the word at a man like him made the bile rise in her throat once more.
She had a point. He would not touch her in her current predicament. The very sight of her made him nauseous.
The man nodded unsurely and warned, "Of course, you can, but I'll be watching you. Make one wrong move, and I'll wring your neck."
He further included, "You can wear some of my mother's clothes and use napkins to deal with your....situation." He could hardly waltz into the nearest market and buy sanitary pads when it was widely known that he was a loner and lived with only his darling mother to keep him company.
Sarah basked in her small victory. He returned with an unflattering dress and a pair of beige knickers that had seen better days.
The Monster unchained her, and she rubbed her wrist where the rusted metal dug into her flesh.
She fought the urge to kick him in the face and make a run for it. The sad truth was she lacked the strength to confront the man and obediently followed him down a narrow corridor and into a surgically clean tiny bathroom.
Her mind took mental pictures of her surroundings as she passed the living area and into the bathroom. The tiny home seemed spotless, but the deco was outdated and lacked warmth.
He nudged her in the back, making sure not to touch her completely, "Go on then," He pointed to a white stool, "I'll sit here and wait for you to finish. Hurry up."
Sarah passed the mirror and caught a proper glimpse of herself in months. She almost let out a cry. The woman staring back at her with hollow eyes was not someone she recognised. Her skin was gaunt, and her hair was a long tangly mess but what truly filled her with despair was the reddened bruises that adorned her skin.
It was evidence of the brutal sexual assault she endured daily. In the beginning, he had been careful not to leave marks or touch her, but something had changed, and now he cared little for leaving his DNA on her body.
His being foolhardy scared her, it made her think her demise was near or a fate much worse awaited her.
The man hissed forebodingly, causing her to snap out of her daydream and scramble unsteadily into the white tub.
Her fingers trembled as they came in contact with the shower handle. She turned it slowly, and a delightful spray of water fell upon her, and she sighed aloud to show her satisfaction.
From his place by the door, he watched in fascination as the love of his life washed the dirt off her sensual body. His eyes never left her diminished curves and perky bosom. A trickle of blood coiled its way down her legs and disappeared down the drain.
He felt an all too familiar tightening in his trousers. Even in her impure state, he still wanted her, unlike the rest. With practised ease, he freed his cock and palmed it feeling its length grow as the woman before him thoroughly cleaned herself with a bar of soap.
Sure, he couldn't fuck her, but there were other ways to relieve himself. He moved his fingers up and down his hardened length and patiently waited for his beloved to finish.
What was taking her so long? She seemed to be enjoying the shower far too much.
His cock head beaded fluid, and he groaned in intense pleasure. He demanded, "That's enough. Get over here."
Sarah slowly turned to face him and whimpered. Her bottom lip trembled as her eyes raked over the indecent act.
He spread his legs apart and beckoned her forward. This would be the first time since her capture that he would force her to perform oral sex on him. She knew it was too good to be true. He wouldn't spare her even if she were dying.
"Hurry up, love," He appealed urgently.
The need to release was overwhelming, but it would be sweeter to do so with her succulent lips wrapped tightly around his throbbing cock.
Sarah left the water running, climbed out of the tub, and slowly approached the man. She fell to her knees in front of him and screamed as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and guided her face towards his pitiful appendage.
She needed no further instruction. Her heart beat wildly, and she hoped against hope for some miracle to save her from this humiliation.
Opening her mouth, Sarah went to take the below-average cock in her mouth when he warned, "If you bite on it or do anything to thwart me, I'll kill you without a second thought."
She almost laughed. Did his minor death threats matter anymore? Her will to live was slipping with each passing day.
Audrey scolded most severely, "Merlin, all mighty, what in the bloody hell was that, Mr Griffin?"
The gangly young wizard apologised profusely, "I'm sorry, but I panicked."
Audrey pointed to a girl with a high ponytail who looked far from pleased, "It's not me to whom you should be apologising. Look at Johnson's face. She has got no bloody eyebrows."
He stared at his feet and grumbled, "I was nervous." Johnson, meanwhile, shrieked at the revelation that her face lacked a much-needed component and almost lunged at the person responsible.
Audrey pulled her back, "Calm down, you ninny. Go and see Doris in the infirmary. She will give you better eyebrows than the ones you were born with."
"Bitch," Johnson muttered under her breath and hurried away.
Audrey circled the others with disapproving critical eyes until she came up behind Emily practising with Draco and raved, "Finally a pair who seem to know what they're doing. Gather around everyone."
She highlighted, "See, Mr Malfoy's form, the placement of his feet and movement of his wand? That is exactly what we are trying to learn today."
The strict instructor held nothing back of her opinion, "You lot look like a bunch of monkeys with your useless brandishing of wands."
Audrey patted Creevey on the back as she passed and encouraged him, "Good job, Dennis. Excellent."
She addressed the group of exhausted recruits, "Are we ready to move on to Patronus charms?"
There was a collective groan, but Audrey brushed it aside and disregarded the grumbling entirely.
Thomas entered the area discreetly and watched intently from the shadows. His eyes never left Malfoy. The man had remarkable skills. He also caught onto a few bits of wandless magic the young wizard tried to hide. It had been years since he came across a wizard or witch with the ability to wield magic without the aid of a wand.
His interest in Malfoy intensified. He was beginning to understand and see why Potter hired the pampered prat.
Audrey's voice rang loudly throughout the hall, "Think of your happiest moment. Channel it within and let it burst forth as a beautiful luminescent spirit animal
Thomas rolled his eyes as her words caressed his inner ear. Audrey had not changed much. She had always been a spiritual soul, even in their youth.
A burst of laughter broke through as everyone stared at a wriggling thick, fat worm on the ground.
It was unfortunate, and the rookie who conjured it looked utterly ashamed. It didn't help when Audrey said in a carrying voice, "Oh dear! It is, umm, unique. In all my years, I've never seen a Flobberworm Patronus."
Draco ignored the incessant babble around him, closed his eyes in concentration and filtered through what he considered to be happy memories.
There weren't many, but in the past, when practising, he had often used specific moments he had experienced in China. This time they centred on more sinful thoughts of wild curls wrapped possessively around his fingers, and sultry moans planted themselves deep in his mind and refused to budge.
A knowing smile curved his lips, and he uttered the words in barely a whisper, "Expecto Patronum."
A brilliant white dragon larger than life erupted from the tip of his wand, encircled him once, and snarled at those around him, causing everyone to take a step back. It then sat almost obediently by his side.
Audrey, along with the others, stared in awe. Even Dennis was at a loss for words. His Patronus of a silver hawk perched itself on his shoulder and kept a watchful eye on the majestic beast.
She clapped and exclaimed in delight, "Mr Malfoy, you have outdone yourself."
Thomas was impressed but kept his existence hidden. He turned to leave. His presence was needed elsewhere.
Hours passed, and Hermione slipped off her glasses, massaged the bridge of her nose and glanced at her watch.
It was quarter to one pm. Panic gripped her. Her lunch plans with Narcissa were long forgotten with the morning rush of work.
She jumped to her feet, slipped into her shoes and hurriedly grabbed her bag before rushing out of the door and informing a startled Brenda that she was heading out for lunch.
Hermione grumbled, "Why the bloody hell is it so far away?" She clutched her bag to her chest and hastened her footsteps towards the closest designated apparation point.
It would not do to appear out of thin air at the entrance. It was a Muggle establishment. Hermione decided to appear a little way off and do a brisk walk towards the reputed restaurant.
She already had her wand out and waved it fluidly as the destination left her lips. Her surroundings changed, and she appeared near a deserted cobbled street.
Hermione looked around wildly and breathed a sigh of relief that no people were about. She straightened herself up and headed in the right way. She entered the restaurant making a few heads turn her way. Narcissa was already seated at one of the more prominent tables, wearing a sophisticated cobalt blue dress, a tasteful blue sapphire necklace and hair pinned up in a neat, elegant bun.
She caught Hermione's eye and smiled as she approached, "I hope you don't mind, but I ordered us a bottle of red wine."
Hermione sat down, eyed the expensive bottle critically and exclaimed, "Narcissa, you do know I have to go back to work afterwards."
Narcissa waved her hand dismissively, "Yes, yes, but it doesn't hurt to indulge now and then. Besides, when was the last time we had lunch?"
A fair point, Hermione thought and answered with a hint of guilt, "A week or so before your son decided to descend upon us." And uproot all of our lives, she kept the snide remark to herself.
The head waiter arrived with the menus and a bread basket with an assortment of freshly baked rolls while another poured them glasses of wine. Narcissa swirled the liquid around in her hand-blown glass, inhaled the rich fluid and gave her approval with a refined, ladylike nod.
She buttered a dinner roll casually, "I heard dinner with your parents went well."
Hermione flipped through the impressive menu and responded grudgingly, "It did. My family is, umm, quite fond of him." Her mum and gran had nothing but positive things to say. The blonde had even managed to win over her father somewhat, which was a near-impossible task.
Narcissa gushed, "That sounds promising. Do they know I adore you?"
Hermione blushed and reached for the wine, "I'm sure Draco mentioned it."
Narcissa observed her would-be daughter-in-law's reaction and spoke with profound keenness, "You don't cringe when you refer to him by his given name anymore."
She probed anxiously, "How are the two of your fairing?"
Hermione shrugged, "We have our moments, I suppose." Moments of unrestrained desire. Merlin, he had such an intensity about him that made her want to cater to his every sexual whim.
Not now, Granger. Let your impure thoughts lie dormant in the presence of his mother, she chastised herself.
Narcissa suggested resolutely, "Once you come back from Hawaii, we must arrange dinner at the Manor with your family."
She knew about Hawaii. Is there nothing he did not share with his mother?
Hermione debated, "That's really not necessary."
Narcissa was not easily discouraged. She absolutely insisted, "It is mandatory, Hermione. I would very much like to meet your delightful family."
The server arrived once again, hovered over them for a few seconds and inquired ever so courteously, "Are you ready to order, Madam?"
Hermione took the opportunity to divert the conversation, closed the menu and reacted with a gracious smile, "I think I'll have the lobster, please."
He seemed quite pleased by her selection, "An excellent choice." He was smartly dressed and oozed confidence.
Narcissa went over the expansive menu and decided, "I will have the same."
The man bowed and excused himself to place their order with the kitchen. It was a rather busy afternoon, and he hoped there wouldn't be any delays that affected his tip.
Narcissa took a sip of wine and stated frankly, "Don't think I haven't noticed your poor attempt to deviate the conversation."
Hermione was adamant in her quest to avoid answering. She chuckled, "Didn't Healer George ask you to stick to a rigorous diet?"
Narcissa scoffed, "Nonsense, I'm a grown woman, and I wish to have a delectable meal with my future daughter in law."
A knowing smile curved her lips, "There you go again with trying to avoid the question at hand."
Hermione conceded defeat since it was clear the noble lady with her wasn't about to let up, "I'm sorry, Narcissa. It's just that I rather not give my family or..," She paused to accentuate, "You! Any false hope regarding this union, because whether everyone agrees or not, we will divorce in three years and go our separate ways."
Hopefully, they would part amicably and remain friends. Friends with benefits would be most likely.
An abrupt sadness flashed across Narcissa's face, "Well, darling, as parents, we can only hope for happiness for our children."
She cleared her throat, "Have you given thought to a date?"
Hermione refilled her glass with wine, took a long drink and answered bluntly, "We haven't discussed it yet, but sooner the better, I suppose. There is no point in prolonging the inevitable. The Ministry will not overturn their decision."
The bottle of red wine before them was diminishing rapidly. Initially, she had planned to have just one glass, but presently she was on her third and going strong.
Narcissa complied in agreement, "I quite see your point, darling."
Before Hermione could impart any further insight, the server arrived with their meal and placed it delicately in front of each of them. Each plate was covered with a silver cloche which the server dramatically moved away from and announced, "Bon appetite."
Both women thanked him and gave the mouthwatering dish of Lobster, cream pear and melon gel their devout attention. The Michelin star dish looked stunning. The plating was artistic yet subtle and much too pretty to consume.
Hermione could no longer contain herself. She tucked in and sighed, "Goodness, this is delicious."
Narcissa followed suit, dabbed the corner of her mouth, and murmured with satisfaction, "Mmm, I quite agree."
They ate in companionable silence. Each enjoyed the meal immensely until Narcissa pierced the silence with an ill-timed question which sounded more like an allegation, "Are you quite sure you don't want a wedding?"
Hermione dropped the fork in her grasp, it collided noisily with the white China plate, and she almost choked but managed a strangled, "Unquestionably."
Narcissa wasn't pleased and didn't bother to hide her displeasure, "Draco has passed on your feelings on the matter, and I thoroughly disagree, Hermione. A small function will not be so unbearable."
Hermione petitioned, eager for her to see reason, "Please understand, Narcissa. I couldn't possibly walk down the aisle and pretend to be happy with this ghastly situation." None of them understood how she truly felt about the matter.
She combined quickly, "No offence." This was Narcissa's son, after all.
Narcissa frowned openly, "None taken." Her son wasn't without faults, but she had always imagined a grand wedding.
An uncomfortable silence engulfed them, and despite the delicious dish, Hermione lost her appetite and pushed the remaining bits of Lobster and vegetables around the plate in a futile effort to pass the time.
Narcissa sensed the shift in Hermione's mood, and not wanting to dampen things, she stirred the conversation well away from weddings, beautiful white gowns and parental expectations.
She said brightly, "I called you earlier to discuss the plans for the cottage. What do you have in mind, dear?"
Hermione attempted to smile, "Oh, I haven't given it much thought. Something simple would be appropriate." Images of clawfoot tubs, soft yellow draperies and plush bedding made her rethink her answer, "I do, however, like a spacious bathroom with all the amenities."
She rattled off excitedly, "I am partial to warm pastel shades, maybe with touches of red added to the mix."
Narcissa was glad to see Hermione happy about at least one aspect of the marriage.
She consented at once, "I understand wholly. I will have the interior designers show us an array of colours and designs."
Hermione pulled a stubborn piece of carrot off her fork with her teeth and grinned sheepishly, "If it's not too much trouble."
Narcissa proclaimed, "Think nothing of it. It keeps me occupied, and I do enjoy renovations."
They ordered scrumptious chocolate soufflés from the extensive dessert menu and spoke more about homey touches that could be done. While Hermione's suggestions were far too plain compared to Narcissa's expensive tastes, she kept her opinions to herself and went along with them.
Halfway through the bottle of wine, Narcissa divulged stories from Bernard's youth that Ivan had candidly confided. They certainly were a wild bunch.
Hermione teased, "You really are smitten by him, aren't you?"
Narcissa blushed but hid the rosy tinge well, "Yes, I suppose I am."
She included solemnly, "However...."
Hermione pressed further, "What's the matter?"
Narcissa hesitated, but Hermione was the closest person she had to a good friend, "I loved Lucius. There was no doubt in mind until our latter years, but is it normal that I feel some guilt for loving another perhaps too soon after he's passed?"
Hermione sighed but offered wisely, "You can't help what you feel, Narcissa."
She stated adamantly, "You deserve to be happy. I know Draco wishes it for you and holds Bernard in the highest regard."
Narcissa reached over and covered Hermione's hand with her own and gushed, "Thank you, darling. It is comforting to know I have his blessing."
Thinking it was best to share some important news, Hermione delicately set down her dessert spoon and said slowly, "There is something I must share."
Narcissa raised a curious brow, "Of course, dear."
Seeing little point in prolonging the truth, Hermione told her what had transpired the day before, "Draco met Teddy."
Narcissa sat in silence as she digested the information and found the courage to ask, "I see. Was Andromeda in attendance?"
Hermione confirmed with a quick shake of her head, "No, Teddy was visiting the Ministry, and we happened across Draco, and he informed the child that they were cousins." She purposely left out the bit about the unprovoked attack and visiting Malfoy in the infirmary.
Narcissa knew by observing the boy that he was intelligent. She was curious about his reaction to learning he had a cousin, "Oh, and how did Teddy respond?"
Hermione sighed at first but seemed relieved, "Obviously, he was shocked. He is only a small boy. The child thought his only living relatives besides his grandmother were dead."
She added with a hint of pride, "I think Draco is trying to establish a connection."
Narcissa looked away sadly, "Andromeda will not be thrilled." She hoped Draco trying to get to know Teddy Lupin would not affect Hermione's relationship with the boy.
Hermione reassured, "On the contrary, she seemed rather pleased when I told her."
Narcissa snapped her head up and stared in surprise, "That is shocking." It wasn't at all what she expected.
Hermione said cautiously but with just cause, "Is it, really? You two are sisters. Don't you think it's time to let the past go and mend bridges for a better future?"
She persevered, "You can't possibly want to go through life being apart from your own flesh and blood."
Narcissa straightened and reacted with devotion, "I would gladly extend an olive branch, but she has more plausible reason to refuse me than I her."
She included sadly and in pain, "Her husband, her daughter, and son in law were brutally taken away from her by a monster my husband blindly followed."
Hermione raised a sceptical brow, "You would be surprised, Narcissa." Andromeda's reaction to Draco meeting Teddy was a testament to that.
She offered ardently, "I could speak to her on your behalf. Help mend things." It was something she would gladly do.
A smile spread across Narcissa's face, but she kindly declined, "You're a sweet child, but this is something I must do myself."
Hermione nodded in understanding, "If you insist."
They pushed aside more intense issues and focused on having a pleasant lunch.
Hermione had missed her outings with Narcissa. They always managed to have an enjoyable time. It was a refreshing change to see the aristocratic woman enjoying herself without the burdens of being Lady Malfoy.
It dawned on her that she would assume the title for the duration of the forced marriage in a few short weeks.
Audrey clapped loudly, "Good job, everyone. That was a productive second day." She pointed to the sizeable doors and instructed, "Meet with your partners and go over any pending cases for the rest of the day. Good day and see you all tomorrow."
Emily doubled over, "Whew, that was exhausting, but thanks again, Draco, for the terrific tips."
Draco took a long swig of water, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and managed an exhausted grin, "Think nothing of it. I'm happy to help."
He offered kindly, "Shall we practise deflecting spells tomorrow?"
Emily grinned from ear to ear, "That would be so great."
Draco stepped out of the training hall expecting Hannah to be there, but sadly she wasn't and in her stead was an unlikely person leaning against the wall waiting for him.
Michelle boldly stepped forward and drawled, "Bonjour, Monsieur Malfoy."
Her womanly fragrance surrounded him, it was a captivating smell of perfume, and he momentarily wondered if it had been tampered with.
Mustering his good manners, he replied with a slight smile on his face, "Good Morning, might I ask how you know my name?" The other recruits exited the great hall, threw them curious looks, and went about their way except for Emily, who glanced over her shoulder and frowned at the exchange.
Michelle was not a subtle woman. Her eyes raked over his tall form. In plain sight, her pert tongue darted forward and licked her plump bottom lip. She touched his arm and quipped in a thick French accent, "Why Monsieur, you are quite famous."
Draco found her performance amusing. His eyes darted to where her fingers touched his person. Painted in a soft shade of pink, long nails dug into the material.
A perceptible smirk curved his lips, "For the wrong reasons."
Michelle stepped closer, thinking her advances were well received and whispered most seductively, "I've done my homework...Draco."
His name rolled off her tongue, "You do have a very sensual name. It suits you well."
He was the exact type of man she went for: towering, hypnotic eyes and toned, taut body.
She breathlessly wondered how he was in bed. Judging by looks alone, he seemed like the dominating type who would not mind some roughness in the bedroom.
Draco gazed at the woman, almost pressing herself flush against him. He took a quick step back and inquired, "What can I do for you, miss...." He had a fairly good idea of what she wanted, but it did nothing for him, attractive as she was.
The enticing woman answered almost at once, "Dubois, Michelle, but please, ma Cherie, call me Michelle."
Hannah came around the corner at that exact moment humming to herself, took in the scene and scowled, "For fucks sake, woman. Didn't take you long to swoop in, did it?"
Michelle glared, "What I do with my time is not your concern, Abbott."
Hannah stood by Draco's side protectively. She crossed her arms over her chest and scoffed, "It is when you're pestering my partner. He's been through enough unpleasantness already."
Draco stifled a laugh but managed to keep a stern emotionless face, "Calm down, Hannah."
He gave the now frothing French woman his full attention and tried to keep a straight face, "Alright, Michelle, was it? How may I be of service?"
Michelle regained her alluring composure, "You really shouldn't ask such misleading questions."
Draco gave a curt nod, "My intentions were pure, trust me." Michelle was about done playing this game of cat and mouse and homed in for the kill.
She pushed her bosom out and invited while trailing her fingers up the front of his coat, "Would you like to join me for lunch? We can discuss tactics, among other more enjoyable things."
Hannah rolled her eyes and fought the urge to throw up.
Draco respectfully declined, "Ah, it is a tempting offer, but I already have plans with Hannah." Michelle threw the other woman a look of pure disgust while Hannah gloated and elaborately flipped her off.
Michelle was not easily discouraged. She drawled in a faint voice, "Why would you waste your time with her when we could be getting to know each other?" She touched his arm again to emphasise her point.
Draco swallowed hard, stared into the woman's riveting eyes, and rasped, "You are bold." He found a woman who knew what she wanted highly tempting.
She glanced sideways at Hannah once again emphatically and expressed brazenly, "I'm different from these British women."
Hannah lunged forward with the intent of causing bodily harm, "That's it! I'm going to punch you in the fucking face, you French tart."
Draco grabbed her around the waist and held her back while Hannah thrashed about and demanded, "Let me go, Malfoy."
Sparing a few moments, Hermione walked into the DMLE to speak with Harry about Ginny's call earlier that day.
The second she pushed open the glass door, outraged high pitch voices made it to her ear, and she caught bits of the exchange out of the corner of her eye.
Hermione turned to face them, and the most unappealing sight greeted her. Malfoy held Hannah back while a strikingly beautiful woman had her hands up in defence, ready to throw a punch.
What in the name of Merlin?
His employment was causing quite a stir. Day two proved to be as fatal, if not more lethal, than day one.
Abandoning her original task, she felt the wine cloud her senses as she walked over to the group taking care to sashay her hips from side to side.
Hermione called out for all to hear, her voice firm and authoritative, "Malfoy!"
Chapter 42
Notes:
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Chapter Text
Blaise called out impatiently, "Daph?" He had some good news and was determined to share it with his lovely wife.
Daphne heard the unmistakable sound of her husband's voice as he searched for her. A smile spread across her face. She glanced over her shoulder and made her presence known, "In here, darling."
She was in the living room studying the new dinner set that had been delivered and took immense pleasure in examining the hand-painted patterns and fine craftsmanship.
They hosted plenty of events, and Daphne prided herself on being an excellent hostess. She knew the right food items to serve, and who to flatter with compliments. She always commanded the room with an air of elegance.
Blaise exclaimed triumphantly, "I just got off the phone with your mother."
Daphne couldn't entirely hide her surprise, "My mother?" Sure, Blaise got on well enough with her family, but he hardly called her mother up to have an odd chat now and then.
It all became known with his following sentence, "She has graciously agreed to watch the kids while we are in Hawaii." He was pretty pleased by what he had accomplished, and that was plain to see by the bright smile on his face.
Daphne, however, was not thrilled, "I don't think my mother can handle both of them."
Blaise closed the gap between them and insisted, "We can send over Miffy to help." The old house-elf adored the children and would be an extra helping hand around Greengrass Manor.
Still, Daphne was not convinced. She voiced her concerns, "They can be such a handful, Blaise. Adam has his allergies, and Carrie gets cranky at times. I would be so worried and ....."
Blaise put his arms around his wife, held her close and urged, "Breath, Daph. We need to do this. I want to spend some alone time with my darling wife."
He kissed her gently, feeling the softness of her lips under his and grumbled, "I can't remember the last time I saw you in a bikini."
Daphne laughed, but there was a touch of sadness to her tone, "After two children? You probably never will." Her body was not without imperfections. There were plenty of stretch marks from her pregnancies that decorated her abdomen, which she carefully covered when necessary, using a few tasteful Magical spells.
It was the price to pay for motherhood, but one she did not regret in the slightest. Her family was the core of her being, and that's precisely why Blaise's chance meeting with Ginny Weasley left unsettling thoughts.
Back at Hogwarts, she had heard him comment offhandedly on how sexy Ginny looked in her Quidditch uniform. It upset her greatly at the time, but she kept her feelings well hidden.
Daphne always thought he preferred an athletic woman since he was an avid Quidditch fan, but he never brought it up or held the fact that she wasn't against her.
Oblivious to his wife's insecurities, Blaise nuzzled into the crook of her neck and rasped, "You have a beautiful body, my love." He insisted, "One I cannot get enough of."
Daphne attempted to push him away halfheartedly, "Blaise, stop. Carrie could interrupt us at any moment."
Her eyes fluttered close as she pressed herself into her husband's toned, religiously worked-out body and pulled him close enough to smell the strong scent of his aftershave.
Blaise was hard to discourage. He held on tight and growled, "Then let us take this to the bedroom."
Daphne conceded, "Mmm, I do love the sound of that."
Blaise apparated them into their master bedroom with an audible pop away from prying eyes and demanding toddlers. He backed his wife towards the bed and reassured her, "Don't worry about the children. They love your mother."
Daphne tried to protest, but she was drowning in insistent kisses, "I know, but..."
Blaise cupped her face and argued, "But nothing, they will be completely fine."
A sigh left her lips in defeat. It was pointless to resist, "I suppose you're right. We do need some alone time." The last time they did anything alone was probably a year before Carrie was born. It was not like they did not have their fun, they did, but it had been a while.
Blaise unbuttoned her blouse and chuckled, "With Theo around, one can only hope, but that's the spirit."
He pushed the flimsy material off her shoulders and kissed her passionately.
They fell onto the bed, lost in each other's arms.
Hermione called out for all to hear, her voice firm and authoritative, "Malfoy!"
Draco knew the voice well. He inwardly groaned and clenched his teeth—another spirited woman.
If this kept up, he would need backup since he already had his hands full from holding Hannah back from tackling Michelle.
Everyone straightened and composed themselves in preparation for the incoming woman in a black dress that hugged her figure and flared out. Hermione had a reputation for being a stickler for procedure with a no-nonsense attitude.
The sound of her purposeful steps echoed through the passage and bounced off the walls adding to the foreboding ambience her arrival brought.
Draco let a smirk curve his lips as Hermione came closer. She looked rather ravishing in black.
He greeted with a devil may-care attitude, "Madam, Undersecretary. How are you this lovely afternoon?"
Hermione ignored him but secretly wished he would stop looking so deadly attractive in his Auror robes. It simply was not fair.
She stared curiously at the unknown woman in their company and muttered, "Quite well."
Draco exclaimed animatedly, "How rude of me. Where are my manners? Have you met Michelle?" Even though his attitude towards the situation remained carefree, he inwardly hoped it would calm itself.
Hannah snorted but covered her reaction with a poorly disguised cough. She had somewhat calmed herself and decided to behave in the presence of their Undersecretary.
Hermione regarded the pretty Auror critically and answered sweetly, "I haven't had the pleasure."
Michelle wasn't fazed. She adjusted her blouse, slipped effortlessly into a more professional manner and introduced herself without hesitation, "The French Ministry sent me over to train with the DMLE. I earned top marks in my class for such a privilege."
She dutifully held out her hand and added, hoping to impress, "Our Minister speaks highly of you, Madam Undersecretary."
Hermione smiled innocently and took the offered hand in an ironclad shake that made the other woman slightly wince. She responded, "I wasn't aware we had a visiting Auror. Nonetheless, it's good to meet you."
Of course, Pascal thought the world of her. It was common knowledge that the French Minister was an adulterous, backstabbing man who flaunted his position to get his way.
Michelle inconspicuously rubbed her hand to ease the pain and glowered.
Hermione glanced at Hannah fuming and raised an inquiring brow, "Hannah, are you alright?" After all, they were friends and had been for years, albeit not close buddies, but there was enough concern to inquire about the other's wellbeing.
Hannah gritted out, "Never been better." Her eyes never left Michelle's form.
Hermione directed her next question at Draco, "Malfoy, might I have a word?" Merlin knew what possessed her to lie, but with every fibre of her being, she wanted to put a sizeable distance between him and Michelle, who looked positively infatuated.
Without much thought, Draco took her hand in his, brought it up to his lips and brushed her knuckles with an enduring kiss, "Of course, darling."
Hermione tore her hand out of his grasp, glared sternly and stormed away. Was he mental?
He did not bother with Hermione's reaction but apologised to Michelle, who looked quite taken aback by his small display of affection, "Excuse me, Michelle, but I must follow orders."
Draco took the stairs and followed his intended at a distance. She honestly had the most gorgeous legs and bottom. He particularly loved the sensual sway of her hips and red high heels.
He waved at Brenda, who smiled in greeting and followed Hermione into her luxurious office.
Arms firmly crossed, she waited impatiently for him to enter and shut the door. The second they were alone, she lashed out, "What the hell was that, you Slytherin git?"
Draco stepped closer and peered into her face, "Are you drunk?" He could smell the faint hint of wine on her breath. Her cheeks were flushed, and it was clear by her nervous fidgeting that his being close bothered her.
Hermione deliberately stepped back and laughed to hide her discomfort, "Don't be ridiculous. I had a glass or two of red wine over lunch with your mother."
Absentmindedly, Draco picked up a small snow globe out of the collection Granger kept on her desk, and a genuine smile curved his lips, "My mother? It's nice that she got out for a bit."
With her hands on her hips, Hermione fumed, "Don't try to change the topic."
Draco rolled his eyes, "How have I managed to upset you this time?"
He carefully kept the globe back among the others and grinned, "I think there's more to this than you're letting on. She was being friendly, Granger. There's no need to get jealous."
Hermione could not believe his audacity to suggest such a ludicrous thing, "You think I'm jealous?" Ridiculous. Her irrational behaviour indicated otherwise.
She looked him over and scoffed, "Please, get over yourself, Malfoy."
Without skipping a beat, Hermione cautioned, "And for the bloody record, she wasn't being friendly, you dumb arse. She was undressing you with her fucking eyes."
Draco sighed and causally shrugged while continuing to walk around the tastefully decorated office, "I hope she liked what she saw." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Granger's face twist in apparent disgust or was it something else entirely?
Hermione pursed her lips and tried her best to maintain an air of indifference, but it was a futile effort, and before she could think her actions through, the words tumbled out in a jumbled mess, "I bet you enjoyed every second of it, didn't you? But let's get one thing fucking straight, I am not jealous."
Draco glanced her way and grinned in a mocking manner. He moistened his bottom lip and teased, "Your flaring nostrils and body language say otherwise, but I'll humour you."
Hermione muttered thoughtfully, "I wonder who authorised her work permit without running it by me."
She answered her own question, "Must have been Kingsley." It had to be the Minister. Only he had the authority.
Draco injected animatedly, "Or Potter. He is the Head of the DMLE, you know?" He reminded smugly. Hermione groaned in exasperation. Of course, how could she have forgotten Harry?
Pointing to the door, Hermione spat out irritably, "There's the door. You can leave." The arrogant lout.
Draco shrugged coolly. He was enjoying her discomfort enormously, "Sure, but first, is there a reason for this unsolicited meeting? You almost dragged me up two flights of stairs to dismiss me once there?"
He openly taunted, "Or were you just not keen with me dining with Michelle?"
Hermione hissed in annoyance, "Shove off. I was trying to neutralise the situation."
She reprimanded harshly, "Furthermore, we are Ministry officials, and I'm not comfortable with public displays of affection. It does not work well for my image for me to be caught snogging my colleagues in plain sight of others."
He knew his display would infuriate her, which is partially why he did it, but mostly to send Michelle a clear message that he wasn't interested.
Draco narrowed his eyes, "Excuse me?"
Hermione gritted out, "You didn't have to kiss my hand in plain view of the entire DMLE department." She was being a bit dramatic since nobody else was about to witness it besides Michelle and Hannah.
A sudden thought dawned on him, and he said thoughtfully, "Why did you walk up to us? You were clearly there to meet someone else."
She spluttered in disbelief and reasoned pointedly, "You didn't leave me much choice, did you? Two women were about to have a go at each other. Am I supposed to ignore it and walk away?"
He ignored her ranting and alleged, "Boot, perhaps?" Her affection towards Terry Boot bothered him far more than he let on.
Her demeanour changed. Hermione averted her gaze and became cagey with her reply, "Um, Terry is on leave."
Draco knew it was a bunch of blatant lies, "Leave? I do not believe it."
Hermione scoffed, "If you must know. I came by to speak with Harry." She purposely left out that Ginny would be joining the trip to Hawaii.
Curiosity got the better of him, and Draco insisted, "Where is Boot? He was sure the man was indulging in some substance. The strange behaviour and odd body language did not quite add up.
Her patience was wearing thin, and Hermione snapped, "It's not your business where Terry is. Please refrain from touching me intimately in front of others."
Draco suppressed a laugh and quizzed, "I see. Behind closed doors, then? Is that what you want? Our physical attraction to each other to remain unknown?"
Hermione replied haughtily, "Well, it would be prudent."
He accused with a hint of pain in his tone, "Are you that ashamed of your feelings for me?"
She lied with enough conviction, "I have no such feelings for you, Malfoy. Please don't delude yourself into thinking this is anything more than a physical thing."
He closed the distance between them in two purposeful strides, and pulled her flush against his body. An involuntary moan left her lips as their bodies collided.
Hermione stood perfectly still and swallowed hard as Draco rasped hotly, "I beg to differ."
His voice caressed her skin. He dragged the tip of his prominent nose up her cheek, barely touching the surface, "You want this to be our dirty little secret because heaven forbid the rest of the world find out that you want to fuck an ex-Death Eater."
Draco slowly kissed the outer shell of her ear and teased shamelessly, "The audacity. The disgrace."
Her skin came alive under his touch. Goosebumps rallied to the surface as evidence of her reaction to his tender yet dominating caresses.
There was no denying the truth, but she would spare him the smug superiority of being right, "Do you think me that shallow?"
Draco moved away, put a considerable amount of distance between them and leered, "As a matter of fact, I do. Go on, tell me I'm wrong."
Hermione threw her hands up in defeat and gave up trying to act righteous, "Fine! You're not wrong. I would prefer the world not to know that I've given you the green light to fondle me when it pleases you." She found it utterly bizarre that she could drop the perfect image she had to uphold around Malfoy of all people.
He could not help but stifle the laughter that clawed its way to the surface because of her crude yet accurate depiction of their situation.
Hermione argued breathlessly, "We have a past, Malfoy. A horribly unpleasant one. Why do you not understand?"
"Are my advances not well received by you? Am I forcing myself on you?" Draco inquired, slowly dragging out his words.
Without a moment's hesitation, Hermione refuted, "Don't be ridiculous." He most certainly was not. She enjoyed every second of his advances.
He straightened to his full height and stated firmly, "If so, tell me now, and I'll cease any and all activity towards you." If there was ever a moment Draco Malfoy proved to be a complete and utter gentleman, it was now.
Hermione retorted with regret, "No, I..." She did not want him to stop. Quite the contrary, but just not in public.
There was no salvaging or covering her reaction of bitter disappointment, but she powered through, "But just because we now work together does not give you the right to flaunt our sexual attraction in front of our colleagues."
She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and explained feebly, "It is a moment of weakness in which I find myself strangely drawn to you against my wishes."
Against her wishes? Her words were not stroking his ego in any sort of way. If anything, her conduct was beginning to annoy him considerably.
Draco nodded reluctantly in understanding and said solemnly, "In other words, I will never be worthy of the great Miss Hermione Granger, and honestly, I couldn't agree with you more, but I don't expect to be shoved into the background and only cater to your sexual needs."
Hermione defended, "I didn't say that. Please do not twist my words."
Draco raised a hand to stop her from uttering another word, "Save it, Granger. What I don't understand is this incessant need of yours to please those around you."
Hermione looked around pointedly. His eyes followed her gaze as they fell over her Order of Merlin First class, a gold cup for outstanding service to the Ministry and countless other awards.
With renewed desolation, she poked herself in the chest repeatedly, "I have an image to uphold. I cannot appear weak in the eyes of the wizarding world."
Draco watched her conduct intently, it was clear that maintaining her image meant a great deal to her, but it did not stop him from retorting sarcastically, "An image? That's a neat little illusion you have created for others to see."
She countered helplessly, "It's not an illusion."
Draco ran his long fingers through his hair and implored, "So, you consider finding me appealing to be a weakness?" It hurt his fragile self-worth despite his tough outer skin.
Hermione scoffed, "Yes, it most certainly is considering our past and my willingness to toss all that aside and jump into bed with you."
She sighed in frustration, "No one has made me feel worse about myself more than you. If I'm quick to forgive you, then don't you think others will expect the same treatment?"
Draco didn't fancy other men touching her the same way he did. His clear grey turned smoky with rising anger, "I hope you will not offer others the same benefits you allow me."
Hermione reeled back from the insinuation and replied in contempt, "Do you think me so cheap?"
Draco ignored her last statement and addressed the previous, "Do you hear yourself, Granger? How absolutely ludicrous this all sounds."
He dug deep and yearned while trailing his fingers down the flushed skin of her arm, "For once, let yourself feel what you want, not what's expected." With a sarcastic smirk, he combined, "You haven't forgiven me. Let us get that straight."
Hermione fired back without remorse, "You've been gone nearly ten years. You have no idea what you are talking about, Malfoy. Maybe to you, it sounds stupid, but to me, it makes perfect sense."
He let the statement pass even though it stung and ridiculed, "I could be gone a hundred years, and it would baffle me still as to why you continue to please a bunch of people who care nothing for you."
Hermione did not have a single clever retort. The truth was what he uttered. It was exhausting to maintain the picture-perfect image of the Golden girl, Harry Potter's best friend, the brains behind it all. Even after ten years had passed, she could not break out of the mould.
Being associated with Malfoy tarnished that perfectness. No one knew about the nightmares except him. He was fast becoming the one person she could genuinely be vulnerable around.
She stood her ground shakily and braved a look at the man staring at her in a displeased manner with a frown etched on his face while her eyes devoured his chiselled chin, high cheekbones, silvery blonde hair and soft lips.
His tone turned deadly, sending a shiver down her spine, "But if that's what you want, then so be it."
Hermione could not quite comprehend, nor did she have time to. Confusion gripped her, and she all but tried to offer a witty remark, "What are you talking abou..."
Draco closed the distance between them in less than three strides and crushed his lips with hers in a kiss that wasn't meant to be gentle in any way but to serve as a reminder of the unfaltering attraction they shared.
His voice ghosted over her skin ardently, "Let me be clear, I'm not in favour of remaining in the dark for the duration of our marriage even though I have given in to your demands for the time being." It was temporary. He had lived in the shadows long enough.
Dumbstruck and in utter shock, Hermione's body went rigid, her mind in disarray from the wine floating about in her system, but mostly from being unable to understand what was happening.
Draco took her lack of movement to signify that perhaps he had overstepped and reluctantly pulled away with a distinguishable disappointed groan.
It took but a moment for Hermione to snap out of the bizarre trance she seemed to have slipped into. She leapt forward and pulled his retreating form towards her. Her arms encircled his neck, and one hand slid into the soft yet silky strands of platinum hair.
They shared a fleeting look, both unsure who made the first move, but their lips met once more. Forceful and desperate kisses spoke volumes about the physical allure between them.
His palm moved effortlessly over the luxurious material of her dress and came to rest on the small of her back. Draco seized the opportunity and deepened the embrace; his tongue swept across her bottom lip and tasted the wine she had consumed earlier.
He pressed his body against hers, letting his hardened cock press into her thigh. Hermione let out a surprised, "Oh..," into his mouth as she felt his engorged length and gasped.
Did he desire her that much? It excited her, and caused an elevated feeling of exhilaration.
She wanted him. Needed him. They needed to give in to the burning desire that engulfed them.
Malfoy clearly shared her sentiment. Reaching between them, he hiked up her dress, letting his hand disappear under the folds. He had never touched her there before. It caused her stomach to knot in anticipation, but he did not keep her waiting.
Draco ran his long middle finger down the centre of her slit over the silk that covered her most intimate place. The silk was dampened, and the carnal need for release encompassed her. She whimpered wantonly, "Mmm..."
Hermione wondered if these meetings would be an everyday occurrence.
Her response to having her womanhood touched was instantaneous. Their deep kisses muffled his groan, but raising his head, he huskily stated the obvious, "Your wet, Granger." Fuck. He desperately wanted to drop to his knees and taste her sweetness with his tongue.
She could not deny the truth, and neither was she bothered to. Instead, she pushed against the roughness of his hand without shame. He moved the pad of his thumb over her covered clitoris with practised ease, and she whimpered in pre-orgasmic bliss. It was comforting to know that he had not lost his touch.
Draco felt Granger squirm. He felt her heat. She was so close, and he had barely begun.
Just when she was at the cusp of her release, he kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear and slipped his fingers under the thin sheath of material that served as a barrier until it was his skin against her heated core.
A moan escaped her already parted lips.
The cool metal of his solid white gold ring brushed against her silken folds as his fingers parted her soaking pussy lips. Draco enticingly slipped one finger, then another into her tight passage.
Hermione knew his intent, but it surprised her just the same. She threw her head back, causing a few curls to come loose and fall across her face haphazardly. Her eyes closed tightly, and a mewl of want tore out of her lips as her cunt instinctively closed around his fingers, allowing him to ravish her with his digits.
She concentrated hard on every slight push of his fingers, every caress he diligently bestowed upon her. Her reactions urged him forward. Under his meticulous care, she came undone, and he basked in her pleasure, "You like that, don't you, my darling?"
Cheeks flushed; Hermione couldn't bring herself to answer. Her hardened sensitive nipples rubbed uncomfortably against the lace of her bra. At that moment, she wanted to forget who she was and let Malfoy claim her savagely.
Through hooded eyes, Draco watched the woman before him enjoy his ministrations. Her eyelids fluttered, her luscious red lips parted ever so slightly, and the rise and fall of her chest quickened as she drew near to climax.
It had been nearly ten years since he had touched a woman intimately. Years since, he had heard the sounds Granger was making but seeing her in this state somehow made the wait worth it.
"That's it, love. Let go," Draco encouraged in a sensual tone licking a stripe from her neck down to the valley between her breasts. She tasted faintly of rose-scented body lotion.
Hermione felt the tug at her navel, and she held onto him, grasping at whatever was in reach and let out a loud moan as the intricately spun bundle of nerves exploded within her.
"Fuck!" She cried and buckled under the weight of her release.
Wave upon wave of unbridled desire was unleashed within her as an earth-shattering orgasm tore throughout her body. Her slick juices dripped down her thighs and, but he didn't stop until she was utterly spent. Pushing his digits further in, he fucked her till her climax ceased.
"Malfoy...oh...my...god," she whimpered as his fingers darted in and out of her tight little hole.
Draco tightened his hold around her waist, held her shuddering body to him, and let her ride the wave of pulsating pleasure that shot through her body, making her knees quake.
Only once she stilled completely did he pull his fingers slowly out from her soaking wetness, and she protested against her will, "Not yet..."
She wanted more. So much more.
He turned her around, pushed her face down onto her desk before she could resist and pried her legs apart with his knee and came to stand in between them. His cock begged to spring free from its confinement. He was painfully hard, and his throbbing erection threatened to rip through his trousers.
Hermione was sure she heard the unmistakable sound of a belt coming loose, but instead, she felt a weight on her back as he leaned over and whispered in her ear, "You can lie to yourself, but isn't the alternative better?"
This was not the time for a quick fuck. It would be a much more comfortable setting when he took her and certainly not where every Tom, Dick and Harry could barge in on them.
He had proved his point.
Breathing hard and heavy, they straightened, and Hermione looked at the man before her with a residing bulge in his slacks in both disbelief and admiration. His fingers were coated with her slickness, but he didn't dare to clean it.
For a brief moment, she thought he would suck it off his fingers and taste her. This was not how she planned on this confrontation going.
Hermione adjusted her knickers, pulled at her dress, tried to smoothen the creases, arranged it best she could and scolded, "That was highly inappropriate."
Draco eyed her in interest and mused, "Was it? Then why didn't you stop me?"
Hermione had no viable answer. They swapped a meaningful looks and smiled at each other.
She regained her composure, came towards him and keenly clung to him and kissed him while undoing the stubborn button of his newly tailored trousers.
His resolve crumbled but gathering all his inner strength, Draco grabbed her gently by the wrist and stopped her from going any further.
Hermione protested in a faint voice laced with lust, "Why? I want to do this, Draco."
He shook his head and said with a small smile, "Not here, Granger. I envision a much more romantic setting for our first time."
Disappointment floored her; Hermione was keen to return the favour. Plus, she wanted a glimpse of his appendage. It was always hard to judge the size through a thick layer of material, even though it felt sizeable when he pressed into her earlier.
Draco cupped her face and ran his thumb along her bottom lip. She leaned into his touch willingly and closed her eyes in satisfaction.
He kissed her heatedly. She returned his enthusiasm, and they were once again locked in a passionate embrace. There would be no escaping what they felt for each other despite the scrutinising eyes of the wizarding world.
The imposing man that was Kingsley Shacklebolt approached his Undersecretary's office. His rich velvet robes billowed after him, adding to his intimidating presence.
Brenda got to her feet and thought bloody hell.
She cleared her throat and attempted to remain calm and professional, "I'm sorry, sir, but Hermione's, umm, busy."
Irritated, Kingsley replied in his deep voice, "What could possibly be more important than meeting with the Minister of Magic?"
Brenda squirmed in discomfort, unable to produce a reasonable argument. Kingsley disregarded the young assistant, strode purposefully towards the closed door and knocked.
The unlikely couple broke apart, and in her haste, Hermione bit Draco's bottom lip before looking towards the door in a state of panic. She heard a faint, "Ow," but paid absolutely no mind to it.
Shit. Would they never get a moment's peace? It was the steep price one paid for unprofessional conduct.
She could not risk someone walking in on them and finding them in such a compromising position.
Draco gingerly touched his lip, tasted blood, and complained, "That hurt, Granger."
Ignoring the grumbling man she had unintendedly harmed, Hermione fetched her wand and muttered a quick Scourgify over herself, and it was as if nothing had transpired.
She hurriedly looked to the smug wizard in the room watching her closely with an amused expression and instructed urgently, "Malfoy, straighten yourself up, please."
He heeded her demanding words, lazily waved his wand over him and presented himself, "Are you satisfied?" There was a double meaning to his words. Her eyes wandered over his clothing and came to rest on his sheathed cock.
She frowned and wondered if Malfoy would be willing to cast a Disillusionment charm over himself. Thinking that he would probably be insulted, Hermione instead unlocked the door, cleared her throat and said loud enough for anyone standing outside to hear, "Come in!"
Kingsley briskly walked in, came to an abrupt halt and stared unblinkingly at the unlikely duo.
Hermione mustered a smile, "Minister, we weren't expecting you till later this week."
Merlin. What horrid luck.
Kingsley offered a self-righteous grin, "Business finished early. It looks like things have changed."
He addressed Draco with an amused expression, "I hardly expected to find you in here."
Without much hesitation, the Minister of Magic teased Hermione, "Would you like me to visit at a more convenient time?"
Hermione tried to argue with an ill-conceived lie, "This is not what it looks like, Kingsley. Malfoy here stopped by to..."
Kingsley raised a brow, looked her over and chuckled, "You would be more convincing if his lips were not smeared with the shade of your lipstick.
Did Granger consider him to be a complete idiot? Probably.
Mortified by the revelation, Hermione whipped around in time to catch Malfoy shooting her a look of pure self-satisfaction. On another's skin, it wouldn't have been so dreadfully obvious, but against his paleness, it was a stark contrast.
She pursed her lips to relay her frustration but said nothing. The Bastard! He had purposely left her mark upon him for all to see.
The Minister added in distinguishable relief, "I'm glad to see you two are warming up to each other." He had quite frankly expected the odd couple to be at each other's throats
Kingsley stared at the exquisite ring on Hermione's wedding finger in calculated shock. It took him a few minutes to gather his wits enough to inquire, "Did you two tie the knot already? I would have loved to have been there."
Draco answered before Hermione could string the words together, "We have not. My mother insisted I present Granger with the ring."
Shackbolt concurred, "Your mother is an intelligent woman. I hope she is well."
"She is quite well. Thank you for asking," Draco found himself replying ever so politely.
Hermione made her thoughts on the matter known, "We haven't decided on a date, Minister, but it should be soon." She snubbed Malfoy and offered offhandedly, "Perhaps in a manner of weeks."
Draco raised a quizzical brow, "Well, that's certainly news to me." He mused, "If it's all the same to you, Granger, I would appreciate due notice of our marriage date."
Hermione scowled, "I'll be sure to roll out the red carpet for you, you bloody wank…"
Kingsley snapped, "Granger!" He sounded much like an annoyed father.
"Welcome back, Minister," Draco nodded curtly, discouraging a handshake, especially after his fingers had been knuckle deep inside Granger's very tight cunt. Though they were clean now, it still seemed inappropriate.
Hermione felt the dire need to explain further and exclaimed with haste, "Nothing of the sort is happening. I loathe..."
Kingsley sighed with exhaustion, "This is all very tiresome, Granger. Fine, you hate Malfoy? There, does that appease you?"
Hermione stood her ground and frowned, "I was going to say, I loathe this situation."
Looking from one to the other, Kingsley raised a knowing brow and quipped, "Apparently."
Draco thought it best to make a quick exit. Hopefully, he had time to grab a sandwich. His stomach growled and knotted with pangs of hunger.
He said politely, "I'll take my leave."
Kingsley patted Draco hard on the back and advised sternly, "The suit looks good on you, Malfoy. Make sure you do it justice and not let us down."
Draco promised without hesitation, "You have my word." After a month of training, and if he passed the strenuous course, he would take the oath to bind him to the DMLE for the rest of his days.
Kingsley said thoughtfully, "I was pleasantly surprised by Potters decision to take you on. I gather the others didn't take so kindly to the appointment." He knew it would be a hurdle from the start. Most weren't willing to forgive past Death Eaters regardless of their age or unavoidable consequences that bound them to Voldemort's servitude.
Draco chuckled at first but turned severe a moment later, "They did not, Minister, but rest assured I'm here to do some good to the best of my ability."
Kingsley saw a determination burn in the depths of the young wizard's eyes. He gave a nod of approval, "Hmm, I'll remember that. Second chances are hard to come by."
Draco took a step back and informed, "If you excuse me. I need to get back to training."
He spoke directly to Hermione, who had been listening carefully and studying his facial expressions, "Granger, let's discuss our matter later." She was still fuming and refused outright to answer.
Draco turned on his heel to leave and heard bits of Granger and the Minister's conversation on his way out.
Hermione inquired curiously, "How was France?" She hoped the Minister wouldn't stay long. She desperately needed to visit the bathroom.
Kingsley groaned, "Dreadfully boring, but fruitful. Pascal sends his regards and wants me to send you in my stead in the future."
Hermione giggled, "The bold old toad."
Kingsley wagged a warning finger in her direction, "He fancies you." The annoying sod would not let up about how immensely talented he thought her to be and how Kingsley wasn't using her to her full potential.
Draco stiffened but headed out without a backwards glance.
Kingsley sat down and made himself comfortable. They spoke more about the French Minister and the Minister's visit.
Hermione raised a brow, "So he agreed to let our Aurors patrol the country?"
Kingsley gritted out, "Yes, but at a steep price." A settlement he had approved grudgingly.
Besides the potential serial killer at large, more significant matters threatened their security, and he desperately needed the help of the international community.
He spat in disgust, "The incorrigible man would not let us have an inch more than what was promised."
After a moment's thought, Kingsley beamed and said with pride, "The proposal you drafted was Ironclad. Excellent job, Granger."
His laughter echoed, "I daresay, Pascal was so impressed he would've hired you on the spot. He considers his staff grossly incompetent."
Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Kingsley cut her off, "Forget it, Granger. You are not leaving English soil or this Ministry."
In another part of London
Skeeter looked out of the window in deep thought. She thought long and hard about her encounter with Harry and Hermione at the Leaky Cauldron.
The engagement ring Granger sported played repeatedly in her mind. She had heard the stories surrounding the unique piece of jewellery. Still, it was an awe-inspiring sight up close. The stories hardly did the ring justice.
Granger and Malfoy were indeed engaged, but why the secrecy?
True, he had a colourful past, but that did not change the fact that he was the sole Heir to one of the noblest families in the Wizarding world.
She was confident that The Algorithm would have produced such an inconceivable match. It was hard to imagine the unlikely couple coming together on their own.
Rita dipped her quill with chestnut brown and deep green feathers into the bottle of black ink and set to work on her piece. She knew the Editor would feature it on the front page. It was a gripping story, and if the masses liked anything, it was a bit of juicy gossip.
Who didn't care for enemies to lovers' tale with a strong redemption arc? A hot story sold papers by the dozen, and this one was the hottest yet.
Golden Girl and redeemed Death Eater.
Miss Hermione Jean Granger was spotted wearing the famous Malfoy engagement ring.
A fantastic start to the article, Rita thought happily. She sighed. It was going to be a long night.
When Draco reentered the DMLE, Michelle was nowhere in sight, and Hannah took a large bite of her ham sandwich, set it down clumsily and rearranged the photographs for the twentieth time.
She saw him approach and tossed a packed sandwich box at him, it narrowly missed his head, but Draco caught it expertly.
Hannah chuckled, "Figured you would be famished after Hermione got through with you."
Draco grinned, "You thought right. Thanks, Abbott." He already liked Hannah. They had the right vibe to work well together.
He tore open the stubborn plastic casing, took the sandwich out and devoured it in three bites. There weren't many Aurors around, and that struck him as odd.
Draco observed the scattered group of Aurors with interest and wondered what cases besides the Dollhouse Strangler they were investigating.
Hannah caught his wandering gaze and joked, "If you're looking for your French girlfriend, Smith took her out to lunch. The poor bastards been trying to get into her knickers for nearly two weeks now."
Draco sat down on a rusty old chair and declared, "I don't give a rats arse where she's gone off to." He could still hear Granger's laboured breathing, smell the remnants of her climax and how tempted he had been to taste her wetness.
Hannah's voice bore into his thoughts, "Okay, come on, spill the bloody beans."
Draco questioned, "What do you mean?" Oh, he knew exactly what she was after, but Granger had been specific. He would play by her rules for the time being.
Hannah probed for further information, "You and Granger? Are you guys a thing?" Her eyes sparkled devilishly.
Draco laughed aloud, "Are you barking mad? Can you imagine Granger ever having the hots for me?"
Hannah didn't seem convinced, but she let it slide and responded, "I don't know about her, but you look right smitten." She wiggled her eyebrows in his direction.
Draco nudged her playfully, causing her almost to topple over, "Push off, you nosy parker."
Hannah laughed it off and shrugged, "Well, for what it's worth, I think you make a smashing couple." Hermione needed someone strong and not willing to settle for a mediocre existence. Ron had been far too plain and less than ambitious. Hannah was not surprised when she heard that the legendary couple had amicably parted ways through the grapevine.
Draco suggested and added sheepishly, "I'll be sure to tell her that. She's not umm, very pleased with me at the moment."
Hannah couldn't help but laugh goodheartedly, "Because you kissed her hand like some lovestruck simp?"
Draco rolled his eyes and hissed, "Fuck off, Abbott."
She wiped a fake tear, regained her earlier calmness, and returned to the photographs scattered messily across her desk. The woman would get no awards for tidiness. She was an infinite slob.
Draco was curious about her actions and asked for better insight, "Why do you keep staring at the same photos?"
Hannah gestured to the group of pictures and explained, "Thomas always said the answers are buried in there, and you just need to fucking find the elusive bugger."
It made sense, Draco wisely thought. He pointed to an enlarged picture of the pendant and chain and exclaimed, "I know I'm not supposed to intervene and all, but I'm pretty sure this pendant has a lot to do with it."
Hannah picked it up and nodded gravely in agreement, "Aye. We visited every jeweller in Wizarding Britain and a few Muggle shops that seemed to specialise in this sort of thing but came up with fuck all."
She rolled her eyes with a sigh, "Quite embarrassing that. Before visiting the stores, Terry and I dressed up in our finest Muggle attire and pretended to be a blooming eccentric couple. A fat lot of good that did."
Draco kept his gaze on the pictures and inquired with some tact, "Hmm, where is Boot?"
Like Granger, Abbott became reserved, "Oh, don't know really. He must have taken the day off. He looked bloody awful yesterday."
He gave up on his quest to find the answer and stated, "Fine! Keep your secrets, but there's something off about that wanker."
The gleaming pendant left next to the dead woman caught his keen interest. Draco pointed out, "The craftsmanship on these is remarkable. He is a skilled man."
Hannah concurred, "Yeah, we thought so too."
She added miserably, "It's never taken us this long to find a perpetrator before. It's doing Potters head in."
Draco responded solemnly, "I can only imagine."
"Do you reckon the last woman's alive?" Hannah asked abruptly.
Draco grew thoughtful, "Yeah, I think so. If he had grown tired of her, we would've found her body by now."
Hannah grew frustrated and pounded the table with renewed determination, "I really want to catch the sick fuck."
Draco gently squeezed her shoulder and reassured her with a slight smile, "We will, Hannah. Have some faith."
Thomas entered the bright space of a Muggle ice cream parlour and slowly approached a table occupied by a well-built, blonde-haired man digging into a bowl of chocolate ice cream, topped with oodles of whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles.
He turned a few heads with his attire and handicap as he dragged his feet across the floor, and Muggles threw him suspicious looks.
Grabbing the white chair, Thomas pulled it back roughly, plopped himself down and hissed, "Dorian Blackwood."
Dorian bit into a thick wafer that was stuck in his ice cream for decorative purposes and gave a toothy grin, "Thomas Spencer."
A bubbly waitress hovered over them and asked the sour-looking Auror, "What would you like, sir?"
Thomas never cared much for these Muggle establishments, but it wouldn't do to arouse suspicion, so he placed an order, "Three scoops of vanilla ice cream, fresh cut strawberries and a dollop of cream on top." The waitress scribbled it down and turned away when Thomas suddenly included, "And a coffee, black."
She smiled, "Coming right away, sir."
Dorian cleaned his mouth with a napkin and said offhandedly, "They know he's back."
Thomas leaned back and stretched his legs, "It wasn't a bloody secret."
Dorian emphasised. His cheerful demeanour vanished, "They'll come for him. You know they will."
Thomas wasn't bothered. He made his thoughts vocal, "Hmm, they can try, but Draco isn't Lucius. The boy is made of tougher stuff than his father ever was."
Dorian wiped his brow to rid himself of the beads of sweat that gathered, "They all are until he cracks them." The man he served was a merciless fiend. A man bent on revenge with a single course of action and purpose in mind.
Thomas retorted confidently, "He will not be able to crack Malfoy."
The Malfoy brat was no longer the child that yielded to his father's every whim. He was highly skilled and possessed a unique ability.
Dorian narrowed his eyes sceptically, "You have some faith in him, but you underestimate the power of persuasion."
The waitress arrived with his order and delicately placed it in front of him before tending to another order.
Thomas grabbed the spoon, dug in and countered, "I have no faith in him. At least not yet, but I believe he is different and able to withstand a few mind tricks."
Dorian scooped up the last bit of ice cream in his dish and shrugged before popping it into his mouth, "If you say so."
Thomas picked off the strawberries one by one and mused, "Must we meet at these ice cream parlours, Blackwood?"
Dorian laughed good-naturedly, "What's the Muggle saying? Hide in plain sight, that's the one, but having said that, Thomas, you could make more of an effort to blend in."
He pointed to the table next to them and grinned, "The children are terrified by the look of you," and sure enough, no more than three children shot him anxious glances.
The veteran did look rather menacing in this thick black coat, heavy boots, and battle scars running across his face.
Thomas swallowed a spoonful of vanilla ice cream and gritted out, "Well, blonde is a terrible look on you."
Dorian smirked for good measure, "I beg to differ. Plenty of women go for the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, muscled body look."
Thomas scowled, "Argh, shut up. I didn't come here to hear about a Polyjuiced werewolf's sex life."
Dorian eyed a pretty brunette by the counter and quipped, "When was the last time you got laid, old man?"
Thomas was quick to defend, "None of your fucking business." The truth was he could hardly remember. Most women were put off by his job. All except, Audrey that is, but that ship had sailed, or had it? He had been a right arsehole not to pursue her when he had the chance.
A Muggle woman dressed in a plain summer dress from the next table covered a child's ears and scolded, "Mind your tongue, sir. There are children present."
Thomas sneered, "Piss off, you nosy old goat." The children collapsed in a fit of giggles until a stern look from their mother shut them up momentarily. Their earlier expressions of fear vanished into thin air and were replaced by awe.
The woman was beside herself with embarrassment, "Well, I never!"
Dorian graciously stepped in with impeccable manners, "My apologies, Madam. Please excuse my friend."
The angry woman grew flustered at being addressed directly by the handsome man and tittered. She shooed away her young son, who tugged on her sleeve to demand another ice cream cone and replied, "It's perfectly alright."
Dorian rounded on Thomas after the Muggle woman looked away and advised animatedly, "We must work on your people skills, mate."
Thomas frowned at the sloppy mess in his bowl and urged impatiently, "Hurry up, Dorian. The bloody ice creams melting."
Dorian discreetly pulled a vial out of his coat pocket. He swirled it around, causing the silver strands of memories to float unrestricted within their confinement.
He hesitated before handing the small bottle over to Thomas, but he did so with a sigh and informed with substantial importance, "Keep an eye on the Malfoy Heir, Spencer."
Chapter 43
Notes:
I am so sorry for the late update! Work has been brutal!
Inner battles, Skeeter's damaging article, a pending war and possible Stockholm syndrome.
Thank you for the awesome comments! :)
Enjoy chapter forty-three!
HAPPY READING!
Chapter Text
Thankfully, it was the end of another gruelling day, especially after her moment with Malfoy left her wanting more.
The day had been riddled with one pointless meeting after another. By the end of it, all Hermione craved was a long leisurely bath, amongst other things, but those rather exotic diversions coming to life seemed unlikely.
Hermione apparated directly into her flat. She was in no mood to entertain her elderly neighbour and listen to meaningless gossip about the woman down the hall and her promiscuous activities.
She dropped her handbag on the ground and proceeded to kick off her shoes as she sluggishly strode towards the bathroom, massaging the knot that had formed on her neck.
Plopping down on the bed, she stared at the ceiling deep in thought. An overwhelming sense of loneliness washed over her.
She missed Crookshanks. Despite her lack of relationships and throughout her battles with Ron, the half-Kneazle cat had remained loyally by her side.
To be fair, Crooks had always been rather horrid towards Ron for whatever reason, possibly because of his ill-treatment towards him in their third year.
Crooks was a perceptive cat who knew precisely when to climb into bed and curl at her side, allowing her to gently stroke his fur while he purred in delight.
A tear made its way down her cheek as the day of his passing came to mind. Even though Ron hadn't been overly fond of the companion she held dear, he had been sympathetic towards her feelings and held her long into the night as she bawled her eyes out for the loss of a great friend.
Many times, Hermione had fleeting thoughts of getting another, but questions such as who would look after it constantly plagued her.
She wasn't always home, and from time to time, the Minister would send her abroad on diplomatic tours for days on end.
Those came to a temporary halt after a few letters arrived at the Ministry implying heavily that her life was at risk. Years had passed, but some individuals who kept their identity well-hidden loathed her position of power and made their presence avidly known by threatening bodily harm to the Muggle-born witch they considered beneath them.
The hated words and explicitly detailed letters had caused the bile to rise in her throat, but she composed herself and soldiered through that grim period.
Harry had been completely beside himself and requested the Minister to refrain from sending Hermione abroad alone. His overprotectiveness angered her at the time, but she knew his actions were fueled by genuine concern.
On an unavoidable summit in Austria, Harry had accompanied her as a bodyguard and proceeded to glare daggers at anyone who came close. He was in every sense an older brother. Still, in the end, he needn't have bothered because the letters had amounted to nothing more than a few empty threats made by a group of pathetic people.
An image of a loving Alsatian floated past, and her sadness evaporated with the joyful memories of Max and his slobbery kisses. The dog mirrored his caregivers with his pure white coat of thick fur, regal stature and memorising eyes of blood red.
She was growing exceedingly fond of Malfoy's dog, among other things he possessed. A hearty chuckle left her lips, and the need to cleanse herself overwhelmed her.
Hermione pushed herself off the bed, grabbed a towel and went in search of a bottle of wine. She found the half-empty, white wine bottle nestled between the sauce bottle and mustard jar.
Grabbing it firmly by the neck, she started her walk towards the bathroom when her bag sitting haphazardly in the middle of the room caught her attention.
Groaning at her carelessness, Hermione picked it up, fished her phone out of the stylish bag and kept it on the small table as she passed it on the way to the ensuite with a bit of spring in her step.
Since he lost his arm over twenty years ago, Thomas had adapted to life and got on better than most. At first, it had been a frustrating task that made him bitter and angry towards everyone, especially Audrey.
She blamed herself for his current predicament since it was his heroic act of saving her from being mauled that landed him in a sticky situation with an older, fully formed werewolf who didn't know friend from foe. The beast's old age allowed him to transform at will. It was an unfair advantage the Aurors had not anticipated.
Thankfully, it was not the time of a full moon, but once bitten and over the course of the coming weeks, Thomas developed a fondness for raw meat and adopted a dark temperament. Along with the unpleasantness, he found his senses heightened and profound.
For the longest time, he resented Audrey, hated her for her carelessness but kept his true feelings hidden by ignoring her existence, until time passed and he realised what a fool he had been.
During the healing process, he vividly recalled how she had never left his side, tending to his bandages and other minor injuries, crying over him when she thought no one was looking.
Regardless of his coldness towards her, not confiding his true feelings was one of his biggest regrets. They would have made a splendid couple.
Of course, they had been eager adults, ready to do some good under the watchful eye of Mad-Eye Moody or Alastor as they liked to call him. They had, for the most part, done their duty except on that one ill-planned mission that cost two Aurors their valuable lives and his precious limb.
Following the life-altering event, Audrey distanced herself from active duty and instead resorted to training the next generation of highly trained men and women who would eventually replace them.
He watched from afar as she dated, and came close to marrying a colleague, but at the last moment, she broke it off much to his delight. The heartbroken man requested a transfer to Germany and fled the humiliation.
Mad-Eye had not been pleased with her decision to leave the field but grudgingly agreed after seeing how distraught she had been.
Thomas pulled himself out of his trip down memory lane, poured himself a hefty scotch and walked towards a dusty cabinet that rested in the corner of the dimly lit living room. He took out the vial Dorian had grudgingly handed him and held it up to the light.
The silver strands of memory danced within, almost eager to display the information they held.
He knew Dorian Blackwood put his life at significant risk by working for them, and as far as werewolves were concerned, he wasn't all bad. Indeed, not a foul, lowly, brutish beast like Fenrir Greyback had been.
Thomas felt anger burn his insides. He downed his scotch, threw open the battered-looking cabinet and took out a stone basin covered in ancient runes. Tipping the contents of the vial into the Pensieve, he watched impatiently as they settled.
Taking a deep breath, he plunged headfirst into the murkiness. He landed in the middle of what appeared to be a dark hall with marbled grey floors, surrounded by emerald green draperies and a large round table at the centre that grabbed his immediate attention.
The room was bare of any other pieces of furniture, which struck him as odd, but it was possibly used as a meeting place, and additional chambers lay beyond the hall.
Even at first glance, one could tell the table was unusual. Intricate patterns depicting battles between Muggle Kings, fire-breathing dragons and fallen, severed bodies were carved into the deep brown polished surface.
What was this place? It was clear it was underground, but where? The location was well-guarded with charms and shrouded in eerie unrest.
Thomas looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of something he would recognise, but for the moment, it evaded him. He would revisit the memory in the days to come, and note his findings.
Masked figures sat around the tables with their wands tactfully placed in front of them. Thomas moved like a shadow even though his presence in another's memories would not cause him to harm or alert others.
He quickened his pace and came close enough to clearly see the wands and obscured men. All sat perfectly still, listening intently to a man speaking passionately about the new world order. It was clear from their garments and behaviour that they were refined and wealthy.
They were dressed in heavy black robes embroidered richly at the hem, dragon leather gloves protected their hands, and once he got closer to the figures, the complexly carved masks that covered their face whole became known.
Each was made of silver and black precious metal split down the middle to signify light and darkness superficially.
Thomas came to notice the creatures that adorned the front of every single mask. Every person had a different animal worked into the surface of their disguise, overlayed with valuable gems. The significance this held mystified Thomas. He could not help but feel astounded by the unique artistry visible within the grim and ominous setting.
These were not mere Death Eater masks. He was sure each held a profound meaning. This was a highly organised group of individuals intent on a single purpose.
Thomas ignored the finer details of the room for the time being and gave his full attention to the shrouded man keenly addressing the room. His deep voice ricocheted off the walls of the dungeon, adding to its importance.
Dorian had dutifully informed that this was the first meeting of the New World Order that he had been allowed to witness and physically take part in after he had proved himself worthy of such an honour.
Previously, he had been taxed with meagre tasks to further the cause. It was a rare privilege to be included among a handful of people trusted with rebuilding a broken world with their deluded minds.
The man spoke with such fortitude, it was hard to resist his voice, “My brothers’, we have lived in silence for far too long.”
Thomas reeled back. That voice, it was vaguely familiar. He had heard it before, but could not place where. He prided himself on his remarkable memory, but it failed him miserably at present.
There was an open nod of heads and a distinct murmur of agreement.
He addressed the group before him solemnly. His words held caution, “We must tread carefully. The Dark Lord paved the path to greatness, but he was a fool!”
An uproar of disagreement pierced the still air, and a hiss of disapproval followed, silenced by a large hand coming down hard on the ancient table.
As specks of dust floated in all directions, an eerie silence fell over the room, and the disguised figures gave their leader their undivided attention.
The man, like his predecessor, tolerated no-nonsense. He warned darkly, “You know I speak the truth.”
He said with determination and emphasized the last part of his well-thought-out sentence, “For years, we have been plotting, planning our return, but we must lead by respect, not fear.”
A Chimaera adorned his mask. Blood-red rubies filled the eye sockets, and they seemed to come alive in the dark setting, piercing and unsettling.
Presenting his hand, he welcomed and encouraged those before him, “I offer you freedom from the bonds that have shackled us into believing our rightful place is to be obscured by the shadows.”
After careful consideration, he uttered the following words that would shatter his earlier allegiance, “Voldemort was not a leader. He was not who he claimed to be. We blindly followed him without question, but that was wrong.”
Thomas drew in a sharp intake of air. Most cringed at the mention of their fallen Lord by name.
Undeterred, the tall, seemingly well-built man continued in a loud, booming voice, “Our blood is pure and untainted, and we must take our rightful place in the world, my friends.”
At first, most held their tongue out of terror for the man who had cheated death in the past. Despite his death, many still remained loyal to Voldemort out of fear.
Momentary silence engulfed the space, followed by a sudden collective shout of agreement as the realization of what was being offered began to sink in.
He delivered his next words triumphantly, “All of you have tasks assigned. Do them well and discreetly, and our time to rule will come sooner than we know.”
In a toast, the hooded man raised a goblet of rich red wine, "To the future!" Others followed suit, and before long, succulent meats, caviar and wine were served to the followers to gorge upon.
The scene shifted, and Thomas was eavesdropping on a private conversation from Dorian's perspective. After all, it was Blackwood's memory that Thomas was invading. He glanced at the man hidden by the heavy oak door, crouched and discreetly peering into the room.
Only then did Thomas notice the eagle with spread wings sprawled across Dorian's mask. The beautiful bird had stones of blue sapphire embedded to outline its wings and gazing white diamonds for eyes.
Inside the room, the enigmatic leader spoke to another who attended to scriptures on a parchment, “Is it true that Draco Malfoy is alive?”
Without looking at his master directly, he nodded vigorously, “Yes, my Lord.”
Thomas hoped he would get some insight into who the mysterious man was, but his curiosity wouldn’t be satiated. The imposing individual grew thoughtful, “Interesting. We shall follow his movements closely.”
Dorian spied from his place behind the door as the two men inside spoke freely. They were completely unaware that their conversation was being listened to by a Ministry informant.
The shrouded man's next words were smeared with contempt for Lucius Malfoy, “His father was a coward, unworthy of the blood that flowed in his veins.” He included hopefully, “Perhaps, the son is different. Although, I remember him to be a spoiled little prince.”
“Keep an eye on him.” He commanded his servant, leaving no room for doubt.
The cowering servant acknowledged his leader's wishes at once, “As you please, My Lord.”
He said shrewdly, “When the time is right, we can recruit and offer him a position of foremost importance. We will need his Galleons to further our cause.” There was staggering confidence in his words that made Thomas scowl.
With a wave of his hand, the lowly masked figure listening to the instructions was dismissed. He bowed low in agreement and slowly backed away towards the door.
Dorian scrambled away just in time before he was caught. He disappeared around the corner, leaned against the stone wall of a narrow passageway and tried to calm his breathing.
Thomas felt his blood run cold. He reluctantly pulled himself out of the memory, grabbed the nearest paper and quill and hurriedly scribbled a single sentence in thick bold letters.
"Aunt Petunia has arrived for dinner," It was a cryptic message meant only for Potter and the Minister in case their owl was intercepted. The line had been Potter's clever idea.
Dark, uncertain times lay ahead, and Dorian was right, they would need to keep a watchful eye over their latest recruit. It would spell disaster if Malfoy joined the ranks of this cult.
They first got wind of the group years ago, when Granger first started getting threatening messages.
Even after a thorough investigation, no hard evidence presented itself. Though Dorian provided names of a few supporters who were the sons of fallen Death Eaters and now somewhat respectable members of the community, there was hardly any proof of wrongdoing to arrest the bunch of them.
Despite their fathers being killed or carted off to Azkaban, they still had some influential hold over the public due to their deep pockets and pureblood status. It was a prejudice that would never completely disappear.
The few that Dorian mentioned included Graham Montague, Gregory Goyle, and surprisingly Cormac McLaggen. Still, according to Dorian, the ex-Gryffindor was not fully committed to the cause and was often considered a liability. His involvement was largely tolerated because of the Galleons he donated towards the misguided organisation. Still, there was heavy speculation that McLaggen was somehow forced to be a part and his participation was against his will.
Even Dorian wasn't sure who the elusive leader was. He had his suppositions, but they didn’t amount to much. It was rumoured the hooded man consumed Polyjuice's potion to conceal his identity until the opportune moment.
Thomas whistled, and a grey owl with white-speckled feathers flew towards him and landed on the table. He stroked the feathers, gave the eager bird the letters, and whispered the names of people for whom they were destined.
The owl gave a quick hoot of acknowledgement and flew out of the window with haste.
Thomas watched the bird fly over the rooftops of thatched houses and continued to stare into the distance in deep thought long after the owl disappeared.
He desperately needed another drink.
Harry stared into the fireplace, eagerly awaiting word. The fluttering of determined wings pulled him out of his troubling thoughts and caused him to look directly at the approaching bird.
He unburdened the bird from its task and offered a treat which the owl nibbled at it gingerly and watched the bespectacled man walking across the room to a comfortable armchair.
Taking the letter in his hands, he opened it and read the one line. The tiny piece of parchment fell to the ground, and Harry’s eyes fluttered shut in desolation. Would they never be done with this madness? Would their children continue the endless fight against such atrocities?
With a heavy heart, he slipped into his son’s room, watched over him and kissed his forehead.
Kingsley had just offered his wife of twenty years a glass of scotch when the owl made its presence known. He recognized the creature at once. The Minister held out his hand and the owl obliged by dropping the sealed letter onto his open palm before flying out the window.
Maureen Shacklebolt asked in concern, “What is it, darling?”
Kingsley read the bold line sprawled across the paper in an almost childlike way and answered gravely, “A war is coming.”
She gasped, and the crystal tumbler in her hand dropped to the floor, smashing upon impact into a hundred tiny pieces.
Draco stepped out of the bathroom in his bedroom suite, and a steady stream of steam followed his exit. A towel hung loosely on his taut hips; a thin trail of blonde hair disappeared into the decency the towel offered. With his free hand, he dried his hair vigorously.
There was nothing more satisfying than the soft beads of cool water that caressed his skin after a long day of Auror training.
After pulling on a pair of black bottoms and slipping into a simple white t-shirt, Draco went in search of his mother. His stomach growled with hunger, and he wished Dotty had prepared something exquisite for dinner.
He picked up a green apple from the fruit bowl Dotty kept stacked with fresh fruit for his benefit and sank his teeth into the shiny green flesh in satisfaction. An intense eruption of flavours tantalised his taste buds, and he eagerly drank them in while walking into the foyer.
Narcissa glanced at her approaching son, and a happy smile curved her lips. It was wonderful to have him home.
Draco returned the smile and kissed her forehead, "Good evening, mother."
Taking her spectacles off, Narcissa kept them carefully on the table and gave her only child her complete attention, "Good evening, darling."
She looked him over for any noticeable injuries and inquired with a frown, "Was today any better?"
The pain from the unprovoked ambush by Terry Boot and his lackeys lingered, but it had lessened, and he hardly felt it.
Draco took another large bite of the apple and nodded with his mouth full of the sweet and sour treat and barely managed, "Yes, it was much better. I think I have made a few friends."
He thought fondly of Hannah and Emily. However, Michelle was not looking for friendship unless it came with a side order of sex. She was quite appealing and tempting, but he had his sights on a much bigger prize.
Miss Hermione Jean Granger. Salazar those moans and panting when she orgasmed. He wondered what erotic noises she would make when he slid his cock into her tight passage.
His mother's voice bore into his erotic thoughts of a pleasurable afternoon, "That's nice, dear."
Draco polished off the apple ravenously and raised sceptically, "How was lunch with my beloved fiancé?" His tone was mocking and dripping with sarcasm.
Narcissa blushed instantly and scolded, “Hush! Must you joke about everything? If you must know, it was quite enjoyable.” She added fondly, “We had the lobster, drank more wine than we should have and gossiped. Hermione makes me feel young again.”
She raised a brow in question, “Did she mention it?”
Draco responded, “She did.” Among other things, he thought devilishly.
Narcissa took the opportunity to point out a bit of valid information, “Well, I would like to ask why you didn't see it fit to inform me that you met Teddy Lupin.”
Draco tensed, "There was nothing to tell, mother. Granger brought him by, and I happened to be there." He excluded the bit about the infirmary.
He said thoughtfully, “He’s quite a special child.”
Narcissa smiled warmly, “I'm sure he is.” She thought of Andromeda and longed to speak a few words with her estranged sister.
Draco interrupted with determination, “I have every intention of righting every wrong done.”
Narcissa was baffled by his words and asked his intent, “What do you mean?”
He turned to face his mother and questioned slowly, “Are we not the sole remaining heirs of the Black family? Teddy and I?”
Narcissa nodded, and the realization of what her son intended made her heart sore with happiness, “Yes! I think I know where you are headed with this, and I cannot be more pleased.”
Draco retorted with fierce resolve, “Aunt Andromeda and Teddy deserve their inheritance and the respect that was cruelly taken from them.
Made speechless by the words he spoke, Narcissa simply stared at the man her son had become. After a few moments of silence, she expressed wholeheartedly, “I am so proud of you.”
Draco offered a humble smile, “Not yet, mother. First, we ask for their forgiveness, and the rest will follow.
Narcissa agreed without much hesitation. She eyed her only child knowingly, “I daresay Hermione will be thrilled.”
Draco shook his head in exasperation and argued, “My union with Granger or her fondness of the boy has absolutely nothing to do with any of this.”
Narcissa laughed. Her peals of delightful laughter filled the space. She got to her feet, smoothed the creases on her gown and said, “Of course not, darling. Are you ready for dinner?”
Draco sighed, “Yes, I'm famished.” He was positively starving. They entered the dining room to find the table burdened under the weight of mouthwatering dishes. Dotty had clearly outdone herself.
The murderer threw open the door and exclaimed, “My darling!” He was glad to be home and around her once more.
Sarah cringed and moved away as she always did, but this time she began to sob and desperately plead, "Please, let me go! I miss my family."
Usually, such an outburst would have angered him, but instead, he moved close, stroked her hair, and cooed, as if to a lover, "But I'm your family now." Soon she would be his wife and belong solely to him.
He pointed to the blood on the sheets. His face contorted with disgust, but he succeeded in saying what he truly felt, “Once you are clean, we can visit mother and get her blessing. She is quite anxious to meet the woman I love.”
Pulling her close, he held on and hugged her tightly, and despite her hatred of the fiend, Sarah let herself be held because it felt good to be sheltered for a moment, even if it was by him.
He gently pushed her back, left a plate of food close by and waited for her to start eating. Like a ravenous dog, she devoured the cheese sandwiches and chocolate croissants. Her cheeks bursting with food, she didn't acknowledge her nakedness anymore; he had already defiled her in every possible way.
The man enjoyed her reaction to the things he brought her. Watching the simple meal he prepared to be consumed with such enthusiasm gave him tremendous pleasure.
He gently stroked her hair and placed an enduring kiss upon her brow. The subtle act of affection made Sarah stiffen. She swallowed hard and stared into the eyes of the long-haired man who had kept her prisoner and raped her for months.
The scarred flesh on one side of his face was grotesque. The skin was burned so horrifically it was a miracle he could see out of his eye at all.
“Who did this to you?” She asked meekly, her voice was faint and cracked with lack of use.
Sarah regretted her words at once since the man hardened and his barely visible eye darkened with what was clearly a painful memory.
Without much thought, she reached out and touched the charred side of the face, and at that moment, her abuser, her captor, appeared human to her as he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.
It was clear he had suffered at the merciless hands of someone he probably loved.
The swift realisation of her movement forced her to reel back in self-disgust.
Horrified by her actions, Sarah pulled her hand back at once, causing his face to contort painfully. She cowered and braced herself to suffer his wrath, but instead, he stood up abruptly and fled the room, leaving her once again in darkness with tears streaming down her face.
Hermione bundled herself up in a fluffy white towel, shook her curls sending water droplets flying in every direction and stepped into the comfort of her room and not a moment sooner.
The loud ringing of her phone from where she placed it earlier travelled through the tiny flat that had her rushing towards it without abandon.
In her eagerness to reach the device, the towel she had secured around her body came undone and fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. Squealing and cursing out loud, she abandoned it and ran naked towards the phone.
It was unnecessary since she could have easily called back whoever it was, but a thought lodged in the depths of her mind wished it was Malfoy. Hours later and she could still feel the gentle yet determined brush of his finger over her clitoris. How perfectly he had moved his long fingers in and out of her cunt at a punishingly low pace.
She picked up the phone with water-coated fingers and couldn't help the bitter disappointment that curled in her belly.
The word "Mum" flashed on the screen.
Hermione sighed and connected the call, "Hi, Mum!" She wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder, bent to pick up the towel and secured it around her more firmly this time.
Julia’s loving motherly voice came through, "How are you, darling? We haven't heard from you since Draco came over for dinner."
Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and admitted guiltily, "I know, Mum. Work has been rather hectic." She could picture her mother rolling her eyes. Her family had unceremoniously branded her a workaholic.
She straightened as her grandmother's voice came through clearly, "Are you coming by this weekend? Phyllis did not bother with unnecessary pleasantries; she dropped all pretence around her beloved grandchild and came straight to the point.
Clearing her throat, Hermione thought of a valid explanation, but she knew her grandmother would see right through her lies and excuses. She settled for the truth and whatever scolding that would be sure to follow, “Nana, I'll try my best.” It was a weak retort.
Phyllis was having none of it, “There won't be any trying, Hermione. I expect Draco and you around for Sunday brunch.”
Hermione groaned and asked weakly, “Must I bring him? He's probably busy and...”
Phyllis cut her short, “And nothing.”
Hermione conceded defeat but said stubbornly, “Fine, I'll ask him, but if he refuses, there's nothing I can do about it.”
Phyllis smiled broadly and reassured, “I have confidence in the boy.”
Eager to speak of anyone other than Malfoy, Hermione deviated the conversation towards more pleasant things, “Where's dad?”
Julia replied in a tired voice, “Still at the clinic. An emergency case came in.” There were plenty of those thanks to people leaving their teeth unattended until the pain of a rotting tooth became unbearable.
Hermione sighed, “Give him my love.”
Julia gushed, “Of course, darling. Be safe.”
Hermione concurred, “I always am.”
She hung up, fell unceremoniously on the bed and thought of how she would go about breaching the topic of brunch with her family on Sunday to Malfoy.
She was sure without a doubt that he wouldn't refuse, but her family getting close to him didn't sit too well with her. It would lead to unnecessary complications beyond what they already faced.
The day’s events swept over her, and before she knew it, Hermione pulled a fluffy pillow close, hugged it firmly to her chest and fell into a deep slumber still in the towel.
Dinner was, as usual, satisfying. Draco decided to take Max for a walk to aid his digestion. The eager dog was impatient and showed his willingness by repeatedly jumping on his master’s body.
Grabbing the battered tennis ball, Draco left his mother to her reading and wandered into the well-maintained gardens of Malfoy Manor. He truly welcomed the serene calmness, the gentle rustling of leaves and beams of moonlight that illuminated the full-grown trees of the beautiful landscape.
Max came to a halt and growled threateningly with his fur standing on end. The rustling of the bushes alerted Draco to his companion’s distress, and he stroked the dog's back in an effort to soothe him and grilled, "What is it, boy?"
The Alsatian dug its claws into the earth and barred his teeth in a low menacing growl. The bushes rustled, and out of the thick brush, a majestic white peacock glided out without a care in the world oblivious to the strangers intruding on his nightly stroll.
Draco stared at the beautiful creature in awe. It was a common sight around the Manor since the magnificent birds had been one of Lucius's prized possessions. Still, the appreciation for such an exquisite creature heightened in the darkness and fall of moonlight.
Slowly, he slipped his fingers under Max’s black studded collar, tightened his hold, preventing the angry dog from pouncing and pulled him back gently, “Come on, Max. Let's find another spot.”
Though the astute dog kept his eyes on the bird preening his feathers and strutting around the courtyard with an elevated sense of purpose, he heeded his master's command.
Draco released the dog once they were away and near the angelic fountain. He sat heavily on the marble bench and threw the ball in his grasp for Max to fetch.
He leisurely stretched his legs out and stared at the night sky. Hardly any stars were visible except for a few sparkling dots millions of miles away. Astronomy like Alchemy intrigued him.
Draco thought hard about the day's events, and a smile slowly worked its way onto his face. He decided seeing Granger come undone was a sight he could indeed get used to. His fingers twitched with the remembrance of her wetness that coated them.
He had always liked a somewhat vocal woman in bed, and when she moaned his name, it had taken all his inner strength not to rip the panties off her body and impale her with his cock.
At that moment, he regretted not letting her have her way with him.
The thought of Granger on her knees, between his firm thighs while she sucked him off, was an enticing image. He particularly enjoyed the way her hair wrapped around his fingers during their many moments of passion.
Draco licked his bottom lip and wondered whether he should call her. She would answer and, in her usual way, berate him for calling. Though he knew she secretly welcomed it, he chuckled softly at the roguish thought.
He was on his way to a hard-on, and that simply wouldn't do. Max had returned with the ball begging for it to be thrown again. Draco patted the dog fondly and obliged, but he needed to let off some steam and banish his vicarious thoughts desperately.
With purpose, he got to his feet and let out a low whistle, Max emerged with the ball firmly in his mouth and paws covered in dirt, and when Draco started the walk towards the Manor, the dog whimpered in disappointment but followed obediently.
Draco heard the soft whimpers and caught a glimpse of the hanging face of the white Alsatian. He said somewhat guiltily "Ah, don't look at me like that, mate. I need to practice before bed." He felt fit enough to endure the vigorous workout routine. His body craved it.
The loud laughing of a deranged woman filled Hermione’s head, “Wakey, wakey little Mudblood.” When she didn’t stir, the voice inside her mind shrieked, “Get up, you slag.”
Hermione gritted out, “Get away from me.”
Bellatrix laughed and taunted, “Always the same, get away from me, don't hurt me. Such a pitiful creature, shameless slut.”
Hermione defended feebly, “It was mutual. He touched me, and ...”
Her words angered the dead witch. Bellatrix screamed, “He cares nothing for you! Do you believe he will sullen his bloodline by impregnating you?”
Hermione defended relentlessly, trying to convince herself, “He wants me….”
The heinous witch fired, “He wants to fuck you, dearie. You will never amount to anything more than the foulest creature to him.”
Hermione felt the vomit rise, but she managed to hold it down enough to counter, “That’s not true.”
Bellatrix narrowed her eyes and taunted, “Draco can have any woman he pleases. Why would he willingly choose you?”
The young witch trapped within her mind scoffed, “He can have them for all I care. Malfoy means nothing to me.”
Bellatrix laughed manically. The unholy sound bounced off the walls of Hermione’s disturbed mind, “Yet, you crave him? I can see into your darkest fantasies, you little liar.”
Hermione gathered all her inner strength and hissed, “Does it bother you, Bellatrix? That your precious nephew wants to fuck a Mudblood?”
She challenged, “I can make him love me.”
Bellatrix sneered, “Love you? Draco would never stoop so low to develop feelings for an ugly, bushy-haired know it all.”
She cocked her head to the side and pouted, “Deep down, you’re still that girl fighting for everyone's approval.”
Hermione denied the truth that left the dark witch’s lips, “That’s a lie.”
Bellatrix smiled most spitefully and mocked, “On the contrary, darling. I think it's you that's afraid of falling in love with him.”
Hermione choked back a sob, “I will never.”
The cackling grew louder, “What would the blood traitor Weasley think of you? He loved you then. He loves you still.”
Bellatrix rejoiced, “I will celebrate your pain as Draco tears your heart out. He will succeed where I failed.”
Hermione fired back without hesitation, “I won't give him the satisfaction.” She could never love Malfoy.
The deceased witch exclaimed menacingly, “Enough! I tire of your pathetic excuses. I thirst for blood.”
Hermione was taken back to the fateful night she was branded on the floor of Malfoy Manor.
Bellatrix leaned closer and whispered, “Scream, my pet.”
Hermione struggled in her sleep, her towel came loose, and in her naked form, she twisted and writhed in a futile attempt to get away from an invisible entity. Her nails dug deep into her arm, and a painful gash appeared down her left forearm.
Her nightmares created such a powerful hallucination it caused the lamp and book she kept for light reading on her nightstand to shake violently and tumble to the floor as the magic within her surged to the surface.
The engagement ring she wore rose to protect her from distress such was the power of the enchantment placed upon it and unwavering loyalty to its bearer.
She felt a weight press down hard on her chest as if someone was sitting across her, constricting her airway, but the mad cackling resided and retreated to whence it came, and Hermione shot up spluttering, gasping for breath covered in a thin sheet of cold sweat. She took gulps of air to fill her oxygen-deprived lungs.
The emerald in the ring glowed bright, throwing light across her grief-stricken face.
Once her breathing returned to its normal state, Hermione fell sideways, hugged her legs to her chest and wept. Her nightmares brought her deepest insecurities to life, and she hated herself for desiring her childhood tormentor.
Draco's fist collided with the bag noisily. He winced as he threw the hard punch and held onto his bruised side with his gloved hand. His leather-clad fingers dug into his skin through his sweat-drenched t-shirt.
He pulled it over his head and tossed it aside.
Rapid thoughts of Granger responding fervently to his touch flashed by, causing a deep growl to escape his pale lips. He held onto the bag heavy till it stilled and steadied himself but mostly his raging thoughts.
He wanted her in a way he hadn't wanted anything in the past, and that intense feeling in the core of his being terrified him, especially since she was adamant about refusing any genuine feelings between them.
In frustration, he did a roundhouse kick that collided and shook the bag dangerously, making it swing, creak and protest.
Draco aggressively pulled off his leather gloves, tossed them aside and stormed away, having failed in his attempt to rid his thoughts of his forced fiancé.
He glanced at the clock on his way out and fumed. It read 11:30 pm.
The Next Day
Narcissa enjoyed an early morning stroll around her beloved gardens. She tended lovingly to her roses and other precious plants with the help of the elves. It was a routine she upheld from her youth and during her many years of house arrest.
Dotty, in particular, enjoyed gardening and would often water the plants and tend to the relentless weeds, though this morning, the tiny elf who favoured polka-dotted dresses was busy elsewhere. Narcissa found herself walking along with Max, who chased after the many butterflies that fluttered teasingly around the most scented flowers.
She passed by the large Oak tree with lush green leaves turning reddish and orange with the pending season change when a random gust of passing wind made her shiver.
Narcissa looked around the serene space and wondered where Draco was. He was usually up at the crack of dawn, and during her walks, she would often find him under the tree in a deep meditative state.
A month would soon come to pass since his return, and she still marvelled at the transformation.
Narcissa had her doubts and reservations about his decision to flee from England in search of his true self mainly because she worried relentlessly about his well-being.
Unfortunately, he was raised a certain way, and she supposed she was as much to blame as Lucius since she allowed her husband to imprint his ideologies on their only child. Had she known he would return in such an elevated state of calmness and humility, she would have brushed aside her insecurities and supported him one hundred per cent.
Narcissa brushed her fingers along the petals of a few blossoming long-stem roses, but her sense of peace was about to be shattered.
Dotty ran towards her as fast her tiny feet would carry her with The Daily Prophet clutched firmly in her hands.
Narcissa bemused, "Whatever is the matter, Dotty?"
The elf came to a screeching halt in front of her mistress and almost toppled over in exhaustion at having run the entire way.
She held up the freshly printed newspaper for the aristocratic lady to take.
Narcissa raised a curious brow. The usually calm elf seemed beside herself. Something was amiss; she took the paper, and the headline jumped out at her. Her eyes widened in shock at the sight of an old picture of her previous engagement ring that had a new owner late.
The picture was years old and probably from The Daily Prophets Archives. Lord knew they had been featured in the scandalous newspaper on numerous occasions.
Narcissa let her eyes scan over the article, with each word, her face creased with worry. Once she got to the end, she reread it rooted to a spot near the large Oak tree and raged, "Bloody vultures!"
Dotty squeaked and nodded wholeheartedly in agreement. Rita Skeeter had not been kind in her description of Hermione and attacked her character without just cause. Skeeter had taken it upon herself to portray Draco as an unfortunate poor soul with no choice in the matter but be paired off with a gold digger.
The Algorithm has caused many upsets since the laws passing, but none more than the despair it is causing reformed ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy over his alleged engagement to Miss Hermione Granger. She was spotted wearing the famous Malfoy engagement ring on an outing with her long-time best friend and Chosen One Harry Potter.
Does Ginny Potter approve of this nightly rendezvous? Wouldn't we love to know?
Inside sources at the Ministry confirmed that the Algorithm brought the Golden girl and redeemed Death Eater together. Ironic, is it not?
Miss Granger, who is well known for her callous attitude towards the press and unforgiving nature, has fallen into a pot of gold. It is no wonder she has taken to flaunting the exquisite ancient piece of jewellery at every given opportunity.
It is a clear sign. Watch out, ladies! Draco Malfoy is taken! With the title and vast wealth, Mr Malfoy is intended to inherit, it is no wonder Miss Granger is keen to keep her fiancé on a short leash.
Mr Malfoy, who was earlier thought to be dead after his disappearance from the Magical world after his trial, seems unaffected. One can only wonder about the trauma he is suffering by this rather odd match.
We intend to find out! Me, myself and I, look forward to bringing you the latest developments.
Narcissa crumpled the paper in frustration and let it fall to the ground before quickening her steps towards the Manor searching for her son.
Chapter 44
Summary:
Hey all! I hope everyone is fabulous! :)
I have uploaded a longish chapter and beg forgiveness to make up for my horrid tardiness! :)
Skeeter is at it again, but this time, she might have bitten off more than she can chew.
Thank you so much, as always, for the lovely comments. I will reply to each one soon :)
Enjoy Chapter 44!
Happy reading, and stay safe, beautiful people! :)
Chapter Text
Hermione was up early. While lying still and gazing at the illegible patterns on the ceiling, she had not gotten a wink of sleep.
It was a common occurrence after one of her episodes. Sleep was hard to come by, and insomnia plagued her for the rest of the night and days to come.
Mainly, she was afraid to close her eyes and be at Bellatrix's mercy once again. Even from beyond the grave, the dark witch tormented her.
The intensity of her nightmares increased daily, and her sanity hung by a thread.
Bringing her hand up to the dim light that flooded her room, Hermione stared in fascination at her engagement ring. There was deep and powerful magic at work here, and whoever had forged it had done so with extreme skill.
How was a piece of jewellery able to chase away her nightmares and comfort her? It was intriguing and what was most bizarre was she could feel Draco, his pulse beating tandemly with hers.
Perhaps, her mind had been playing tricks on her, but she was sure she felt his presence even if it was for a fleeting second.
A sharp pain shot through her body. Her limbs ached from the physical struggle with herself, and the open gash down her arm where coagulated blood bridged the gap throbbed and stung with the slightest movement.
Hermione stared at her arm in disbelief. Had she truly inflicted pain on herself? Was she that weak-minded that she could allow the mere memory of a deceased witch to haunt her?
The tears came before she could stop them.
Grabbing hold of her head, she sobbed for a great many things. The unfairness and impracticable marriage law, her shameful attraction to a man who degraded her and cheapened her morality, and the uncertainty of his true intentions weighed down on her heavily.
Her wild curls obscured her face, and the waves of despair that lived dormant within her troubled psyche encased her whole and pulled her into their warm embrace.
Hermione cried until there were no tears left. The wound opened slightly, and blood thick and red trickled down her arm.
Theo enjoyed a hearty breakfast before he disappeared into his study for work. He had the luxury of working from home. It was a rare privilege, but in his line of work, which included creating trinkets, potions, and advanced alchemy, quiet space was mandatory.
Reading the morning paper was a ritual, but after many years the headline this particular morning made him sulk.
With his mouth full of scrambled eggs, he hissed in displeasure, "Oh, bloody hell. That's depressing." He managed to say in a strained voice
"What is, darling?" Luna queried while pouring herself a glass of orange juice. Her throat was parched, and her stomach rumbled with hunger.
She never read the drivel The Prophet dished out. It never appealed to her. As she was the Editor in Chief of the Quibbler, it seemed like a betrayal of the worst kind to read another paper.
Theo pushed aside his plate, laid the paper down and pointed to the ridiculous headline to show Luna precisely where to look, "Draco and Granger have made the front page."
Luna glanced at the paper and frowned, "Oh dear, how awful. Poor Hermione." She made a mental note to speak with one of her dearest friends later in the day.
Theo shook his head despondently, "Skeeter is a right twat."
Luna never wished ill on anyone, but Rita was an exception to the rule. She had half a mind to defend Hermione's honour by printing a counter article in the Quibbler.
Daphne placed a costly imported napkin on her lap before handing Blaise a cup of hot tea. His eyes were fixed on the morning paper and nowhere else.
She tutted, "Darling, your tea is getting cold." When he made no effort to take the cup out of her hand, she placed it by his side and tended to her youngest child, who in a matter of five minutes had butter smeared all over his cute chubby face.
Blaise threw the paper down and bellowed, "Can you believe this shite?"
Daphne threw him a look of disdain and scolded, "Blaise! Please, mind your language in front of the children."
Carrie giggled uncontrollably, "Daddy said a bad word, mummy! She abandoned her bowl of porridge and listened intently to any other colourful words her father would say.
Daphne took a sip of tea, dabbed the corner of her mouth delicately and inquired, "Whatever is the matter, Blaise?"
Blaise gritted out, "They've crucified Granger. The bunch of meddlesome arseho...."
Daphne sternly reprimanded before he could finish the sentence, "Blaise!"
He glanced at the children, especially his daughter looking at him with a mischievous grin and apologised sheepishly, "Oh, sorry. It's just ridiculous."
After reading the unforgiving piece, Daphne sighed, "Well, it was bound to happen sooner than later. I guess it's the start of a storm we will all have to weather out." She said wisely, and her thoughts instantly went to her sister Astoria.
The scarred man sat at the table in the kitchen. He carefully buttered a few pieces of burnt toast and placed them prudently on the plate next to a fried egg. He had to feed his beloved and change her soiled sheets before heading off to work, but the front page of the morning paper distracted him.
Abandoning his task, he pulled the newspaper towards him and eagerly read the article, stopping to reread the parts about Hermione Granger. He was quite fond of the Undersecretary.
She was a kindhearted woman, and he did not appreciate a corrupt woman such as Rita Skeeter sullying her good name.
He looked towards the living room where an older woman elegantly dressed in a lime green dress and emerald brooch pinned to her chest was seated on an old black rocking chair staring seemingly into space. Her long auburn hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her face was expressionless.
The man voiced his opinion with importance, "Disgraceful, isn't it, mother?" His view amounted to nothing since he received no answer in return.
The whole story intrigued him. It made him happy that two unlikely individuals with vastly different upbringings and backgrounds could be matched. Perhaps, there was still hope for Sarah and him.
Dorian Blackwood enjoyed the finer things in life, and he indulged in those far more when he took a form other than his own.
Despite Fenrir's barbaric and beastly nature during Voldemort's reign, there had been a time when the werewolf was far more cultured, and it was that part of him that Dorian embodied.
The hotel was a reputed five-star establishment in the heart of London, and lying across the pearly white sheets on the sizeable bed was a naked short-haired brunette he had picked up at one of the clubs he frequented the previous night.
She was a feisty Muggle, and he had enjoyed fucking her hard within an inch of her life. She was so loud that he was undoubtedly sure the guests in the next room could hear their passionate lovemaking.
He strolled naked through the room, grabbing bits of his clothing and hurriedly pulling them on before she woke and demanded another round of exquisite fun.
Not that he would not have minded a quick shag, but things had gotten out of hand in bed, and he had pierced her skin with his teeth, tasting the sweetness of her blood. It was a costly mistake he would rather not repeat.
Dorian pulled up his trousers, secured them at the top, threw enough money down on the table to cover the room and an extra something for her and disapparated into the deserted alleyway next to The Leaky Cauldron.
It was early by his standards, but his stomach grumbled with hunger, and he fancied a spot of breakfast. He walked in, dusted his jacket down, and made a beeline to the bar.
A discarded Daily Prophet lay randomly on the counter, and at first, he paid no mind to the dodgy tabloid. Still, after placing his order for a full English breakfast, boredom got the better of him, and he lazily reached for the paper. His eyes widened at the article gloriously spread across the front page.
Of course, he had heard about the infamous law, but since he kept a low profile, and his existence was on a need-to-know basis, he didn't know much about it.
So, Malfoy was marrying the ultimate Muggle-born witch, Hermione Jean Granger. How bloody interesting. That was an unlikely coupling if any.
He wondered how their masked leader would react to the news, especially considering his eagerness to recruit the young wizard. Would the shrouded man still consider Malfoy valuable with a Mudblood wife? Or would a darker, more sinister path be taken to rectify this unjust union?
His food arrived. Dorian tossed the paper aside and tucked it into the heavenly-smelling plate of bacon, eggs, crispy toast, and plump sausages.
No longer famished, he bit into a blood sausage savagely in deep thought.
Her mood was foul, and with dark circles around her eyes, Hermione opted for a grey skirt and white shirt to match her sour disposition.
Showering had proved to be a painful experience since the deep cut on her hand limited her movement, and any contact with soap made her wince.
She desperately needed help to conquer her inner demons. Perhaps, Malfoy had the answer to her grave problem? He seemed to have put his past horridness to rest.
Pouring herself a cool glass of orange juice and making up her mind to grab a sandwich on the way to work, Hermione sat down at the small table that fits in her tiny kitchen and reached for The Daily Prophet.
The headline jumped out at her and grabbed her metaphorically around the throat.
Hermione spat out the orange juice coating everything in its path. Her mind lit up with the surprised yet angry words. What the fuck? She staggered and almost toppled off the chair.
How could Skeeter stoop this low to imply that she welcomed the union because of Malfoy's deep pockets? It was beyond ludicrous.
She read the article urgently, her anger growing with each passing second and snarled, "I'm going to Avada that cunt." The tone in her voice held the contempt she clearly felt.
It was a marvellous start to the morning. Not only would the entire wizarding world know about Malfoy and her, but she had been portrayed as some petty gold-digging whore who applauded the match.
Skeeter had never written anything remotely favourable about her since there was too much bad blood between them, but it was unforgivable to tarnish her character and outright lie. Hermione would not tolerate such brazen behaviour.
Using her wand, she accioed her phone and searched through the contacts for the nasty reporter's number. It was saved under the title Daily Prophet filth, and rightly so.
Hermione made the call, held the phone to her ear and impatiently drummed her fingernails on the polished surface of the table while she waited for Rita Skeeter to answer.
Barely three rings went by before the call connected, and Rita's smug, high-pitched voice came through, "Ah, good morning, Madam Undersecretary. I was expecting this call much sooner." She sounded highly pleased with herself.
Hermione did not bother with any false politeness. She threatened openly, "I'm going to destroy you, Rita." As the Undersecretary to the current Minister of Magic, she had a certain level of power, and if she so wished, she could make life difficult for the unscrupulous journalist.
Skeeter seemed to have anticipated Hermione's reaction and countered confidently, "Tut, tut, I'm sure we can resolve this. Besides, if you harm a hair on my head, it will just prove me right about how unstable you are."
Hermione bit out in anger, "You have made me out to be an unscrupulous slut."
A low laugh from Skeeter moved over the shell of Hermione's ear, causing her to flinch, "I can fix that, my darling."
It dawned on Hermione. Her gut instinct that Skeeter had an undisclosed agenda became known. There was a profound reason behind the damaging words in the article.
Hermione took a deep breath and bluntly accused, "You planned this, didn't you?"
Shrill laughter of pure glee pierced the tense situation, and Skeeter taunted, "And you fell right into it. You are exceedingly predictable, Hermione. Any threat towards your perfect image and you can't bear it, can you?"
Hermione's grip on the phone tightened. She inwardly cursed her stupidity for acting impulsively and hissed through pursed lips, "What the hell do you want?"
Skeeter did not skip a beat with her request. Her tone was almost seductive as she uttered one name with longing, "Malfoy."
An uncomfortable stillness encased them, and neither spoke until Hermione broke the silence and cried in outrage, "What?"
What exactly was Skeeter after? A night with her fiancé? The woman was asking for the unthinkable.
Rita sensed what Hermione was thinking and was quick to defend herself with an explanation, "Oh, no, he is yummy but far too young for the likes of me."
Hermione retorted with dripping sarcasm, "Not judging by your last boyfriend."
Skeeter ignored the younger witch's crude remark, mainly because it was true. She stated her true intention, "I want an exclusive interview."
Hermione could not help but feel relieved. She raised a curious brow, "What do you mean?" Her patience was exhausted, and she wished the incorrigible woman would get to the bloody point and be done with it.
Skeeter smirked and answered with an air of arrogance, "Get your fiancé to talk to me."
She insisted with a touch of irritation, "He will listen to you, and unfortunately, won't give me the time of day." She had even extended an invitation to Narcissa to hear her side of the story after her house arrest came to an end, but like her son, the aristocratic woman wouldn't so much as entertain an owl from her.
Hermione snorted and bit back sarcastically, "I can't imagine why. It must be your winning personality."
Rita went on to explain further with an eagerness and hunger that wasn't present before, "I want to know everything. Where he scurried off to, what he has been doing, and most importantly, why he joined the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
Hermione listened intently to the demand and couldn't believe the level of desperation in Skeeter's voice, but that didn't help her feel anything but appalled, "Forget it! Malfoy's life story is not a bargaining chip." She added in disgust, "You really have stooped low!"
The seasoned reporter changed her attitude and kept it casual. She studied her long-painted talons and responded calmly, "Pity. Oh well, I hope you and the wizarding world enjoy part two of my article. My imagination does run wild."
Hermione paled, "You wouldn't fucking dare...."
Skeeter reminded in a less-than-happy tone, "What are you going to do, Granger? Trap me inside a bottle? Oh, I haven't forgotten what you did to me." She immensely enjoyed making Hermione squirm.
"You deserved a fate far worse than that for what you write, Rita," Hermione hurled unapologetically.
Rita recovered from the insult unscathed. She had heard and faced far worse adversaries than Hermione Granger. The woman's bark was far worse than her bite.
Her face contorted unpleasantly, "Listen to me, little girl, you might think you have the upper hand, and true, people despise me, but they devour what I write, and I'm particularly gifted in painting a vivid picture."
Hermione could not come up with a reasonable argument. Much to her annoyance, she said nothing. It was the bitter, sad truth.
Skeeter said with twisted pleasure, "I know just how much your precious little reputation means to you, and what kind of a journalist would I be if I didn't exploit your weaknesses for a delightful story?"
Hermione had backed herself into a corner and yet again played right into the hands of the hardened conniving reporter. Juvenile words of hatred spilt from her lips before she could give them a second thought, "Fuck you, Skeeter." It was a retort in the weakest form.
Rita laughed mockingly, "Such primitive language from our darling Undersecretary."
She stated with a firmness that wasn't to be trifled with, "Call me when you have an answer, Granger."
Hermione said what she knew to be the truth, "He will never agree to such a proposal." Malfoy was in no way compelled to cater to Skeeter's preposterous demands to save her reputation from being tarnished by The Prophet.
Skeeter implied slyly, "Convince him, darling. Use your womanly wiles. I'm sure you have a peculiar way...with him."
Hermione fumed. Was she now to whore herself for the benefit of this vile individual?
Rita did not bother waiting for an answer. She was needed elsewhere and had no desire to prolong the conversation, "Toodles, darling. I must run and bask in my glory."
She included further with smug superiority, "We've sold a record number of newspapers today. I must thank you, Hermione. Have a wonderful day, dear. "
The line went dead before Hermione could begin to formulate an answer. The fucking bitch.
She felt sick to her stomach.
Maybe, it was time to teach dear Rita Skeeter a lesson she wouldn't forget in a hurry.
Narcissa stormed into the dining room and found Draco dressed in his Auror robes and ready for work, eating an apple as he usually did and Bernard lazily stirring a spoonful of sugar into his tea.
The men exchanged a few pleasantries, and Bernard was keen to know if any new details about the Dollhouse Strangler had surfaced. His attempts to uncover the identity of Gustav Nicolave's wife proved problematic. He had failed in his attempt to find any viable information. It was as if their existence had been wiped clean.
It was a disturbing thought, and he endlessly tried to recall where he had seen the wand, but without a specific date or time, it was impossible to shift through his memories and find the source.
Draco reached over to grab a piece of toast and looked bemused as his mother came charging in with less than her usual grace.
Bernard noticed the difference in her behaviour and inquired first in slight alarm, "What's the matter, darling?"
Narcissa marched over to where another Daily Prophet lay rolled up, bound, and neglected. She tore the rubber band with considerable force, held it up and pointed to the decorative front page.
Draco tensed as the blown-up picture of his famous heirloom and headline caught his avid attention. His thoughts went to Hermione all at once. They had previously planned to inform the papers themselves about their pending nuptials, but unfortunately, it looked like Rita Skeeter had beaten them to it.
This sudden turn of circumstances was most unfortunate.
Bernard pursed his lips, quickly got to his feet, and approached his beloved.
He spoke calmly, but each word was burdened with undying love, "Narcissa, please calm yourself. You must control your blood pressure, my dear."
Narcissa grabbed hold of the paper once again and shook it with considerable force until some pages came apart and fell to the ground. She was absolutely livid, "They've completely tarnished Hermione. I have a right mind to go down to The Prophet and demand a retraction."
Draco struggled to remain composed, yet he retained a straight face and showed indifference. Keeping his breathing even and face set in stone, he slowly rose from his place at the table with intent and purpose.
Narcissa glanced at her son and insisted in concern, "Draco?" His features were pinched, lips pressed down hard in frustration, and resentment flashed across his hardened steel-grey eyes.
He gently took the paper from her grasp and read the damaging article. His mother was right. Skeeter had mercilessly shredded Granger's character to unrecognisable pieces by portraying her out to be an immoral woman after money.
Mustering a smile, he reassured, "Mother, Bernard is right. You mustn't upset yourself. I will look into this matter and sort it out."
Bernard looked closely at the picture and declared, "That isn't Hermione in the picture, is it?"
Narcissa answered grimly, "No, it's my hand, probably from years ago."
Draco closed his eyes and let his feelings on the matter wash over him. It was imperative that he kept his wits about him if he was to comfort his intended and resolve the situation.
Of course, Granger would have read it by now and was probably in a state of shock and unimaginably angry over the unfair assumption.
Reaching into the deep pockets of his tailored robes, Draco pulled out his phone and dialled the number he had come to memorise. He appealed to no one in particular, "Answer the phone, Granger." But his somewhat frantic pleas went unanswered.
Bernard shook his head and stated with evident disgust, "It's pitiful the level people would sink to sell a newspaper. Skeeter would sell her mother for a good story."
Narcissa expressed with growing concern, "I am so worried about Hermione. Why would Rita Skeeter say these horrible false things?" Her voice was heavy with emotion.
It was Draco that answered in a low, ominous tone that instilled fear in all within earshot, "Because she has no conscience."
He combined with determination, "I need to see Granger." Draco grabbed his wand and hurried out of the Manor without a backwards glance and his mind in turmoil.
Ginny threw down The Prophet in anger and glared at the printed words. How fucking dare they? The audacity to imply that Hermione was after Malfoy's money.
She purposely ignored the bit about Harry. The Prophet's scoundrels had been implying a relationship between Harry and Hermione since the Triwizard Tournament.
Harry walked into the kitchen in a good mood, poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice and bent to kiss his wife on the forehead when he saw the paper sprawled in front of Ginny and Hermione's name mentioned along with his.
It had been a while since he made the front page, and curiosity beckoned him to read it, but once he finished reading, pure unadulterated anger clouded his vision, "Hermione must be frothing mad."
Ginny concurred, "Among other things." She added in a worried tone, "I called her several times, but no answer."
She turned to face her husband and implored, "Can you check up on her? And bring her around for dinner? Merlin knows she needs to vent."
Harry assured without a moment's hesitation, "Of course, love. The second I step foot in the Ministry, I will go see her."
He helped himself to a piece of toast and marmalade before heading out and said gravely, "You never quite get used to the bashing that Skeeter so joyfully hands out. That woman is pure evil."
Ginny nodded in reply and spat without a shred of remorse, "She's a thundercunt, Harry. She deserves whatever she's got coming."
Victoria Greengrass read the editorial and sighed. She looked forward to having her grandchildren around while Daphne and Blaise were in Hawaii. It would be a welcome change.
She hoped her younger daughter was still in bed and unaware of the problematic story on the front page of the Daily Prophet. It had been days since Astoria's last episode, and she was mentally drained and in no mood to handle another outburst.
Victoria beckoned the elf hovering in the background forward and quickly instructed, "Get rid of any copies of the Prophet and make sure Miss Astoria does not see it."
It was of the utmost importance that Astoria remained in the dark and did not see the ring intended for her on the finger of another.
Victoria bared no grudge against Draco, she understood his feelings for her daughter were not romantically inclined, but convincing Astoria of the hard truth was no mere task.
The elf bowed low in acknowledgement, "Yes, mistress." He hurried as fast as his tiny feet would take him to the den. Once there, he grabbed the spare copy of the newspaper kept especially for Mr Greengrass, threw it into the fireplace and watched the flames consume the fragile paper.
A Healer sitting at a table in the common room greeted enthusiastically, "Good morning, Boot."
Unshaven and dishevelled, Terry managed to croak out a snarky reply, "Cheryl, you're in a good mood."
Cheryl leaned back in the chair and grinned, "That I am, love."
She explained further with a happy smile, "Me husbands back from Scotland after three months. We didn't leave the bedroom all day."
Terry frowned, "That's too much fucking information, woman."
He could not help but smile, "It's good he's back. You can now stop your bellyaching about him being gone too long." He liked Cheryl; she was the only person he spoke to inside the institute.
The loud, outspoken Healer was well-liked and somehow got through to him. The first two days had passed by, with him constantly throwing up, fighting his hallucinations, and battling to stay alive while he curled up into a ball on the floor.
Cheryl looked him over and inquired genuinely, "How are you feeling today, lad?"
Terry attempted to smoothen his unkempt hair, "Same as yesterday, like shite. I've been here a few days, but it feels close to a fucking month."
Cheryl chuckled, "It gets better." She pushed a covered plastic container in his direction and offered goodheartedly, "Would you like some pudding? I've got chocolate."
Terry shook his head and politely declined. The very sight of food made him queasy, "No thanks. I could go for a fag, though." He was desperate for a quick drag, and to smell the fumes of a cigarette would be a delightful diversion.
Shaking her head, Cheryl warned strictly, "You know you can't." She looked around the area at the other patients playing cards, and reading books, and encouraged, "Why don't you try to make friends? The blokes here can help you."
Her suggestion angered him and made him feel unworthy, "I'm not some fucking junkie."
Cheryl sprang to her feet and reprimanded him most severely. "Mind that attitude. You are here for a reason, and so are the rest of these people. Some good people lose their way, and don't you dare be a judgmental arsehole about it."
Terry backed away in shame.
She had been one of them many years ago, and if her mother and now husband hadn't interfered to stop her addiction to Firewhisky, she would have easily succumbed to it and died an early death.
Terry hung his head and apologised profusely, "I'm sorry, Cheryl. My minds not right."
She understood his outburst. As an Auror, they were trained to be an elite force of individuals. To protect the community at any cost and show absolutely no weakness. It was a tall order to fill, considering the horrors they witnessed daily.
Cheryl patted Terry on the back and thrust the morning paper into his hand with a small smile,
"Here, have a read. Our Undersecretary has made the blooming front page. Those bloody bitches at the Prophet won't let the woman take a dump in peace."
That piqued his interest, and he swallowed hard before asking in a weak voice, "Hermione?"
Cheryl did not pay much attention to Boot's sudden interest and replied casually, "Aye, that be the one.
He fell into a white plastic chair and flipped the paper over with trembling hands and wished he had not left his room that morning.
His heart sank to the pits of his belly.
Love was gut-wrenching misery and pain.
Hermione held her head high as she marched through the Ministry. She passed many onlookers giving her cautious yet curious looks, but some seemed sympathetic to her situation.
Stacy from Logistics was beside herself with happiness. The high and mighty, Golden girl was nothing more than a leech, and she pitied Draco for being matched with such an undesirable woman. She wondered if she should write to him, express her concerns, and offer sympathy over the situation.
Kingsley took a gratifying sip from his morning coffee and a sizeable bite off his scone.
He had long since cancelled his subscription to The Daily Prophet, but as the Minister of Magic, he was entitled to a free copy which his secretary kept folded and ready for him to go through whenever he found the time.
One glance at the front page was enough to remind him of exactly why he cancelled his subscription nearly a decade ago.
To even imply that Hermione was enticed by the gold in Malfoy's Gringotts account was unfathomable. This was a woman who spent half her salary supplying necessities for underprivileged children, who fought tirelessly for equal wage pay for house elves and other underappreciated beings.
He would personally have a few words with Skeeter and that sodding spineless excuse of a Chief Editor the Prophet employed. It was common knowledge that Skeeter gave it to him good in exchange to run stories and articles of her choosing.
Well, he was fiercely protective of his Undersecretary and would not tolerate an unfair word against her.
Not stopping to greet her coworkers or offer any explanation, Hermione stormed into her office and came to an abrupt halt at the disorderly sight of Brenda's desk. It was a minor miracle that the witch who sat at the desk was visible under the mountain of letters that cluttered her table.
Brenda took in Hermione's stunned expression and exclaimed, "They've been coming in since early morning."
Hermione stood rooted to the spot in disbelief for a few seconds before finally finding her voice, "Why?" It was the only word that came to mind.
Brenda shifted nervously in her seat, "Oh, umm, I glanced at some, and the majority are encouraging, but a rather nasty howler ripped me to shreds. I wouldn't read them if I were you."
Massaging the bridge of her nose, Hermione said exasperatedly, "Oh Merlin, this is an absolute nightmare."
Brenda pleaded once again, "Please don't read them." While some comments were vile requesting her immediate resignation, most were encouraging letters imploring the talented young witch not to heed Skeeter's words and how unbelievable it was that she was paired off with a known Death Eater.
She muttered under her breath, but it was clear enough to be heard by those close, "Bunch of jealous fools." People had no filter when expressing their thoughts.
Kingsley's heavy footsteps and deep voice interrupted them, "She's right, Granger. Spare yourself the grief and don't bother with these." He said while pointing to the many closed cream-coloured envelopes.
Hermione turned to face the Ministry and accused nastily, "This is all your fault." Her bottom lip quivered with frustration.
Kingsley raised a sceptical brow in question, "Excuse me?" He knew the accusation was somewhat justified.
She glared sternly, "You let them pass this ludicrous law."
Her voice broke with overwhelming emotion, "In a matter of minutes, everything I've fought so hard to accomplish has been tarnished."
Kingsley put caution to the wind, held Hermione firmly by the shoulders and stated, "Nobody takes this rubbish seriously."
Hermione rolled her eyes and gestured to the hundreds of letters gathered on Brenda's desk.
She retorted with thick sarcasm, "I beg to differ."
Kingsley let go and cleared his throat. He emphasised with foremost importance, "Let me rephrase that. No one with an ounce of intelligence considers anything the Prophet prints as anything more than meaningless gossip."
Hermione was having none of that. She narrowed her eyes and hissed, "I blame you, Kingsley."
Kingsley laughed aloud, "If it makes you feel better, Granger." He wondered how Malfoy was fairing. It would not do to ask Granger at this precise moment.
In a serious tone, he said, "Take the day off if you need." Looking at Brenda for further support, he said confidently, "We can look after things here."
Brenda concurred, "Yes, of course! I would be happy too."
Hermione scoffed, "I have work to do. A wizarding world to keep in order."
Kingsley smiled at the bold statement and mused, "I thought that was my job, Granger, but you're absolutely right. I could never do a thing without you."
He instructed before departing, "Get rid of these letters, Brenda. Do not let her read these. That is an order!"
Brenda jumped to her feet and pulled out her wand on the double.
Hermione protested, "No, I want to read them."
She reached into the pile just in time because she was forced to pull her hand back as the letters caught fire and burned to a crisp. Luckily, she managed to grab two, which she cleverly concealed.
Brenda apologised innocently while Hermione shot her a look of mild annoyance, "Oh, oops, sorry! You really should have said something sooner."
She came around the table and took Hermione's hands in hers, applied pressure and instructed calmly, "Breathe, Hermione." Taking the odd yoga class on the weekends was paying off.
Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath, but the second her eyes closed, everything that had come to pass flashed through her mind, causing her to drop Brenda's hands in alarm.
Brenda sensed the shift in disposition and quickly offered, "Would you like a cup of coffee?"
Hermione opened her eyes, walked the short distance towards her office, glanced over her shoulder and said with a forced smile, "Yes, please! Douse it with poison."
It was a pitiful attempt at humour which had the reverse effect on Brenda making her cringe at the comment before hurrying to attend to her task.
Closing the door behind her, Hermione leaned against the smooth wooden surface, took out the letters she managed to stash away and stared at them.
Banging the back of her head on the door repeatedly, she willed the tears that clawed their way to the surface back to whence they came.
Ron was thankful he had left for work early. The situation between Tracey and him was strained due to his obsessive behaviour over Hermione.
She hardly spoke to him, and he left well enough alone. They still shared meals and slept in the same bed, but the void kept growing, and neither addressed it.
He cared greatly for Tracey, but Hermione was his first love. Frankly, she had been part of a significant number of firsts. You simply don't forget a love like that.
The business was booming. All year round, they had steady sales that exceeded everyone's expectations. George was more like his old self, but there were times he would stare at old photographs of their fallen brother Fred and weep for the terrible loss.
Ron leaned back and exhaled. He needed a good cup of coffee and a ham and cheese sandwich before starting his day. On cue, his assistant walked in carrying a steaming mug of coffee and a newspaper tucked under her arm.
He took it with a grateful smile, "Thank you, Jane."
The coffee was hot, and it burned his throat but no more than the article that adorned the front page of the Prophet.
Anger blurred his vision, and his ears turned cherry tomato red with each word he read.
How dare they make Malfoy out to be the innocent party and Hermione into some lowly tramp. Skeeter certainly held no love for Hermione, but she had crossed that invisible line between loose facts and outright fucking lies.
He had to speak to Hermione. Grabbing the phone on the desk, he violently punched in the numbers and held it up to his ear.
Draco stepped out of the Floo network and ignored the swarm of people staring at him oddly, hoping to engage him in conversation about his current situation. He wasn't in the mood to cater to anyone's curious wonderings about his relationship with Granger.
He sidestepped people who blocked his path, some holding onto the morning paper and most trying to get to where they were supposed to in time.
Draco stepped into the questionable lift and impatiently pressed the button to take him to his desired floor.
He wasn't alone. A man with long straggly hair covering half his face in a dull grey suit purposely stepped away from him. The man glanced sideways and caught a glimpse of the shining Auror badge, and his face warped unpleasantly.
Noticing the man standing to his left, Draco turned and greeted him with a pleasant enough smile hoping to put the nervous man at ease, "Good morning."
John was taken aback by the sudden greeting. He clutched the files he was carrying to his chest and replied in a shaky voice, "Good morning." Aurors generally treated him like scum. Perhaps Malfoy knew what it felt like to be treated as an outcast.
Draco pointed to the Prophet in John's hand and gave a lopsided grin, "Don't believe everything you read in the papers, mate."
John nodded vigorously, "No sir. Miss Granger is a wonderful person." The lift arrived at his floor, and he hurried out before Draco could reply.
Wonderful person? Indeed.
Draco urgently looked up at the indicator as the floors passed and cursed to himself.
Finally, the surreal voice announced as the lift came to a halt, "Office of The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shackbolt and Madam Undersecretary, Hermione Jean Granger."
Stepping out, Draco strode forward, pushed open the heavy glass doors as if they weighed nothing and spoke to Brenda in a carrying voice laced with concern and unease, "Is she in?"
Brenda shot to her feet and nodded, "Yes!" Somehow his presence calmed her. He would look after Hermione, chase away the vultures surrounding her and protect her from anyone who wished her harm. She was blissfully ignorant of their past.
Draco nodded curtly, "Thank you." He walked towards the closed door without stopping when words of genuine concern caused him to come to an abrupt halt.
The soft voice tore right through him, "She's hurting."
He spun around to find Brenda staring at him, with quivering lips and fingers grasping a copy of The Prophet. Making his way back to the young witch, he questioned gently enough not to upset the distraught woman further, "What did you say, Brenda?"
Brenda choked back a sob and exclaimed gravely, "Hermione always puts up on a brave face and pretends as if nothing gets to her, but it does."
He knew that much already. Draco was sure Granger used the exact mechanism to protect herself back at Hogwarts.
Brenda continued all the while staring at the papers on her desk. She couldn't bring herself to make eye contact for fear of bawling her eyes out, "There's so much going on under that facade that I fear for her sanity at times."
She concluded with such sincerity, "She's the nicest, most loyal person I know."
Draco felt his heart clench, "I know that, Brenda." Of course, he knew. Hadn't Granger rushed to his defence without question when he did not deserve it?
Brenda brought her head up and mustered the courage to stare into Draco's imploring eyes. Hers were light brown and clouded over with unshed tears. She confessed, "I don't think you realise how truly vulnerable Hermione is."
There was so much truth in her words. He knew about Granger's issues but not the true extent of them. Not only did he have every intention of finding out, but he would do everything in his power to help her overcome.
He looked at Brenda directly and reassured her, "l will do my best to understand her better."
Suddenly, Brenda grabbed his hand and squeezed tightly, "Please don't hurt her, Mr Malfoy."
Draco used his free hand to run his fingers through his luscious locks and smiled faintly, "You have my word. And Brenda?"
Brenda dropped his hand at once and asked blushingly, "Yes?"
Draco smiled broadly, "Call me Draco."
Ron yelled into the phone, "How could you be so bloody careless, Hermione?"
Hermione wished she had never answered the phone. She desperately wanted to hang up, but he kept shouting and blaming her as if she had brought it on herself.
Hermione pleaded in desperation, "Ron, please. I don't need this right now."
He brusquely ignored her pleas and accused through gritted teeth, "Why are you still wearing his bloody ring? Chuck it!" Clearly, he considered it the ultimate betrayal and showed no remorse in pointing it out bluntly.
Get rid of the ring? No, it was incomprehensible. She felt an allegiance to it. They were one.
Despite the unfavourable circumstances that led her to be in possession of the enchanted ring, she could not part with it. The very thought left a gaping hole in her heart, and at that point, she could not fathom why she could feel excruciating pain at her centre.
Hermione refused, "No, I can't..." I need it. I need…him.
Ron insisted desperately, "Leave him, Hermione, before he destroys everything you've worked so hard to build."
If only it were that easy. Ron had lost all common sense and forgotten about the fundamental clauses of The Algorithm.
His voice was heavy with longing, "Everything we stood for."
Hermione reminded him firmly, "You know it's not that easy."
Ron could not help but sound vindictive, "It sounds like you've developed feelings for the bastard." He was so caught up in his emotional turmoil he apportioned blame without a shred of thought for Hermione's feelings, "Are you that blind to what is happening? Since when are you this bloody naive?"
Hermione swallowed hard, held back the tears, and said weakly, "I have to get back to work, Ronald." She included in barely a whisper, "You are just being cruel."
Ron wasn't easily discouraged, "I won't stand by and let you destroy yourself. I care too much about you."
Hermione held onto the phone tightly and implored, "Please stop..." She did not hear the door open or the purposeful steps that approached. His intoxicating scent invaded her space long before his fingers did.
She felt the light brush of his thumb across her sensitive earlobe as he took the phone from her grasp and spoke firmly into it, "Weasley, Hermione will call you back shortly." It was clear from his harsh tone of voice that he was displeased.
Ron barely got a word in edgewise before the line went dead, "Malf..."
Standing by the window with her back to him, Hermione discreetly tried to wipe the tears that stained her cheeks and questioned, "Why are you here?"
Draco was seething from Weasley's outlandish behaviour. He gritted out, "You know very well why. Let us not pretend, Granger. It gets rather tiresome."
His words hurt. Hadn't she suffered enough already?
Gathering her inner strength, Hermione took a deep breath and turned to face the imposing man in her room and found he was standing too close for comfort.
She intentionally moved away and declared, "I don't want to see you right now."
He insisted in a manner that was not to be toyed with, "I am exactly who you need to see."
Draco kept a watchful eye over her every movement. After a moment of silence, he asked, "How did Skeeter find out?"
Hermione looked at him directly and confessed, "I had a drink with Harry at the Cauldron the other night, and she came by to say hello, unfortunately. She must have spotted the ring then." Their terrible lousy luck was that they had run into the infamous reporter.
Throwing her head back, she exclaimed in exasperation, "How could I have been so stupid?"
Draco shrugged, "Well, better late than never, I suppose."
Hermione narrowed her eyes, "What is that supposed to mean?" She knew he was not particularly thrilled about her wanting to keep their union private.
He explained casually, "Everyone was bound to find out eventually, Granger. It was inevitable."
She could not believe how lightly he was handling everything, but then again, it was her name that was being dragged through the mud while he remained clean and in pristine condition.
Hermione fumed, "I can't do this, Malfoy." She choked back a sob, "The lies they believe about me being interested in your Galleons fills me with disgust."
Draco moved closer and quipped, "And here I thought it was my good looks and obvious charm." He had made a similar statement before in an almost identical situation, but she needed reminding.
Hermione scowled, "Stop it! None of this is funny."
Draco chuckled, "It is rather hilarious."
Hermione cried in outrage, "How is any of this bloody hilarious?" She needed a drink to calm her rattled nerves but mostly to deal with his carefree attitude.
Draco closed the gap between them in three long strides and came to stand in front of her. Even though he invaded her personal space and towered over her, she stood her ground stubbornly and refused to move away.
Placing a crooked finger under her chin, he lifted it and gazed into her beautiful pools of chestnut brown. He spoke the truth he ardently believed, "If anyone deems you as the sort of person to go after money, then they don't deserve to breathe the same air as you."
He boldly tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear and trailed his fingers down her neck until they came to rest over her beating heart. The rapid flutter drummed into the palm of his hand over the material of her silk blouse, "Your heart has always been pure."
Hermione felt the searing touch of his fingertips, but she pushed aside all feeling and said in barely a whisper, "I don't want any of this."
Walking over to her desk, she held up the two letters she salvaged and cried, "People are sending me hate mail. They fucking love you!"
Draco followed her, raised a curious brow and took the letter from her grasp, "I know. It's a cruel yet beautiful world we live in." He weighed the tiny envelope in his hands and decided on tossing it aside rather than reading whatever lay within. In his hand, the letter incinerated, leaving nothing but ash in its wake. Hermione watched in horror as the remnants of the letter became one with the wind.
He offered wholeheartedly, "Would you like me to renounce my title and inheritance?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Don't be ridiculous." Even though he said it with humour, she knew there was some truth behind his declaration.
Hermione leaned against the edge of her desk and sighed, "She planned this."
Draco questioned, "What do you mean?" What possible reason besides being a ruthless bitch did Skeeter have?
Hermione could not bring herself to look him in the eye. Instead, she looked out of the enchanted window and muttered, "She wants an exclusive interview with you about where you've been and, umm, your involvement with Voldemort."
Draco stiffened. He was yet to openly speak about the terrors of the war and its lasting effect on his life.
To speak plainly about Voldemort over a cup of tea was not something he looked forward to, especially with a person such as Rita Skeeter. No one besides his family knew the complicated details of why he did what he did, and revisiting such painful memories would certainly not be healthy.
He mused, "Does my boring existence in China sell papers?"
Hermione stifled a laugh, "Clearly."
He grew profoundly serious, "What does the conniving twat want?"
She ran her tongue along her bottom lip and grudgingly told him what Skeeter demanded, "A private meeting with you or she keeps attacking me in the papers."
Hermione was quick to point out, "It's not like I've not put up with her pathetic comments in the past, but she's never gone this far before."
Draco grew thoughtful. It was a grave problem since he didn't particularly have plans to divulge what led him to join Voldemort's ranks or the dire reason behind it.
His hesitation spoke volumes, and Hermione decided it was unwarranted to burden him with such an unjust situation. She would handle Skeeter as she had done in the past.
She waved her hand dismissively and stated, "It's nothing. You shouldn't be blackmailed by such a lowly creature as Rita Skeeter."
Her declaration pulled him clear out of his thoughts. He stared at the woman before him with newfound respect and drawled, "I would gladly throw my body to the wolves to protect you from these heinous accusations."
His words stunned her, and all she could manage was his name. It rolled off her tongue effortlessly, "Draco..."
Why was he saying such things? His sincere words made her resolve to crumble into dust.
He took her hand in his and gently brushed his lips along her knuckles, stopping to place a lingering kiss on the sizable engagement ring. His husky tones caressed the shell of her ear, "Shut up, Granger. I want to do this."
The tears she held back ran down her cheeks. Embarrassed by her lack of self-control, Hermione attempted to turn away, but Draco cupped her face and pleaded, "Please, darling, stop crying. None of this is your fault." Her tears were daggers aimed straight at his heart.
Everything was going horribly wrong. He was not supposed to be feeling all these mixed emotions. His heart was betraying him mercilessly, and it simply wouldn't do.
She leaned into his touch, closed her eyes, and whispered, "I'm trying..." Tiny teardrops clung stubbornly to her lashes.
Draco wanted nothing more than to comfort her and whisk her away to a distant land away from the madness that surrounded them. He couldn't help but feel the overwhelming need to protect her.
He exhaled to calm his breathing and runaway thoughts and told the truth he truly believed, "Don't let this piece of paper bring you down. You are an amazing woman, and nothing Skeeter writes can take that from you or tarnish the gold on your halo."
Picking up the last spiteful owl mail that had been sent, he tore it up into little pieces and tossed it into the air. The shredded pieces fell over Hermione and onto the floor.
Halo. The word triggered a resting part of her she could not shake. Her fingers dug deep into the material of his robes in a futile attempt to seem intimidating.
She hissed, "Stop it, Malfoy. I am not perfect. Far from it." She was no angel despite the picture-perfect image she felt compelled to maintain.
His hands snaked their way around her slender waist, and he pulled her roughly to him, "I never said you were perfect, Granger. Nobody is, but you are remarkably gifted and if I might be so bold…."
He leaned in and drawled in a teasing manner, "It's your imperfections that captivate me the most."
Her office had become their haven—a place away from prejudice, judgment, and past ugliness. They flourished inside the space, found solace in each other's arms, and let their insecurities show.
Draco bent to kiss her. His hand left her waist and travelled down her arm, and at the point, their lips tenderly touched, Hermione winced in discomfort. She tried her best to conceal the pain but failed miserably.
His long fingers were closed around the cut along her arm, causing Hermione to shudder.
In alarm, he gently brought it up to take a better look and demanded urgently, "What's this?"
Random thoughts popped into his head. Had she done this to herself? What brought it on?
Hermione tried her best to break free from his hold, but it was pointless. Instead, she shrugged it off, "It's nothing." She had planned to apply Dittany, but the task completely slipped her mind.
Draco peered into her face making her immensely uncomfortable, and snapped, "It doesn't look like nothing. What the fuck happened?"
She struggled once again to keep the tears at bay. After his kind, supportive words, how could she not tell him what happened?
"Granger, why?" Draco mumbled painstakingly.
He traced her wound with his thumb. His touch on the sensitive skin was soothing. Her lips parted slightly, and a sigh escaped her lips as the magic in his fingertips healed the deep cut.
Keeping his emotions under control, Draco urged, "Did you have a nightmare?"
Hermione was eager to stir the conversation away. She became defensive, "Look, I don't want to talk about it."
He countered with absolute resolve, "Once we are under one roof. I am going to teach you to shut these out whether you agree or out."
She swallowed hard. Living together. Sharing a bed? Countless possibilities.
Hermione cocked her head to the side and probed, "Why are you doing all these things for me, Malfoy?"
Draco took in her pinched expression and smirked, "Because I owe it to you."
Disappointment flooded her. It was so sudden it caught her completely off-guard. She requested meekly, "Is that all?"
A smile curved the corner of Draco's rather pink lips.
He raised a brow and speculated, "Yes. That is all. Would you prefer there to be another reason?" Their life together would be so fragile, but she was and would probably remain a complete enigma to him.
Reaching where a single strand of blonde hair had fallen across his forehead haphazardly, Hermione brushed it back and asked with a hint of anguish, "Have you really changed, or is this all an act?"
Draco laughed. The rippling sound was so pleasing it tickled her senses, "If so, I must be a bloody good actor, but I assure you, my intentions are genuine."
He tipped her chin and placed a determined yet chaste kiss on her eager lips, "Me kissing you..."
Next, he cupped her face and tenderly stroked her cheek with his thumb, "Me touching you so intimately should stand as a testament that I have changed my ways."
He sucked on the junction of her neck in a way that made her knees buckle, "I've thought of no one else but you since yesterday."
Her hands moved on their own. She placed her hands flat on the front of his Auror robes and felt the rough texture prickle her fingertips. She boldly moved them upwards to encircle his neck and pulled him down to meet her waiting lips. Taking his lower lip between her teeth, she drew a strangled groan from the man between her thighs.
She pressed flush against him as the need to reciprocate his diligent caresses overwhelmed her. Hermione sucked and nipped at his pale flesh and claimed the joint of his Kung fu defined trap muscle with her lips. Her eyes fell upon the substantial bulge in his trousers trying to break free.
Draco kissed her lightly, trailing his finger down her throat despite her desire and enthusiasm. His palms beaded sweat; he was as nervous as a virgin, in all honesty. He might as well be one since the last time his cock felt the warmth of a vagina was nearly a lifetime ago.
What if he lacked his former renowned skills? If memory served him right, he had quite a talented tongue.
He reluctantly broke free from the embrace and buried his face in the crook of her neck, and pulled her into a tight hug. She needed the embrace.
Hermione responded fervently despite herself and hugged him tight around the waist and rested her cheek on his well-defined chest. He was so tall that she could reach no higher, even with heels.
Malfoy was willing to protect her from herself and the outside world, and she could not help but welcome it wholeheartedly. Yet, his hesitation in taking things forward baffled her. She had given him her consent, but still, he refused to take advantage.
Did he still think her unworthy of sharing his bed? Surely, he would have done the deed with any number of witches since his return. Merlin knew he had plenty panting after him for possibly an unattached shag.
Her breathing hitched. His smell caused her to inhale profoundly and wish to never leave its space.
His deep voice was barely audible, "If you burn, so do I, and if this is pain, then I welcome it."
The words he spoke were poetic. Hermione drank it in and gave herself over to whatever may follow.
Draco reached for the paper that lay on the table behind her. Brought it up in between them and looked deep into her eyes. He tore it in half much like the letter and tossed it aside. The tattered halves fell in slow motion to the ground as his lips crashed down hard on hers and his insecurities disappeared.
He kissed her with only what could be described as unimaginable ferocity. As his hands explored the area of her exposed flesh, she felt the delicate hairs throughout her body stand on end in response to his demanding strokes.
Brenda doodled on her notepad and daydreamed about Michael. They had showered together, made slow leisurely love as the warm water fell over them and shared breakfast afterwards. He seemed much more at ease now that Terry was committed and receiving the help he needed.
She sighed, looked curiously towards the closed door, and wondered what was happening inside. Her imagination ran wild and a devilish smirk crept up her lips.
There was a deafening thud, and the glass double doors that lead to their office shook violently as Ron came charging in unceremoniously. Red in the face and lips pursed, he looked positively livid.
Surprised at first, Brenda shot to her feet and warned, "Mr Weasley, you cannot go in there."
Ron pushed past her with the final furious words, "Watch me!"
He strode confidently towards the door he had approached countless times in the past and barged in without introduction while Brenda tried to stop him.
His heart slammed hard against his ribcage, and breathing ceased at the lewd sight before him.
Merlin, no!
Hermione was draped around Malfoy like a flower seeking the sun as he passionately pushed his tongue against hers and kissed her heatedly, making her moan wantonly.
Ron came crashing back to his senses. He fought the blackness that flashed before his eyes and thundered, "What the fuck are you doing?"
He pulled out his wand, pointed it directly at Draco's chest and threatened, "Don't touch her! Haven't you done enough?"
Chapter 45
Notes:
I adore bringing out the angst between all the characters. :)
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Enjoy Chapter Forty-Five!
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HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
“The entire wizarding world is out and about today,” Molly grumbled as she bumped into another stout wizard carrying a basket of fresh vegetables while walking alongside Andromeda and Teddy down the cobbled path of Diagon Alley. It was a hectic day.
They did a bit of grocery shopping now and then. It gave them the chance to step out for a bit and enjoy some much-needed socialising.
Molly’s complaint fell on deaf ears since Andromeda had come to an abrupt halt in front of one of many newspapers stands. She had headed out early and missed the Prophet, but now stared at the front page in utter shock and disappointment as her eyes rushed over the printed words.
Her thoughts went straight to Hermione. The poor dear.
Glancing over her shoulder, Molly caught sight of Andromeda’s frozen form and backtracked to where she was standing seemingly rooted to the spot and barely got the words out, “Whatever is the matter?”
The bold headline jumped out at her, and she impulsively grabbed the nearest copy and started to read. Much like her beloved sons, her cheeks turned red with anger, and her motherly disposition vanished to be replaced by blind rage.
Rita Skeeter! You horrid bitch!
Andromeda shook her head despondently and said in absolute disgust, “That is shameful. How could they write such things after everything Hermione has done for us?”
Molly glared at the young wizard in overalls tending to the stall while he crouched behind the stack of papers and wished she would just go away. It was at times such as this that he questioned his career path. He was a budding young journalist with aspiring dreams to have his own column someday.
Teddy, who had been taking in the sights and daydreaming over having a pet of his own, snapped out of his daze and threw his grandmothers a look of pure confusion. He wondered what was so awful about a newspaper.
His purple head of hair turned blue as he tugged on Andromeda’s sleeve to get her attention and questioned as an innocent child would, “Is everything alright, gran?”
Andromeda looked his way, smiled, and affectionately patted his head with bright blue locks. She thought it best to keep their composure so they could leave with their dignity intact. She implored Molly to follow suit, but the fierce matriarch was beyond listening to reason.
In a carrying voice, Molly said for everyone within earshot to hear, “The Prophet has sunk to a new low, and you lot should be ashamed for buying this disgusting rag that passes itself off as a newspaper.”
The boy tending to the stand pouted. It was not his fault Rita Skeeter had tarnished the image of an adored war heroine. Her rude conduct towards his clients was bound to cost him sales. He had a target to reach to get paid for the day.
Most who heard Molly’s words returned the Prophet to the nervous salesperson and hurried off without making eye contact. She was well known, and none wanted to cause her further distress.
Turning on her heel, with her head held high, Molly joined Andromeda, and both women resumed their hunt for fresh produce. Puzzled but uninterested, Teddy trailed behind them lazily and took in the many more exciting scenes and unusual people that filled the narrow street.
One particularly odd-looking individual caught his keen attention. The man was savouring what appeared to be a cup of steaming coffee at many of the cafes that had opened post-war.
Teddy noticed the man was missing an arm, and he could not help but wonder why? He was dressed in black robes, and a worn-out emblem was embroidered onto the material covering his chest, but the gleaming gold badge that stood out proudly made Teddy’s eyes sparkle with interest and awe. The man was unquestionably an Auror like his mum.
The interesting gentleman looked up from the paper he was reading and made eye contact with the young boy with brilliant cobalt hair staring at him. Still, before he could muster a polite smile, the flustered youngster hurried his footsteps and caught up with who he assumed to be his grandmother and a fuming Molly Weasley.
Thomas watched the boy of no more than nine skips down the way and disappear into the crowd. He knew the boy to be Tonk’s son. He was undoubtedly a Metamorphmagus and had inherited his mother's rare gift. A sudden jolt of sadness snatched hold of him, but he briefly brushed it aside and gave the paper before him his full attention.
Malfoy and Granger! It was an odd pairing if any, and an unfortunate one at that. How would such a relationship span out between the unequivocal Golden Girl and the youngest Death Eater?
He grew thoughtful. Would their marriage discourage the masked man from trying to recruit Malfoy? That would indeed be a shame since they had plans to use that vital need to their advantage when the opportune moment presented itself.
It would be an actual test of Malfoy’s loyalty and allegiance. A war was coming, and every person would be compelled to pick a side once again.
A frown creased his ageing features, and Thomas rolled up the paper and stuck it into his coat pocket. He slammed a few Galleons down on the small wooden table and rose.
“Have a good day, Thomas,” the server said with a happy smile.
Thomas pulled up his collar to weather the chilly London air that hit the back of his neck and trickled down his spine and flashed a grateful smile at the woman who appeared to clean up after him. He began the short walk towards the Ministry of Magic without another word and more than a few unsettling thoughts.
Still locked in a heated embrace, Hermione unwillingly broke free first due to the deafening sound of the door opening and the furious voice of someone she knew intimately.
Draco stubbornly refused to release her. He kept his arm snaked around her possessively to stake his claim and gently suckled on the sweet flesh of her collarbone, garnering a whimper before slowly bringing his head up from the crook of her neck and glancing at the redhead gawking at them in disbelief.
Brenda disregarded the entwined couple and glared at the enraged man frothing at the mouth with contempt, "I'm so sorry, Hermione. He pushed past me." She said in annoyance.
Despite Draco's unwavering refusal to let her go, Hermione had no intention of aggravating the fragile situation.
She moved away and put a considerable distance between them before throwing Ron a complete look of disapproval, “Put that wand away, Ronald, before you hurt yourself.”
Hermione then set about appeasing her angry assistant, "It's quite alright, Brenda. It is not your fault."
Ron grudgingly pocketed his wand while Draco licked his kiss-swollen bottom lip and offered the seething young witch a kind smile and reassured, "We can take it from here, Brenda. Thank you."
Brenda pursed her lips and nodded reluctantly. She wished she had put her wand to practical use and made up her mind to tame the next joker that came along with a well-aimed hex right between the balls.
Ron snapped clear out of his daze and, without pause, took hold of Hermione’s delicate wrist and roughly pulled her to his side. He used more force than necessary, but that hardly mattered since he was consumed with the need to get her away from Malfoy.
She let out a yelp at the sudden movement, and persistent fingers digging into her barely healed wound. Draco attempted to stay composed, but Weasley's audacious behaviour simply would not allow it.
He inconspicuously moved his hand in a circular motion, but he needn’t have bothered since the long sleeves of his Auror robes covered any hand movement. His actions drove Ron to take a few steps back and crash into the wall behind him, making the shelves packed with books rattle dangerously.
Hermione glanced helplessly at Draco, her eyes pleading with him to remain calm.
Ron straightened, looked at his current position and how much he had been forced back and hurled suspiciously, "How the fuck did you do that?"
Draco sneered, causing his eyes to narrow to mere slits. He would do as Granger requested, but his tolerance was wearing thin, and he made his thoughts vocal, "Touch my fiancé again, Weasley, and you will live to regret it."
His ominous tone mirrored his true feelings on the matter, and at that particular moment, he was not to be trifled with. Seeing Weasley manhandle Granger caused something deep within him to snap. He had failed to protect her once, but history would not repeat itself today.
“Is that a threat?” Ron thundered, but his voice lacked conviction.
Hermione felt Malfoy stiffen, and before the situation escalated, she intervened, "You are hallucinating, Ron. I pushed you back, and don't you ever put your hands on me without my consent," She also hoped to divert attention and keep Draco’s ability to do wandless magic concealed until the opportune moment.
Ron blatantly ignored Hermione. Instead, a sarcastic scowl tore out of his thin lips, "Fiancé? You have the audacity to call her that?” His gaze lovingly fell upon the woman he held in such high regard and breathed, "I was worried about her."
Draco did not take kindly to the insinuation that he would put Granger in danger. Despite his brutal words towards her at Hogwarts, he never meant her bodily harm and made it a point to say, "As you can see, Granger is in good hands."
Hermione struggled to keep her temper and loathing well hidden. She hissed savagely, "Ron, you have no right to come charging in here like a raging bull without explanation.
She pointed boldly to the brass plaque with the Ministry logo secured on the wall just above her comfortable leather chair, “This is the Ministry of Magic."
Ron looked mildly ashamed. He shifted uncomfortably, "I thought you were in trouble." That fleeting thought evaporated as the lewd sight he had walked in on flashed before his eyes, causing temporary paralysis.
Malfoy had his filthy hands all over her! How could she let him touch her this way?
Ron brazenly pointed to Draco with a long shaking finger and accused, “So, it’s okay for him to…fondle you in broad daylight, but I cannot come by to greet an old friend?” Hermione cringed at the unflattering word and opened her mouth to hurl a retort, but Draco beat her to it and stated the obvious with profound smugness.
It was petty, but he was determined to thwart Weasley and gain an advantage. He glanced at Hermione and smirked in a lucid manner, "Unless you are visually impaired, Weasley. I'm sure you can tell by Granger's flushed cheeks that my attentions were very well received."
Hermione instantly looked away shyly to hide the deep blush that stained her cheeks and did not dare utter a word. How could she even begin to deny the truth?
Closing the gap between them with purposeful strides, Draco courteously presented Hermione with his hand and exclaimed with little room for argument, "Excuse us, Weasley, but we were heading out to confront Rita Skeeter and clear up this horrible misunderstanding."
Without a moment's hesitation, Hermione willingly took Malfoy’s offered hand, felt his fingers close around hers and gently brushed his thumb over them in a manner meant to soothe her.
She did not spare a second thought to Ron and let Malfoy lead her towards the door. He was absolutely right. They had to tackle Skeeter before things spiralled well out of control.
Ron's hand came out of nowhere as she passed him, and his digits locked around her tender wrist in an ironclad grip. Hermione shot him a look of complete surprise, but he did not budge. He would save her from herself if need be. She was treating the situation far too lightly, and it agitated him.
If Hermione were expecting him to stand by and watch as she left with Malfoy, then she would be denied the pleasure.
He pulled Hermione towards him, yet he failed in his attempt as Draco applied equal pressure and kept her firmly at his side. Hermione cursed, “Let me go, Ron!” She struggled in vain to free herself, but clearly, they were far too strong for the likes of her, and her wand was resting conveniently inside her handbag.
Not that it would have mattered since both men held onto her from either end and refused to yield. She had become a toy to tug about in their competition of egos.
One, a unique specimen wrapped in black that put the great god Apollo to shame with his platinum blonde locks and starling grey eyes who was clearly sent to test her self-control and arouse feelings in her she never thought possible. On the other, a tall, semi-built man with a neat crop of red hair dressed in a plain suit and freckles scattered across his cute boyish features.
Neither looked pleased. One could cut through the tension that surrounded them with a knife.
Ron found his voice first, "Hermione is not going anywhere with you." He yanked her towards him, and her attempts to escape and protests fell on stubborn, ruby-red ears.
Draco held on and refuted with equal arrogance, "I wasn't aware she needed your permission. She is leaving with me."
Hermione contained the need to scream to remind them of her presence and that she belonged and answered to no one, but the more she suffered, the heat from their hands seeped into her skin, she detached herself from reality, and the present ceased to exist.
Gone was her office. The dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts surrounded her. The stone walls seemed to close in on her.
Hermione found herself wearing her old uniform and tie perfectly in place. Her hair was the bird's nest she managed at school. It fell in unmanageable strands over her face and cascaded untamed down her back.
On one end, a slick-haired, pale, pointy-faced arrogant boy with a permanent scowl and loosened green and white tie looked down his nose at her. He held on to her for whatever reason, perhaps to prove a point or worse, to fool her into believing he had changed.
Holding onto her with both hands almost possessively and with desperation was a gangly youth in hand-me-down robes, long red hair and fierce courage that had come to her defence on more than one occasion.
The pain in her arm intensified. A sinister cackling bounced off the walls of her troubled mind, "Pick the blood traitor. My spineless nephew watched you bleed. He did nothing to stop me from mutilating you."
Hermione staggered but came crashing back to reality. The decision was a simple one, wasn’t it?
She glanced at Draco for a fleeting second with saddened eyes. He felt a sudden shift in her feelings towards him. The profound realisation that his past treatment of her was causing her to turn him away again gutted him, but he was helpless.
How much more could he do to convince her that his deeds were genuine?
Draco stared into Hermione’s eyes imploringly, willing her not to do what he knew she was about to while she gathered all her internal strength to break out of his hold. He tightened his grip for a brief minute unwilling to part but dropped her hand and didn't pursue.
Her actions wounded him slightly, yet he could hardly hold it against her. He had seen firsthand how wrecked Weasley had been at the Manor while Bellatrix tortured Granger and how in a most selfless act had offered himself in her place.
No, he could not fault her for picking Weasley over him. How could he begin to compare with their past? However, even though Ron held onto their whirlwind romance, it was abundantly clear that Granger did not share nor return his affections.
Hermione averted her gaze to pathetically hide her look of dismay. She rubbed her hand where Draco's mere touch scorched her skin and moved slowly to her former lover's side.
Draco felt his heart clench painfully as his intented took her rightful place by another man's side. The sudden stab of pain he endured wasn’t real, he determinedly tried to convince himself.
He made no fuss but silently accepted and respected her decision while Ron looked quite pleased with himself.
The former Gryffindor spat in the most insulting manner, "That will be all! Run along, ferret." He addressed Draco as if he were a mangy mutt on the streets.
Ron laughed in pure exhilaration and combined smugly. He could barely contain his happiness, “In what world did you think she would pick you over me?"
His words cut Draco deep, it hurt his fragile ego, but he showed indifference and mustered a crooked smile.
Hermione warned in barely a whisper, "Ron, that is enough." Malfoy was not to be ridiculed because of her actions. She had chosen the more immature one, the one who would not listen to reason or understand but only see her decision if she picked Draco as the ultimate betrayal.
Malfoy had a good head resting on his shoulders. He would be far easier to deal with than an immature Ronald Weasley. Despite Ron's continuous efforts to get under Draco's skin, it had a trivial effect and only caused the pale-faced man to reflect and feel exceedingly sorry for Weasley.
Draco held his head high and spoke the truth in a calm voice, "It is only out of love for your friendship and misguided loyalty that she prefers you."
His smouldering gaze penetrated Hermione’s tough outer exterior and caused what little resolve she managed to maintain crumble.
Draco included in a dark undertone, "Do not delude yourself into thinking that Granger has any romantic feelings for you."
Ron countered hopelessly. His voice was heavy with emotion, "You know nothing about our feelings or our relationship." Malfoy was oblivious to the love, commitment and promises they had made to each other. Their time apart was a phase. Hermione would sooner than later realise they belonged together.
Hermione said in a small strained voice, “There is nothing between us, Ron, except friendship.”
Draco smirked and studied the duo with a smidge of resentment and retorted, "Maybe not, but I am observant, and all I see is a pitiful man lusting after his ex-girlfriend while his wife sits at home possibly in tears."
Hermione stiffened at the mention of Tracey, and an overwhelming feeling of guilt engulfed her. She moved further away from her ex-boyfriend. She was determined not to be portrayed as the other woman, and Ron fixed his eyes on Malfoy. His hands balled into fists, as he fumed but failed to produce any clever retort.
Draco's eyes roved over Hermione. He had succeeded in making her immensely uncomfortable.
With a curt nod, he bid them a less than fond farewell, "Have a good day."
His smoky grey swirls never left her form. They penetrated her soul and stroked it tenderly.
Hermione watched with a heavy heart as Draco stormed out of her office. His robes billowed behind him, adding to his dramatic exit. The minute the door closed behind him, Hermione stared at the polished surface before turning on Ron. She poked him hard in the chest and gritted out, "How dare you?"
Ron brought his hands up in defence and slowly backed away, "Please, darling, listen to reason." He had been on the receiving end of her temper in the past and took no delight in being attacked by a bunch of ruddy birds.
Hermione looked around the room in search of her bag and grumbled angrily, "Reason? Listen to reason, he says! Where the bloody hell is my wand?"
Ron swallowed hard and pleaded, "Calm down, love. I only have your best interests at heart."
Having successfully located her bag, Hermione pulled out her wand and pointed it directly at Ron's sheathed penis. She promised with renewed hostility, "I will castrate you."
His hands instinctively went to cover his beloved package. The excessive need to explain his actions was replaced by bitterness. Why was she threatening him when it was her actions that were wrong? She had some serious explaining to do.
Ron’s bottom lip trembled as he thought back to Malfoy pressing himself against her. His voice cracked, "How could you kiss him, Hermione?"
Hermione flinched at the blatant accusation but covered it up well. She walked hurriedly towards the door and threw it open. Startled at first, Brenda jumped to her feet and gaped at the arguing duo with exceedingly less enthusiasm. Pointing to the wide area outside, Hermione said with remarkable poise for an enraged woman, "I want you to leave."
Ron crossed his arms over his chest and firmly stood his ground. He retorted stubbornly, "I'm not going anywhere until we talk about what I had the horrid misfortune to witness."
Hermione locked imploring eyes with Brenda and mouthed in utter desperation, "Help me."
She knew discouraging Ron was no easy task, but she tried anyway and failed miserably.
Closing the door once again, she faced the man in her room and braced herself for whatever else followed.
The brisk walk to the DMLE was by no means an easy one. Unsettling thoughts ran rampant through his mind, and to make matters worse, he could quite literally feel the push of her pert tongue against his.
Draco stepped onto the slightly busy floor of the DMLE, and all those around regarded him with curious expressions. A few bold individuals outwardly showed their displeasure at what they considered an unjust union.
He ignored the murmuring and hushed tones of comments as he went further into the bowels of the DMLE in search of his partner.
"Hermione deserves much better than the likes of you, Death Eater."
"Scum. That poor woman."
"She's not going to let you touch her, mate."
"Why don't you fuck off and leave her alone?"
If only Granger could hear the comments. She would be ecstatic, Draco thought with a small smile.
Hannah sat at her desk with an open bag of crisps. She had a craving for Muggle brewed coffee that morning and stopped by the local barista to get herself a tall coffee Grande. The taste was heavenly.
She stuck her hand into the sizeable bag of salty treats, popped a large crisp into her mouth and munched while looking over the pictures scattered across her desk. They were the same photos of the deceased women she had been staring at and obsessing over for the past few months.
It infuriated her that they were nowhere nearer to catching the sick bastard than they were at the start. Nobody was that good or careful.
She polished off the bag of crisps and looked up in time to see her partner approach. His face was pinched with worry and rightly so considering the little gift Skeeter had been kind enough to provide.
Hannah took a swig of coffee and inquired the second Draco was close enough to hear, "Morning. You alright there, Malfoy?"
Draco nodded solemnly, "You read the article then?"
Hannah looked ashamed, "Aye, I'm sorry to say I did."
"Hermione got the brunt of it, I'm afraid," Draco said firmly with a frown on his face.
Hannah scowled, "That Skeeter bitch is a nasty piece of work. Bloody woman."
Draco shrugged and fell into the nearest chair in exhaustion, "I've survived much worse gossip and speculation, but Granger takes it to heart."
Hannah grew somewhat thoughtful and exclaimed, "They are really going to come after you now." She mused, "You have enticed the paparazzi."
Draco sulked and ran his fingers through his hair, "Do my mundane activities sell newspapers?" He was vividly reminded of Granger’s nails scraping the surface of his scalp as she returned his demanding kisses feverishly.
Hannah giggled, "Clearly. You better watch it." She wiggled her eyebrows, he noticed she did that quite often, “But, I was right about Granger and you, wasn’t I?”
Draco rolled his eyes, “Yes! You are incredibly gifted. You must teach me, Abbott.”
Hannah chuckled and punched him in the arm, “Arsehole!”
She opened her drawer, pulled out a nearly empty bag of bright red liquorice strands from Honeydukes and tossed it onto her cramped table.
Draco eyed it sceptically and quipped, "Isn't it a bit early for sweets?"
He reached forward and tried to grab a long sticky stick, but Hannah slapped his hand away and stuck her tongue out at him, "Shove off, Malfoy. These are mine!"
“Greedy pig,” Draco muttered in an amused tone.
Leaning back in his chair, he stretched out his legs, rested his head on his hands and requested animatedly, "Go on then. Enlighten me."
Hannah hopped onto her desk, sat cross-legged and faced him with an eager expression.
She savagely tore a piece of liquorice off with her teeth and explained with interest, "You are an ex-Death Eater, turned Auror extraordinaire and the heir to the Malfoy throne."
Draco scoffed, "Aren't you being bloody dramatic?" Throne? Was that really how he was still perceived?
Hannah silenced him with a loud, “Shush. Listen,” and proceeded with enthusiasm, "You also have a boatload of money and significant power that comes by being associated with the Malfoy name."
She snorted and added in a sarcastic undertone, "And let us not forget how lovely you were to her back at Hogwarts. Weren't you best mates?"
Draco rolled his eyes once more and kept his mouth shut. There was not a single counter-argument he could raise.
Hannah bit into the sugary treat once again and pointed the chewed-up end bit at Draco and said casually, "Furthermore, you are rather easy on the eyes if one is into that sort of thing and Hermione is successful, the brightest witch of our age and a force to be reckoned with. The woman can do no wrong. She's perfectly put together."
Draco recoiled at the depiction. No one knew the torment Granger inflicted and unleashed upon herself or the severe PTSD she was suffering through. That bit of delightful information was his to keep.
Hannah further emphasised, "So you, see? It is the perfect enemies to lovers story. People love that shite."
Draco laughed out loud. Enemies to lovers, indeed.
He rose from his seat slowly and grinned with more excitement than he originally intended, "Granger certainly has come into her own."
Her smell, the softness of her skin and her taste. Salazar that taste. How he wished to drown in it and never surface.
While she had blossomed and embraced womanhood, many features from her awkward youth lingered, such as a cute little button nose and tiny freckles splattered across the bridge of her nose, just like tiny drops of chocolate which she concealed well with makeup.
Hannah grew thoughtful and drifted off to a place known only to her, "Certainly. She is quite sexy and those legs…," she trailed off before embarrassing herself, but the comment was not missed by Draco nor the sparkle that lit up her eyes.
He regarded her with a raised brow and amused expression, "Do you fancy Granger?" Without waiting for her to formulate an answer, he grabbed the bag with one bright red stick lodged inside while Hannah watched in horror.
She leapt forward and tried to take it back, but Draco held it over his head and well out of reach. Hannah protested and tried in vain to reach the last piece of Honeydukes best liquorice, "Piss off, Malfoy! Give it back." Draco stuffed the piece into his mouth and chewed the hard candy with some difficulty in a blink of an eye.
Bollocks. He had not thought this through, the sweet stuck to his teeth but he still managed to say, "Fine! You have a point. Regardless, that is not a valid enough reason to attack Granger and sully her good name or make me out to be some victim in all this."
Hannah bobbed her head in agreement, "You are absolutely right. What do you plan on doing about it? Because it's only going to get worse."
Draco continued to chew and answered with staggering confidence, "I will handle it." He couldn’t work out when had he begun to confide in Hannah, but it was surprisingly pleasing.
She looked over his shoulder and shuddered. A disgruntled French woman walked towards them in ridiculously high heels and a tight uniform that left little to the imagination.
The woman sashayed her hips, purposely capturing the attention of every hot-blooded male in the department.
"Oh, Christ. Incoming," Hannah warned most purely with a deep frown forming on her face.
Draco raised a quizzical brow and spun around to see what the commotion was about, "What?"
He wished he had not because standing before him with her hands on her hip and looking at him through hooded eyelids was Michelle.
Salazar, save me from an early demise.
Michelle moved close enough to smell his aftershave. Like him, the scent was strong and overpowering. She leaned into it, took a deep breath and almost whispered, "Congratulations, darling. I did not know that you are the Undersecretary were close."
Draco surveyed the petite woman, almost pressing flush against him and quipped, "Had you known, would it have mattered?"
A sensual smile curved Michelle's plump pink lips. She crawled huskily, "Not really. I can be extremely discreet."
Draco swallowed hard and tried to focus. The woman was born to seduce.
Hannah gritted out in obvious disgust, "Ugh! You shameless tart. The man is engaged!"
Michelle’s eyes travelled from Draco's chiselled chin down his chest and came to rest on his large hands. She ran her tongue slowly along her bottom lip and refuted, "I see no ring on his finger. Yet."
Draco welcomed Hannah's interruption. He took a step back, put a sizeable distance between himself and Michelle and straightened to his full height, so he towered over the stature of the determined French lady and said simply, "I have no intention of cheating on my fiancé. Please excuse me."
Michelle briskly stepped aside and gestured for him to pass. She bit her lip and stared at his broad back as he walked away with a devilish smile on her face. She had never worked so hard to grab a man's fancy, but deep down, her gut feeling told her that he would be worth the wait.
Hannah, who had been watching the exchange, hissed, “Bugger off, Michelle!”
Harry had just walked out of the Floo network he maintained in his office. It was connected to a similar one at home and made the commute to work a breeze.
He dumped his lumpy bag on the table when a loud knock interrupted the peace.
Harry glanced at the door and frowned. He wouldn't get a second to himself before starting the day, and he wished to pay Hermione a quick visit to see how she was fairing and offer his support.
Another well-timed knock tore through the silence once again. Harry cleared his throat and said, "Come in."
Draco pushed the door in and walked onto the carpeted floor. His eyes went straight to the breathtaking sword in its glass cabinet. He longed for the swaying trees, falling leaves and courtyard of The Shaolin Temple.
Harry raised a brow prompting Draco to speak and state his reason for visiting, "Good morning, Potter."
Harry frowned. He was hardly convinced, "Is it really?"
Draco pursed his lips and added grimly, "It is not, and that is precisely why I wanted to speak with you."
It was clear Harry was taken back by the statement and thought Malfoy might ask for his assistance or opinion on how best to approach Skeeter. After all, it was barely a month since his return, and there was much change in his absence.
Harry bemused, "Oh, how can I be of assistance?"
Draco requested in the politest manner imaginable, "I need a few hours to sort this mess with Rita Skeeter."
Harry agreed wholeheartedly, "By all means."
A look of calculated ruthlessness replaced his typically calm demeanour, "And remind Skeeter that cowardly untrue articles such as these will not be tolerated."
A knowing smirk curved Draco's luscious lips, "Duly noted. I will be sure to show her the error of her ways."
Harry smiled in acknowledgement, "Good." He sat down, got somewhat comfortable and generally said, "I was just about to pop in to check on Hermione."
Draco could not help the contempt that crept into his voice, "Weasley is with her."
Harry demanded in surprise, "Ron?"
"That would be the one," Draco replied with next to no enthusiasm. How he wished it was Charlie Weasley.
Harry grew thoughtful, "Oh, that's surprising."
Draco raised a brow and questioned as if it was the most common occurrence, "Is it?"
Harry chuckled goodheartedly, "No, I suppose it's not." He should have known Ron would rush to Hermione's side when the story broke.
His tone turned serious, and he inquired gravely, "How is she?"
Draco stiffened but replied truthfully, "Coping. I'll see to this matter and rectify it immediately. I wish Granger no ill will." On the contrary, he wanted her infectious laughter to surround him.
Harry nodded curtly, further giving his permission and watched intently at the retreating figure of the seemingly redeemed man. He still harboured doubts over Malfoys changes of heart and behaviour.
Could it be possible for someone to change as drastically as Malfoy appeared to have? It seemed rather farfetched, but nothing was impossible, Harry supposed.
Perkins slammed the paper down on his untidy table, sending extra dirty quills to the floor and expressed, "Well, isn't that a bloody shocker."
Arthur looked up from his pile of papers, pushed his spectacles further up his nose and glared, "Put that aside, Perkins." He had read the article and had no wish to revisit the unkind words used to depict Hermione.
John glanced at his coworker and arranged the files on his immaculately neat table. He wondered how Perkins managed to find anything in the mess accumulated on his workstation.
Just the sight of askew papers and spilt ink was enough to make him cringe. He kept quiet, though, tended to the new Misuse of Muggle Artefacts case files and didn't offer any input.
Perkins ignored Arthur's warning and pressed, "It's barking mad though! How do these idiots expect Granger to start a family with an ex Death Eater? It's barmy."
A strained silence followed the crude statement until John offered meekly, "Maybe he's her soulmate. They are meant for each other despite the odds." He romanticised.
Arthur looked up in surprise as did Perkins before bursting out in laughter. He ridiculed the timid man, "You dumb bastard. Soulmate?
Perkins explained harshly, "Granger is a Muggleborn, and Malfoy comes from a long line of pureblood fanatics. His lot has persecuted people like her for generations."
After a second thought, he included bluntly, "Although, if he allows it, she will have access to riches beyond her wildest dreams, but is it enough to overcome his family's past darkness?"
The answer to his question evaded him, and he shrugged, "You never quite know with broads. A fickle-minded bunch." His ex-wife was one of them. She was strutting around the place with another man, rubbing her perfect bloody life in his face. She would pay one day and come crawling back to him.
Arthur bared his teeth and fought the overwhelming urge to hex his subordinate.
John stuck to his guns. His earlier encounter with Draco Malfoy in the lift was testament enough that a man was capable of change, and he voiced his thoughts, "He seems different."
Perkins shook his head in exasperation, "I wouldn't expect a blooming squib to understand."
John flinched at the harsh words but gathered enough strength to mutter, "I understand better than you ever will."
"What did you say, you little shit?" Perkins demanded with an edge to his voice.
Arthur had heard and witnessed enough. He brought his hand down hard on the table and reprimanded most severely, "That is enough. Put aside that garbage and get back to work the both of you."
Harry walked through the open glass doors that led to the Undersecretary's office. The loud voices coming from behind the closed door made it to his ear, causing him to rethink his visit and frown. He saw Brenda cringe in her seat and purposely busy herself with work.
Brenda was no stranger to Ron's jealous outbursts or sudden visits to the Ministry when he wanted to see his girlfriend. While Hermione strived hard to maintain a professional image and avoid personal conflicts during office hours, Ron wore his heart on his sleeve and demanded her attention at odd hours.
On many a day, Brenda had overheard and witnessed the intense arguments, much to her dismay. They were mainly centred around Hermione’s workaholic nature, unwillingness to act spontaneously, and reluctance to take the next step in their relationship.
Secretly, Brenda had been thrilled the torrid affair ended when it did. While she was sure Ron loved Hermione fiercely, his demanding nature hindered a witch who had her sights set firmly on her career.
Harry threw Brenda a sympathetic look. They both glanced nervously at the door as the sheer volume of the raised voices emitting from within increased.
Harry strode forward with purpose and walked into the room without knocking. He was sure all the yelling would drown it out, and he was right. The two individuals going at each other barely acknowledged his presence.
He took in the scene of Hermione having a go at Ron while he countered with what he believed to be plausible reasons.
Harry raised his voice, "Will you two keep it down. Or at least cast a Silencio. I can hear you from down the fucking Hall." Yet his words fell on deaf ears of his best friends.
Hermione deliberately ignored Harry's presence and gnashed out, "You have no right to tell me how to live my life, Ron."
Ron, however, brushed aside her statement as if it was trivial, turned to face Harry and spoke with distinguishable anguish, "She was kissing him, Harry."
That piqued Harry's interest. He interrogated at once, "Who?" Somehow he knew the answer but needed validation.
Ron hissed in disgust, it was hard to keep down the bile that rose, "Malfoy!" His breathing quickened, and he demanded answers from his ex-girlfriend, "How could you let that snake touch you?" His voice broke on the last word.
They had dated for years and not once had she entertained the thought of being intimate inside her office. Even when he suggested it playfully, she would make up an excuse, send him on his way and avoid it entirely.
What made Malfoy so special that she would break the rules for him?
Shite, Harry thought, but kept his wits about him and said slowly, "I didn't know you fancied Malfoy."
For the first time since his arrival, Hermione acknowledged him with a raging fire burning bright in the depth of her eyes and fired back, "I do not fancy Malfoy."
Actions speak louder than words. Self-loathing prevented her from confessing that she did indeed feel a sexual stirring towards the generously built Malfoy.
Harry implored, "Calm down, the both of you." He approached his spirited friend cautiously, "Hermione, Ron is worried about you as we all are. This is Malfoy. We all know what he's like."
Hermione scoffed and accused brazenly, "Of course, you would take his side." She reminded him of a similar time from their younger years, "You always do, even when he's wrong." Hagrid had been her only friend for most of their third year. She missed the humble half-giant. He was getting on and hadn't changed much except for the greying beard and hair.
Harry argued, "Come on, it's not like that."
Ron injected, "We care about you."
Harry continued hoping to appease her and perhaps see reason, "Malfoy can be charming and granted, he seems like less of wanker now but whether he's truly changed remains to be seen."
Hermione was having none of it. She wasn't about to stand by idly and be lectured on her personal choices. She gritted out, "My sex life is none of your business."
Sex life? Sex with Malfoy? Ron felt positively faint.
He salvaged himself from toppling to the ground and warned forebodingly, "Don't you bloody dare. I forbid it."
Hermione couldn't believe her ears. She was no child to heed their ridiculous commands, "You forbid it? Who the hell do you think you are?"
Ron replied in a strained voice as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Someone who would do anything for you."
Harry sighed. He truly felt bad for Ron, but it was way past time to let go.
Hermione let the heartfelt response slide; she was simply too angry to comprehend.
She cried in outrage, "You are a married man!" Had he forgotten that vital bit of information before barging into her office uninvited?
Harry grimaced. That was bludger right between the eyes.
Ron visibly shuddered as if she had physically wounded him. He was the scum of the lowest form to put Tracey through this challenging ordeal, especially when she had accepted him without so much as a fuss.
Hermione poked herself in the chest hard and emphasised, "The last thing I need is scandalous gossip about me running after you to surface because by the Prophet's low standards, I can't seem to do a bloody thing right."
Ron reached out and tried to hug her, "Hermione, but, I…," but she moved purposely away and choked back a sob, "Go home to Tracey. You have a loving, caring wife who thinks the world of you."
Her last words were almost cruel, "She needs you, I don't!"
Ron staggered as the hurtful words pierced his fragile heart, "Please, darling. Don't you see how much I care?"
Unable to take the emotional turmoil much longer, Harry intervened, "Let's all take a deep breath and talk about this."
Hermione shook her head and addressed them both, "This is my life, Harry, and if I decide to fuck Malfoy, there's nothing the both of you can do about it."
Ron's features contorted with disgust. He spat viciously, "Are you that desperate to let him defile you?"
To call her desperate was a new low by any standards.
Hermione reeled back from the vile comment, and even Harry looked mortified by the implication. Ron had clearly lost all sense.
She held her head high and fought the tears that threatened to spill over, "I would like the both of you to leave."
Seeing little point in prolonging the inevitable, Harry made the first move. He caught hold of Ron's upper arm and pulled him towards the door, "Come on, mate. She's right."
He scolded, "You crossed a line with that remark."
Ron stared into Hermione’s distraught face and apologised profusely, "I'm sorry. I didn’t mean it, love."
She threw him a scathing look, slammed the door shut once they exited and leaned against the cool wooden surface and let the events that took place and words that were exchanged wash over her.
Her legs gave out, and she slid to the ground dejected and struggled to keep her composure. Before she knew it, Hermione was crying out in anger and humiliation.
Ron's callous words hurt her far more than she let on.
Harry and Ron walked in silence. Each caught up in their thoughts as they wandered aimlessly around the Ministry of Magic.
So much for heeding Ginny’s words about bringing Hermione about for dinner. Ron seemed the more likely one to join.
Chapter 46
Notes:
My story is essentially Dramione but I adore every other character and love bringing their side stories to life.
Skeeter interviews Draco and gets more than she bargained for. I have taken a few liberties. :)
Hermione came off rather badly in the previous chapter, but I implore everyone to think of her as flawed with many insecurities she has neatly covered up.
I want to make her as relatable as possible. :) Please don't hate me! :(
Trigger warning:- Nonconsensual sexual acts and thoughts of suicide. The Dollhouse Strangler is in love and making mistakes that could lead to his capture. We shall know soon enough.
I hope everyone enjoys this longish chapter! :)
Much love to my fantastic beta Carrie who indulges my madness without fuss! :)
Enjoy Chapter Forty-Six! Yikes!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Neville leafed through the new catalogue detailing the plants he had recently succeeded in budding. They flourished under his meticulous care providing a much-needed solution to a growing weed infestation.
His company dealt exclusively with Horticulture and Herbology. It was a subject he had always taken a keen interest in.
He supplied rare herbs, plants and roots for potion making and consumption throughout the wizarding world worldwide and even catered to a few exclusive Muggle clients in the Far East, but his true calling was to take up a position at Hogwarts, preferably as the Herbology Professor after Professor Sprout's retirement, yet it seemed like such an implausible dream.
Neville stared out of the window in his office in deep thought. It was a naturally sunny day and the warm rays spread throughout the vast grounds. There would be no need to alter the weather in the Greenhouses.
He sat back in his chair and remembered the intense conversation that had taken place over breakfast.
In anger, Neville threw down the Prophet and exclaimed with a sour disposition, "Unbelievable." Hermione was one of his dearest friends, and the unjust words used to describe her brought about strong emotions in him.
Pansy glanced at the discarded newspaper and nodded grimly, "I know. I must speak with poor Draco right away."
From down the table, a stern voice pierced the air in a sarcastic tone, "Poor Draco? Indeed! It is Hermione Granger who needs your sympathy, not some arrogant, spoiled brat."
Augusta Longbottom sat at the other end of the table. She could not stomach sitting so close to a known Death Eater's daughter.
She was the laughingstock of her group of friends, not that there were many at their age since they dropped like flies, but the ones that remained were quick to point out Pansy's illustration background.
However, Pansy was used to Neville's headstrong grandmother's audacious behaviour. It was no mere feat, but she remained calm and responded, "I'm aware that Hermione has been portrayed unfairly, Augusta. I only said what I did because Draco is one of my oldest and dearest friends."
Augusta scoffed, "Death Eaters and rot! Following in their moronic father's footsteps, and my grandson has to pay the price."
Pansy looked to Neville and implored with her eyes to intervene. To support her, but since it was evident that he would not rally to her defence, she thought it fit to voice her opinion.
She dabbed the corners of her mouth delicately and said, "I'm well aware that you have no love for my family, Mrs Longbottom, and if you expect me to keep quiet while you insult them, I'm sorry, but you are sorely mistaken."
Augusta had not forgotten, nor would she ever come to terms with what Malfoy's maddened aunt did to her beloved son and daughter-in-law. She hated the lot of them with passion; it was a burden she would carry to the grave.
She bit into a fleshy orange wedge and sneered, causing the nectar to trickle down her chin, "You have nothing to be proud of, Pansy. It would have benefited us all if you got paired off with Draco Malfoy while Neville here got matched with a remarkable young woman such as Hermione."
Pansy stiffened, and her helpless gaze fell upon her husband once again. Would he not speak on her behalf? She knew Augusta despised her, but her cruel, taunting words hurt, "It is quite clear that you dislike me and do not approve of this union, but I love Neville."
Augusta ignored the heartfelt declaration with an audible snort. Love? It was such an overrated emotion.
She replied callously without a spare thought for Pansy's feelings, "That might be, but you are not suitable for him. Furthermore, you have added to your uselessness by failing to provide him with a child."
Throwing her napkin down in anger, Pansy glared at the older woman at the table, "For Salazar's sake, there is plenty of time."
Augusta looked the young woman over and claimed, "You are almost thirty. Childbirth becomes exceedingly difficult with age."
She watched intently as Neville paled and added thoughtfully, "Perhaps, you are unable to conceive."
Pansy was beside herself with anger and humiliation, "I don't have to sit here and listen to this nonsense." How dare the old goat suggest such a thing? They had not even tried to get pregnant, taking every precaution to prevent it until such time they were ready to expand their family.
Neville had quietly sat by, biding his time and waiting for his grandmother to get her opinions and views well out of her system.
He knew without a doubt his reluctance to intervene infuriated his wife, but he also knew his grandmother, and she was not a woman who took to being interrupted lightly. Still, he had listened and observed in silence for long enough.
Raising his voice, he kept it firm and authoritative to make his presence known, "Grandmother, Pansy is my wife and the woman I love."
Unfortunately, his emotions dictated his argument. He included with equal force and without much thought, "The past does not matter to me, even if she did try to hand over Potter. We were children!"
Pansy, though grateful, inwardly groaned and patted Neville's hand in an effort to reassure him, "I don't think you're helping my cause, darling."
His tone pleaded, "For how long will you penalise her for it?" Boldly he kissed Pansy's hand in full view of his grandmother and looked at his wife adoringly, "I couldn't be happier with this match."
Her eyes lit up, and Pansy smiled, "I wasn't thrilled at the start, but now…I couldn't imagine my life without you, darling."
Keeping a firm hold on his wife's hand, Neville looked down at the table and said in a wounded voice, "Why can't you be happy for me? You mean so much to me. To us."
Pansy pursed her lips. There was little truth in the statement. She did not particularly care for the tough old broad. However, she did greatly respect Augusta Longbottom.
Neville took a deep breath to calm himself and sighed, "I am not my father, and I never will amount to his brilliance." His parents were Aurors. Even though he was never academically at their level, he was fearless, unquestionably loyal, and courageous.
He fondly recalled Professor McGonagall's words, "It's high time your grandmother learned to be proud of the grandson she's got, rather than the one she thinks she ought to have – particularly after what happened at the Ministry."
Pansy's heart broke at the pained declaration. Her face fell in sadness. Despite her family's shoddy past, she was doted upon and loved unconditionally by her parents.
An uncomfortable silence fell over them.
"No, you are not my Frank," Augusta said unexpectedly but with profound sadness.
"Although, you look much like him when he was your age," she added fondly with a faint smile forming on her face.
There was a strained quietness until Augusta included after a moment's pause. Her voice was thick with emotion and unmistakable pride, "You are better than your father, and they would be tremendously proud of the man you have become."
Neville's jaw dropped, his fork fell out of his numb fingers and collided noisily with the pristine China plate.
Augusta ignored her grandson's state of shock. She struggled but smiled slightly and said, "I am so very proud of you, Neville."
Pansy choked on her orange juice, and in a poor attempt to hide her complete look of disbelief, she covered her mouth with a napkin. Even the elf standing meekly in the background could hardly conceal his surprise.
Ignoring the reactions of everyone around her, Augusta confessed, "I know I am harsh at times, but I have always had your best interests at heart."
Neville struggled to string coherent words together. He was still reeling from the shock of her words. Besides making him feel inadequate, his grandmother had never openly praised him for much in all his years.
Augusta continued to speak her mind and eyed Pansy sceptically, "This isn't an ideal pairing, but I suppose you could have done worse. At least, she is feisty and protective of you, and that's all I ask for."
Getting to her feet, she beckoned the elf forward to help her and announced, "I feel like taking a walk." She was on borrowed time and feeling every bit of the aches and pains that came with extreme old age.
The bitter potions helped, but there was no denying the truth. She would die soon and peacefully, knowing Neville would be loved and cared for.
Neville and Pansy watched the Longbottom matriarch chatting animatedly with the house-elf as they exited the dining room and walked towards the vast gardens that Neville immaculately maintained.
Turning to Pansy, Neville smiled brightly, "That's progress, I guess." However, he kept his excitement over his grandmother's words hidden. Inside, he was bursting with joy.
Pansy glanced out the window and caught sight of Augusta leaning heavily on her cane and walking among the rose bushes. She couldn't help the sarcastic tone," Depends on how you look at it, sweetheart."
Neville was brought crashing back to reality by the door to his office opening. A burly man in blue overalls with dirt caked under his fingernails walked in. He was carrying a heavy potted plant with both hands.
The man panted clearly out of breath from the gruelling task but managed to ask, "What should I do with this, sir?"
Neville smiled and candidly wondered why the man did not resort to magic to help with the massive load, "Set it down over there, Greg." He said politely, pointing to the corner.
The man was barely visible behind the thick leaves. He nodded, heaved and set to complete the task assigned to him.
Draco stood outside the red brick building with The Daily Prophet's name in platinum looming over him. The colossal bold letters made anyone standing before it seem minuscule, and he speculated if they intended to intimidate those who stood before it.
However, it had little effect on him. Plenty of casually dressed witches and wizards walked in and out of the building, and surprisingly none paid him any attention.
He exhaled, joined the crowds of people, and entered the building without a second thought. The interior had changed since his last visit many years ago. It consisted of white tiles and modern fixtures to suit more recent times.
Draco spotted the vast help desk almost at once. It was nearly impossible to miss the uniquely sculptured massive structure. Smartly dressed, attractive women attended to the many calls, owls, and visitors' queries. He approached the area with an air of confidence, waited patiently for his turn and spoke with extreme kindness to the woman who attended to him, "Good morning. Would you be so kind as to direct me to Miss Skeeter's office?"
Requests to visit Rita came often and not always with good intent. The woman studied the handsome man before her and paled.
She knew who he was and his probable reason for visiting. The article on the front page had garnered enough attention. They had and continued to receive numerous calls and mail regarding the scandalous story.
Smiling politely, she excused herself and headed hurriedly into a back room where she picked up an ancient-looking device and spoke directly into it, "Mr Draco Malfoy is here to see you."
The voice on the other end remained calm and collected. Skeeter was still at her flat, getting ready to come into work. She usually preferred to arrive fashionably late.
"Show him to my office. I'll be there shortly," Rita said briskly. She kept her rattled nerves hidden.
While she had expected Hermione to convince the Malfoy heir, she had also expected him to turn up later in the day.
Rita continued to apply her makeup carefully with slightly more trembling fingers than before. There was a foreboding feeling in the pit of her stomach that she could not quite shake.
The woman returned shortly, and Draco raised a questioning brow. While his patience remained intact, he was not overly fond of being kept waiting. Little did he know that his wait for the wretched journalist would be extended until she arrived.
With a smile plastered onto her face, the gracious executive dusted her skirt, came around and gestured for him to follow her, "Please come this way, Mr Malfoy." Sceptical at first, Draco followed the woman down a brightly lit, wide corridor. The many people who occupied the area drowned out the sound of her heels colliding with the clear tiles.
They passed many rooms crammed with small tables, memos wheezing about and people chattering in carrying loud voices. He was instantly reminded of a fish market in China. On his first visit to the marketplace, he had been horrified by the putrid smell and shouting and refused to accompany Master Chun on any further visits. Still, the older man insisted and over time, Draco became accustomed to the unfamiliar surroundings.
She stopped at a tall deep brown door with prominent brass handles and Rita Skeeter's name, carved into a gold-plated plaque. The tile was over the top and gaudy. It suited her superficial personality perfectly.
The woman grabbed hold of the handles, threw the doors open and stood aside while Draco followed her into the empty room and frowned in disappointment. Still, before he made his displeasure vocal, the executive offered a swift explanation, "Miss Skeeter will be with you momentarily. If you require any further assistance, Mr Malfoy, please let me know." She closed the doors behind her and hurriedly left without waiting for a reply.
Draco heaved a sigh and walked around the spacious but tastefully furnished room looking at odd trinkets, outdated and recent photographs of Rita on holiday and framed front pages of the Prophet that hung proudly on the wall. He gathered that they were among the articles Skeeter wrote and treasured. Most of the dreadful headlines he could vividly remember.
One, in particular, caught his attention. He stared at a younger version of himself looking grim walking out of the Ministry of Magic with his distraught mother after his father's publicised trial and well-deserved imprisonment.
He purposely looked away, and his wandering gaze fell upon a battered copy of a leather-bound book. The title caught his curiosity right off the bat, The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore.
It was a biography of his departed Headmaster that Rita Skeeter wrote. Draco gingerly picked it up and blew off the layer of dust that had accumulated on the cover. He flipped it open and began to read with keen interest.
By the time the door opened, and Rita Skeeter decided to grace him with her presence, he had finished chapter one and made a mental note to buy himself a copy of the riveting book.
Her shrill voice invaded his peace, "My, you are a sight for sore eyes."
She recalled an arrogant youth willing to dish out the dirt on Harry Potter whether it was outrageous lies or otherwise, but the man in her office was the total opposite, collected and strikingly handsome.
He had a head of platinum blonde hair where a few longish strands fell teasingly over his eyebrows and a face with sharp features you would not dare forget in a hurry. It was his magnetic eyes that pulled you into the netherworld. So clear and refined, it was easy to lose oneself in them.
Draco closed the book with a thud, returned it carefully to its original place and turned slowly to face the woman standing by the open door in a figure-hugging low-cut purple velvet dress, rhinestone-studded glasses, and an overall haggard appearance.
He let his eyes roam over her unflatteringly before retorting with dripping sarcasm, "I wish I could say the same. Time has not been kind to you, Skeeter." Though they had briefly met at Tracey's wedding, he had not paid her much attention until now.
Skeeter could not help but feel self-conscious, yet she attempted to smoothen the creases on her gown, kept her faltering composure and muttered, "Impudent pup." There had been a time when unemployment had been unkind to her and when she had been unable to keep up appearances.
Hermione took advantage and, besides keeping her captive inside a jar imbued with an unbreakable charm in her unregistered beetle Animagus form. She had further insisted she author an article for the Quibbler about Voldemort's return and the truth as deemed by Harry Potter. Since it was she who placed the groundwork for the Prophet's defamation of Potter, with her original stories about him, the prissy witch wanted her to be the one to set the dubious record straight.
She had long since registered herself. It had taken a bit of persuading and the exchange of Galleons to see it through, but thankfully it was too trivial a matter to require the Undersecretary's attention. Rita managed to slip under the radar as she usually did. It was her speciality.
Rita had not forgotten Hermione Granger's blackmailing tendencies. How the vicious tables have turned! She thought with delight and pondered if Malfoy knew her unfavourable history with his intended before rushing to defend his betrothed's character.
She ignored Draco's roving glances and went around her sizeable solid desk. Her eager eyes travelled over his impressive form and came to rest on the name tag pinned to his new Auror robes. She crossed her arms over her chest, making her ample bosom rise and quipped, "So, you're an Auror. Wouldn't your father be proud?"
Draco smirked at the remark, said deliberately to cause him discomfort, and dismissed it with little remorse, "My father is dead. His opinion of me hardly matters anymore."
She showed indifference and refrained from offering her condolences but muttered under her breath, "The standards for recruitment have fallen well below par if the Ministry would allow an ex Death Eater to join the DMLE."
Draco hadn't heard her of course but sized her up in a second and said firmly, "I presume you know why I'm here." He had no time to exchange pleasantries, and neither was he bothered to.
Skeeter pulled back her chair and sat down before answering. She kept her tone of voice casual, "I have a fairly good idea, but why don't you enlighten me unless it has something to do with the tell-all interview you promised me at the Weasley - Davis wedding."
Draco smiled in the most engaging way. He went around the big desk, caught hold of the arms on the chair that Skeeter sat on and dragged it roughly towards him. The chair protested and creaked at the sudden movement while Rita widened her eyes in possible fear and astonishment.
Leaning forward, he invaded her space. The wrinkles she had tried to cover up desperately were visible and similar to embedded tiny trails on either side of her eyes. Their faces were mere inches from touching. Skeeter gazed into clear swirls of pale grey with a bluish hue and swallowed hard.
Draco pointedly ignored her discomfort and almost whispered. His husky tone and warm breath caressed Skeeter's cheek as his words of warning made it to her sensitive ear, "I don't take kindly to threats against my fiancé." He scrutinised her movements as she closed her eyes and shuddered in apprehension.
Having achieved the desired effect, he pushed himself back and straightened to his full height and towered over her cowering figure, "I am here because of her and nothing else." Draco said with renewed vigour.
He cautioned with distinct animosity, "I am not a man who negotiates with extortionists. However, in this instance, I will do as you ask for Granger's sake, but do not delude yourself into thinking that your actions are without consequences."
Skeeter sat up straight and willed her rapidly beating heart to still. Despite her dishevelled state, she still managed a shaky yet snarky reply, "Indeed, she has you wrapped around her little finger." She studied his body language and continued surreptitiously, "You seem quite taken by the Golden girl."
A burst of mocking laughter left her lipstick-smeared mouth, "What a ridiculous title to bestow upon someone as narrow-minded as her." Rita had always considered Hermione Granger's image to be overrated and ludicrous. Lurking beneath the picture-perfect facade was an insecure woman struggling to find her rightful place, or so Skeeter thought.
Draco warned, "Watch your tone, Skeeter." He was not about to stand by idly and let the insufferable woman gossip about Granger in his presence.
He sat down on the black leather sofa, got somewhat comfortable and insisted with reasonable force, "Get on with it!"
Skeeter gave a curt nod and perked up, "Of course, let me fetch my Quick Quotes Quill." She pointed her wand to the far end of the room and muttered a spell, causing a notepad and an odd long feathered quill to shoot out of the cupboard and head in her direction at breakneck speed.
She turned the chair towards him, made a pathetic show of crossing her legs and drawled rather sensually, "Whenever you are ready, Mr Malfoy."
Draco rolled his eyes at the downright pathetic display and scowled, "Let's get this over with." He had little to no patience for the creature before him sitting far too comfortably for his liking.
His training in China did not prepare him to deal with a leech-like Skeeter, but he focused on inner peace and kept the troubled thoughts at bay.
Bask in your small victory while you can, he thought with a satisfied smirk.
The meeting was unprecedented, and while she had no doubt Granger would go to any lengths to protect her perfect image. Skeeter was unprepared for the questions she wished to ask the once bratty boy and blurted out the most obvious one to the best of her knowledge, "Why did you join He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?
Draco stiffened. Straight to the jugular. Skeeter evidently did not practise the fine art of subtly.
He became cagey and replied in the same manner, "My mother was in danger. Next question."
His short answer failed to impress her. It lacked the depth behind his life-altering decision, and that bit was what she was frantically after.
Abruptly, Rita held up her hand, and the Quick Quotes Quill came to a screeching halt.
She smiled sweetly in a mocking fashion, displaying crooked teeth and exclaimed, "Hold on, I'm going to need details. I'm milking this for all it's worth." If he thought he would get away with half-arsed answers, he had another thing coming.
Draco pursed his lips and leaned further back into the comfort of the sofa. It was going to be a long bloody day. He badly needed a cup of strong coffee to rejuvenate him but thought against it since Skeeter could not be trusted to douse it with Veritaserum.
She studied her long painted talons that passed off as fingernails and shrugged nonchalantly, "Either we do this right, or you go back to your fiancé and tell her you failed in your task, and I will publish a very profitable article in tomorrow's paper."
Pointing to the door, Skeeter cocked her head to the side, causing her perfectly set blonde curls to bounce. She fixed him with a steely glare, "Please do not waste my time, Malfoy."
Draco was not intimidated or shaken by her empty threats. His demeanour became hostile and cold. He scowled, not allowing her to utter another word, "You're on thin ice, Skeeter. Choose your next words carefully. I might have laid my past ways to rest, but I urge you not to provoke a slumbering dragon."
Skeeter curled her bottom lip with her teeth and grinned devilishly, "Somehow, that sounds most enticing." Her coy response caught her completely off guard. Merlin's beard! Was she trying to flirt with the imposing man young enough to be her son?
Her lascivious comment was not well received by Draco. He scrunched up his nose and spat in abhorrence, "If you force my hand, life will become most unpleasant for you."
Insulted by his reaction, Skeeter scoffed, "Hmm, you've inherited your father's arrogance as well as his good looks." Lucius was an attractive man, but he paled in comparison to his son, who had also inherited Narcissa's prominent Black family genes.
"Shall we continue?" She brushed aside the unpleasantness and said with renewed determination.
Draco could not help but roll his eyes, "If we must…." He braced himself for the worst-case scenario.
She shrugged and glanced at him with practised shrewdness, "It is solely up to you, darling. I always have something up my sleeve for my avid readers."
Draco threw the unscrupulous reporter a look of deep loathing and started to speak. He held nothing back since there was little point in withholding the truth anymore.
Perhaps this was the platform he needed to speak the truth about what he essentially faced and survived.
For the first time since his failed task atop the Astronomy Tower, he divulged the factual circumstances that led him down a path of horror, darkness, and self-loathing, "I was offered little choice in the matter. My father had failed to please Voldemort, my mother was being punished daily for his failures, and I was given an ultimatum. Adorn the mark, join the ranks and kill Dumbledore or a fate worse than death awaits your mother."
Thinking back to that fateful night made his heart clench. Lucius had walked into the room with his hair unkempt, looking disturbed and paler than usual with bloodshot eyes and blurted out unceremoniously that their master requested his immediate presence.
Draco distinctly remembered what he was doing and how he felt at that exact moment. He had been lying in bed in nothing but his nightclothes, staring at the ceiling, worrying about his mother and what fresh hell they would put her through that day. In his mind, he had already begun to formulate weak plans for her escape, but none seemed plausible.
They would not have gotten very far before Voldemort released his trusted hound, Fenrir Greyback, to hunt them down.
Certain death by Voldemort's hand seemed a better end than being ripped apart and mutilated by Greyback.
Draco had looked at his father imploringly, but no answers came. Lucius avoided him and stared at the wall in defeat. Then, when his maddened aunt, Bellatrix, came into his room unannounced, it caused him to jump to his feet while she shrieked in delight, "You are going to make our family proud." Her laughter had bounced off the walls, and that deafening sound would haunt and torment him in the years to come.
The initiation ceremony where he was branded with the Dark Mark and, therefore, regarded as a Death Eater took place at Borgin and Burkes, an antiquary known for dabbling in the Dark Arts located in Knockturn Alley.
His mother was beyond horrified, his father emotionless, but his aunt praised him for his courage and loyalty to the cause. As the days turned to weeks, he was used as a torturer of innocents and tormentor of those foolish enough to disappoint or disobey Voldemort.
Draco exhaled and let the memories of a bleaker time subside to whence it came.
He said with conviction, "There was no choice. To save her from a slow, humiliating, and painful demise, I became a Death Eater and spoke proudly of being chosen to complete a task even Voldemort himself could not, though I kept the true nature of my mission to myself." His potions Professor and House head knew, of course, but that wasn't his doing.
Rita cringed at the casual mention of the Dark Lord by his self-imposed name, but she did not dare interrupt the flow.
His thoughts drifted to his beloved mother. He couldn't disguise the emotion that laced each word, "My mother has always meant a great deal to me. Lucius and I had our differences, but I was a boy eager to please his father and gain his approval." It seemed highly pointless now.
Skeeter grew exceedingly thoughtful, "Interesting...." He was opening up to her, and she loved and embraced every second of his vulnerable past self.
She was curious to know how he handled such a grave situation and inquired bluntly, "How did you manage with the situation?" It couldn't have been a walk in the park, she imagined.
Draco smiled slightly and said together with bitter disappointment, "I was a sixteen-year-old boy, and while my friends were talking about girls, sex, and parties, I was scheming to kill our Headmaster and trying to fix old cabinets. It was possibly the bleakest period of my existence."
Rita nodded in grim understanding and quizzed, "If you could go back in time, would you have done things differently?"
Draco grew thoughtful. He had often wondered the same thing. After a moment's hesitation, he answered, "Yes, without a doubt. I would have sought help from Dumbledore." He should have, but at the time, he was paralysed with the fear of disobeying a merciless fiend who would have slaughtered them without remorse.
His answer took her by surprise. She had expected him to stick with his original plan and not further endanger Narcissa.
She momentarily lost her current train of thought and asked a poorly thought-out question, "Oh, umm, did you kill Dumbledore?"
The question was preposterous, and Draco frowned, "The wizarding world already knows the answer to that query thanks to Potter coming forth with the intricate details after the war."
He sneered most unpleasantly, "But, I'll humour you. No, I did not kill Albus Dumbledore. Severus Snape did the deed sparing me from committing a heinous crime at such an early age. However, I doubt I would have gone through with it even if Snape didn't happen upon us."
The scrawling sound of the quill taking notes was beginning to irritate him enormously, and Draco shot it a look of pure disdain. Still, Skeeter kept up her interrogation, "Were you aware that Severus Snape was a spy for The Order? That his meeting with Dumbledore on top of the astronomy tower was preplanned?"
She leaned forward in eagerness displaying her cleavage to hear his answer, but needn't have bothered since, Draco averted his gaze and replied with a hint of happiness, "I was not aware at the time, but it brings some relief to hear that Snape was a good man."
He had heard bits and pieces of Snape's undying love for Potter's mother but was blissfully ignorant of the full extent of the whirlwind story. Lily Evans had been a Muggle-born witch who Snape loved fiercely till his death. His feelings towards her fueled his actions and caused him to betray Voldemort.
Love. What a peculiar and powerful feeling. Its limitations were endless. Draco doubted whether he would ever experience such an undying emotion.
Skeeter thought back and exclaimed, "A true unsung hero was Potter's words used to describe Snape at the last anniversary ball held in celebration of He-who-must-not-be-name's demise." Each year, a grand ball was held to celebrate the defeat of possibly the most dangerous wizard of all time.
"And rightly so. Snape played his part well. He had us all convinced," Draco replied with a slight smile.
Rita cleared her throat and delved, "You lost a friend during the battle. Vincent Crabbe. Was it a shocking blow to lose someone close?"
Draco had not spared a thought for Crabbe or Goyle in years. During the latter parts of Hogwarts, he had grown close to Theo and Blaise and preferred their friendship and intellectual banter over the more dimwitted pair.
Memories of that fateful night were dragged forth from where he had buried them. His palms beaded sweat, but he willed himself to remain at peace and sighed, "It pales in comparison to the significant number of loved ones that lost their lives that day, and it did sadden me at the time because he was a good friend, but I have since dealt with it. His death, like so many, was unnecessary."
He felt compelled to offer some profound insight into the weeks of Hogwarts before the battle, "Crabbe lost his way towards the end. He was truly a shadow of his former self. He became a monster who took pleasure in the torturing of innocents. His actions were fuelled and encouraged by the teachings of the Carrows, who briefly taught Defense Against the Dark Arts, except it was known as Dark Arts while they held the post. Not surprisingly, their teaching career came to a savage end."
Skeeter listened intently, greedily drinking in every golden word. She could barely contain her excitement. This particular issue of the magazine would indeed surpass sales of all previous ones.
She pushed her spectacles back up her nose and eagerly raised the subject she believed to be most important, "You were presumed dead. Where have you been hiding?" It would be interesting to know where he had disappeared.
Draco hesitated. He reminded himself that he was doing this for Granger. She deserved every sacrifice on his part. With a certain degree of reluctance, he answered grudgingly, "I have been learning and training at The Shaolin Temple in China."
That much was true. He had poured hours over ancient texts. His fondness for reading and learning new things never wavered. It had blossomed, but his love of books was essentially a credit to his father.
Rita grew thoughtful once again for a fleeting second. It was most intriguing. She would have never guessed he sought refuge in such a secluded yet tranquil place.
It was no surprise his whereabouts remained a complete mystery. Draco coughed purposely to clear his throat, which caused Skeeter to snap out of her daze and say in an almost impressed manner, "Fascinating!"
Her brows furrowed together in avid inquisitiveness before she gathered the courage to ask, "But are they not Buddhist monks? Were you one?" Rita took in Draco's look of wonder with a smug expression of her own. She prided herself on knowing what lay beyond their Magical world and made it a point to travel to exotic destinations when time permitted.
Draco was quite taken aback by her knowledge. It was highly intriguing. Not in his wildest dreams did he expect a woman like Rita Skeeter to know things about the Muggle world, let alone The Shaolin Temple.
He regarded her curiously and educated, "Most are Monks and among the most highly skilled martial artists in the world. Even though I followed the path to enlightenment, I was not a monk. My journey to fulfilment is yet incomplete."
She leaned forward, resting her chin on the palm of her hand and questioned his choice, "Why did you seek refuge among Muggles?" It baffled her why he would travel halfway around the world for answers when he could have found them right at home.
Draco let out an exasperated sigh, "I needed to free myself from my dark past and be well away from those who knew me and what I had done." He included in a pained tone, "Had I remained, I would have been judged and suspected every waking day."
Rita supposed he was right. Years had passed, but most had not forgotten or were yet to forgive his involvement. They blamed the breach of Hogwarts by Death Eaters solely on him, and rightly so. He had supplied the means for them to enter the sacred school undetected.
Draco said in determination with a level of anguish in his tone, "I was desperate to put aside my misguided ideologies, my upbringing by a bigoted fool and emerge reborn from the ashes, so to speak."
Skeeter nodded in understanding. She was beginning to see him in a different light. It appeared he made the right decision to flee.
She wondered how he faired in a distant, unfamiliar land and searched his face for answers that did not come. Tired of trying to figure out the man who seemed wise beyond his years, she instead asked directly, "And has your journey been helpful?"
For a brief but fond moment, he remembered the Abbott and his calming presence, his trainer and Master, Chun, who had his utmost devotion and, of course, Suri Jun, how could he ever forget the stunning beauty?
A grateful smile curved his lips, "Yes, it has been greatly beneficial. I heeded the lessons of a few great men, and I see things for what they truly are now." He kept his most profound new skill of wandless magic a secret.
Skeeter tapped her chin as she processed his answer. Narcissa unexpectedly popped into her mind, and she was interested in how the fierce mother handled his choice. She fired the following question and waited anxiously for the emotional turmoil he would unleash, "You left your mother behind. Surely that must have been a difficult decision to undertake?"
Draco's striking features twisted unpleasantly, "It was complicated. Leaving her behind to serve out her sentence alone was gut-wrenching, but she understood why I had to leave."
His face fell in despair, "Staying in London in my current state would have hurt more than help her, and it would have led to severe depression among other unpleasantness."
He would have ended his miserable existence to escape the nightmares that visited him daily.
Rita was not wholly convinced that he had made the right decision to abandon his mother, but she did not push him any further on the subject. Instead, she offered a deceptive but passable, "I understand."
Deciding that she had gathered enough insight into his past reasons and spent time as the notorious youngest Death Eater, she decided to inquire more about his life and opinions of late.
She shifted her bottom to get more comfortable and sat up straight, "So, are you a trained fighter?" It was a question she had seldom asked in her many years of journalism. You hardly if ever came across wizards or witches who practised any form of Muggle martial arts. It seemed fitting that Malfoy be the first.
Draco chuckled, "No, I am not." He brought his hands up and moved them almost fluidly, using his fingers to cut through the air with precision and grace that captivated Rita, "Kung fu is a way of life. The discipline, meditation and diligence help me daily to become a better man."
Skeeter came back to her senses and asked casually, "Do you still train?"
"I do," Draco replied instantly without skipping a beat.
A devious smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. She inquired with immense pleasure, "You broke Terry Boot's nose in a pub brawl." So much for control and whatnot.
The details of why the fight broke out at The Leaky Cauldron were sketchy, but she suspected it was because of a woman.
Draco let out a low laugh but grew severe enough to respond appropriately, "I did, unfortunately, and I greatly regret my actions." No, he did not, not for a second. Boot deserved to be taught a valuable lesson, but it would not help his cause for others to know.
He offered what seemed like a plausible explanation, "Mr Boot goaded me, and I fell prey to my emotions. It was a costly mistake that I will not be repeating." That much was true.
Skeeter winked and raised a perfectly shaped brow in question, "Goaded you over Hermione?" There was nothing like a tumultuous love triangle to captivate her readers. People just loved drama.
Draco tugged at his collar and lied convincingly enough, "No. It was merely a disagreement between two men over a personal matter." Granger being that intimately personal reason.
Rita was hardly convinced, and she urged him to divulge more salacious details, "Care to elaborate?"
Draco grew impatient and shrugged, "There is nothing on which to elaborate. The reason as to why the fight started evades me. There had been a fair amount of alcohol consumed, and tempers were running high." He hoped Skeeter would let bygones be bygones and not poke the hornet's nest. The last thing he wanted was Granger to be implicated as the cause.
Knowing that she would not get any more specifics out of the reluctant and frustrated man, Rita directed her line of questioning towards his sound structure. There was not an ounce of fat on his toned, fit physique, and she was curious to find out how he maintained such a pristine condition, "Do you follow a fitness routine?"
He was not particularly keen on the question. Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat and scowled. "How is that relevant to this interview? But, yes, I do follow a strict workout regimen that I normally swear by."
She drawled shamelessly while letting her eyes move over the lines on his neck and prominent Adam's apple, "It shows."
Regardless of Skeeter's poor attempt at keeping her brazen comment barely legible, Draco heard her loud and clear and hissed in annoyance, "I beg your pardon?"
Rita blushed, but it was well hidden by the layers of concealer. She smiled angelically and said hastily, "Moving on…." Her stomach rumbled in hunger. It was understandable, considering she had skipped breakfast, and it was half past two in the afternoon.
A proper lunch would have to wait, but she could, however, partake in something simple. She waved her wand over the table in a lucid movement. A beautiful China-patterned teapot, cups and saucers appeared out of thin air along with pieces of chocolate and fruit cake.
The pungent smell of freshly brewed tea filled the air, and it smelt heavenly. Draco inhaled deeply and felt a slight pang of hunger.
Rita poured herself a cup and explained, "Forgive me, but I am feeling rather peckish." She set aside her full cup and gracefully pulled an empty cup towards her, and glanced at the man sitting on the far corner of the sofa.
While holding the steaming pot over the cup, she politely suggested before pouring the contents in, "Have a cup! It's quite good."
Draco was sorely tempted but shook his head and declined. Skeeter stifled a laugh and read his thoughts, "It's only tea, I swear. I have not added….anything extra." She mused with a mischievous grin.
She took a sip of tea and sighed in exhilaration. It warmed her within. Next, she reached for a piece of cake and devoured half in one bite before asking, "Has your return been well received?"
Draco peered at the chocolate cake. His sweet tooth flared and almost caused his resolve to crumble, but he answered truthfully, "Mixed reactions, to be honest. My old friends and mother are quite pleased, but others are hostile and adamant I pay for my crimes."
Skeeter popped the last bit of cake into her mouth and closed her eyes dreamily as the thick frosting collided with her tongue.
"Mmm, are you sure you don't want a piece, Draco? It's divine." While taking her time to savour the treat, she urged as Draco eyed her cynically and wished the interview would end. He had far better things to do and judging by the antique clock in the room, hours had already passed.
Skeeter sensed her guest's impatience. She snapped her fingers, and the quick quotes quill came obediently to her side. She was curious about his thoughts on the Gryffindor bunch. He did not have a kind thing to say about the group in his youth, but now, she was almost certain his opinion had changed.
She asked straightforwardly, "What are your current thoughts on the Golden Trio? As an Auror, you will report directly to Harry Potter. Will it prove difficult to answer to a childhood rival?"
Draco had truly not given the fact that Potter was his boss any serious thought. It honestly did not bother him, and he bluntly shared his point of view, "Potter has always shown constant vigilance. He is capable and suited for the position entrusted to him. Despite our past rivalry on the Quidditch pitch and off, I have no reservations about reporting to him."
Skeeter blinked rapidly and tried hard to make sense of Malfoy's drastic change. It was unfathomable.
"I prefer not to comment on Weasley. The bumbling Buffoon does not interest me in the slightest," he scoffed. He sounded much like his former arrogant self when talking about Ronald Weasley and Skeeter poorly disguised a hearty laugh.
Rita regarded him with an amused expression, "I see, and his past relationship with Hermione has nothing to do with it, I suppose?"
The unfavourable events from earlier that day were still fresh in his mind. He was still stewing in his frustrations even though he was convinced Granger had come to the correct conclusion.
Weasley's spiteful words played back, "In what world did you think she would pick you over me?"
Draco coughed to hide his discomfort and said with enough confidence and conviction, "Not at all. They have a history and remain good friends. Ours is not a romantic coupling; hence their relationship does not bother me."
Liar!
Granger had picked Weasley over him, and he could hardly lie to himself. Her actions wounded him, but who would she choose in the future? That remained to be seen.
"I am quite interested to know your thoughts on Hermione Granger." Skeeter requested and proceeded to listen intently. This ought to be good, she thought impishly.
Draco could not help the smile that crept onto his face. He glanced away in serious thought as if considering his answer, "Ah, my thoughts on Hermione Granger. That is the million Galleon question, isn't it?"
Skeeter offered candidly, "You could say…."
His hardened eyes found Rita's. He stared right into them enough to make her twitch and refused to break eye contact, "If I could sum Granger up using one word, that word would be.... unforgettable."
"Unforgettable?" Skeeter scoffed. Bollocks. That plain Jane was anything but memorable.
Draco argued decisively, "She is an extraordinary woman, don't you agree?"
Skeeter made her displeasure quite clear and refuted, "Unfortunately, I don't, but my opinion on the Undersecretary is not what's important at the moment."
"You could learn a thing or two from her, Skeeter." Draco smiled and said wisely with a hint of pride.
Rita was eager to stir the conversation well away from the current direction it was heading.
With a bit too much force, she demanded, "Are you happy about your match with Miss Hermione Granger?"
Draco gathered by her flustered body language that he had succeeded in goading her.
The former Slytherin simply leaned back and answered as if it was the most obvious thing, "What's there not to be happy about? She's intelligent, charming, and fierce." Her physical attributes also contributed to her allure.
Rita grimaced and fought hard to swallow the bile that rose in her throat.
Thinking that he might be sounding like a simpering fool, Draco supplied in a serious undertone, "However, when I first learnt of the law and our pairing, I was more concerned for her than myself."
That piqued Skeeter's interest, and she gazed upon him in confusion, "I don't follow. Would you care to elaborate?"
Draco summarised, leaving nothing open to interpretation, "I think it's fairly easy to guess that I was a horrid git to her back at Hogwarts. To say we have an unpleasant past is putting it mildly. She has every right to loath me."
Skeeter battled internally not to roll her eyes. Instead, she waved her hand dismissively and countered, "I'm sure she is warming up to you. You are handsome, wealthy, and somewhat intelligent. Regardless of your behaviour as a child, she must realise how lucky she is."
Any witch would give her weight in gold to be in Hermione's prominent position. That was popular opinion, but was it the truth?
Draco chuckled, "On the contrary, I consider myself the lucky one to call her my fiancé."
Rita gasped at his honest declaration and probed, "You speak highly of her. Have you developed feelings for little miss perfect?"
He proclaimed frankly, "It would be hard not to, but at present, our relationship remains on the borders of a forced courtship."
"Pity," Skeeter said with a nonchalant shrug.
Skeeter took off her glasses, looked directly at him with a sparkle in her eyes and smiled in a prudish fashion, "What is your current relationship status with Astoria Greengrass?"
Draco froze and pursed his lips but held his tongue. This was an unforeseen circumstance.
He had not counted on Rita bringing up his ex-girlfriend.
Fuck.
How did she even know about his turbulent past with Astoria?
Swallowing the slew of curses that threatened to spew out, he said in contempt, "You've done your homework."
Rita giggled, "Of course, Draco. Did you expect any less?"
Draco answered to the point, leaving nought to speculation, "Astoria is one of my oldest and dearest friends. She will always have a special place in my heart."
The shrewd reporter watched him intently, relishing in his uncomfortable body language and aversion to the question.
She thought hard and asked inquisitively, "What is your single biggest regret?"
Draco's eyes clouded over, and he gave his answer some thought before responding, "I stood by and watched an innocent girl being tortured by Bellatrix on the floor of Malfoy Manor."
He swallowed hard as Granger's screams from that night came back to haunt him with a vengeance. Unmoving, he kept it together and admitted his weakness, "I could have stopped or done something to thwart her, but my cowardice won the night, and that girl suffered terribly at the hands of a deranged lunatic."
Rita was more than interested to know who the girl was. She appealed and wondered if said girl would consent to be interviewed, "Is this girl alive?" It would be the perfect follow-up story.
A faint smile appeared on his face, and Draco responded gravely, "Yes, she's alive and quite well. I'm supposed to marry her in a matter of weeks."
Skeeter flinched. Her eye twisted nervously, and her fingers dug painfully into the material of her seat. It was impossible.
She widened her eyes in surprise, "You mean to say that girl was Hermione?" How was it possible that she did not know this?
Draco gritted out, "Yes. Do you now understand why this union would disgust Granger? Why she would consider herself anything other than lucky?" His attitude mirrored the repulsion he held for his interviewer.
"I didn't know…." Rita countered with a smidge of remorse.
Draco spat in contempt, "Then do not fucking assume to know. Hermione Granger deserves far better than the likes of me."
Another bout of awkward silence engulfed them.
Skeeter moved the chair back and seemed uneasy, but it was only a momentary lapse of judgement. She gathered her professionalism and gushed, "Last question, Mr Malfoy."
Draco gestured with his hand for her to go ahead, "Go on." Finally!
She pried without a shred of decency, "Have the two of you been intimate?" She had linked Hermione with men in the past, such as Viktor Krum and Harry Potter, but this was shaping up to be her favourite one.
Draco stiffened. Granger's strangled moans as she shuddered while her pussy lips closed tightly around his digits came to mind.
The earth-shattering orgasm he had evoked still lingered in his mind. It would be an occurrence he planned to repeat, except, instead of his fingers, it would be his cock that drowned in her slick wetness.
Skeeter grinned with a knowing smirk and teased brazenly, "Mr Malfoy? You have gone rather red in the face. Would you like a glass of water?"
Draco pressed his lips down hard while he gathered his wits and brushed aside the vivid image of Granger's flushed face. He stated with a firmness that wasn't to be trifled with, "If we have, you can hardly expect me to own up to it. I am a gentleman and will not do my fiancé the dishonour of entertaining such requests."
Narrowing his eyes, he dropped his voice to a dangerous low and hissed, "Besides, that is none of your fucking business now, is it?" That wiped the smug look right off Skeeter's stupid face.
He had kept his end of the bargain, and now, it was time for her to keep her word if that was possible.
Draco moved to the edge of the seat, brought his hands together and pointed out, "I have answered your meaningless questions and given you enough material to run a lewd article of your liking."
"You have, and I am most grateful," Rita said genuinely.
She moved her chair closer and patted his thigh, "Now what can I do for you? Name your price, darling."
Draco pushed her hand off his person, rose and crossed the room to where Rita kept a bottle of Firewhiskey. He poured himself a drink and ignored the older witch, shooting him anxious glances and taking a gratifying sip.
The amber liquid burnt his throat, yet he relished the richness, pointed his glass directly at the astonished woman and gave fair warning, "Leave Hermione out of your little gossip column."
Skeeter sighed, "Hmm, you truly care about her, don't you?"
Draco took his time to finish the drink and pondered his answer. He could feel Rita's restlessness come off her in waves, but he let her stew for a bit more before confiding, "I care for her wellbeing. She is my responsibility."
She scoffed, "You mustn't feel obligated, Draco."
He demanded forebodingly, "I'm warning you, Skeeter. Pull another stunt like this, and you will pay it back in spades."
Draco drained his drink and announced sharply, "Now, if you're quite done, I'll be on my way."
Skeeter shot to her feet and grabbed hold of Draco's arm to stop him from leaving, and announced abruptly, "We need some pictures." His eyes moved down to where her fingers dug into his sleeve, he raised a questioning brow, and she let go promptly.
Draco queried impatiently, "Is that necessary?" He had not agreed to such a tedious thing and was doubtful about entertaining her request.
Skeeter smiled most provocatively, "Of course it is. Witch Weekly Magazine isn't like the Prophet, it has a wider following, and my readers rely heavily on pictures to help their wild imagination."
That bit of information was new and, frankly, unwelcome. His features contorted unpleasantly, "Witch Weekly Magazine? I was under the impression that this was an article for the Daily Prophet."
Skeeter threw her head back in laughter, "Oh darling, you've been away too long." She whispered huskily, "Come tomorrow, you will have every witch and her mother lusting after you."
"That is not my reason for doing this, Skeeter," Draco argued deliberately with purpose and intent.
She waved her hand dismissively, "Minor details." Opening the door, she poked her head outside and yelled, "Gloria, bring the camera!"
Salazar! Give him the strength to endure.
A witch with a nose ring who was clearly in her early twenties hurried into the office wearing a baggy weird sisters t-shirt and jeans, carrying a lumpy camera under her arm as she closed the door behind her.
Rita ran her eyes critically over Gloria's tomboyish outfit and rolled her eyes before speaking to the woman in hushed tones.
Gloria nosily glanced over her shoulder at Draco while he stood on the other side of the room, glaring at them.
He went to take off his heavy Auror robes. Underneath was his all-black ensemble consisting of a sharp, long-sleeved black shirt and tailored trousers that fit him snugly around his tight waist.
Skeeter protested loudly, "No, keep it on. It adds extra spice to the redemption arc."
She teased with an air of superiority, "Every girl adores a bad boy, Malfoy. Even the elusive Miss high and mighty Granger."
Draco stopped mid-task and threw her a look of deep loathing, but unscathed, Rita's beady eyes wandered over him openly, and she whispered, "Would you mind posing shirtless?"
He refused outright and cried in outrage, "Yes! Of course, I mind. It's absolutely rubbish." Was she bloody mental to suggest such a thing?
Rita sulked, "Just one picture won't hurt you."
Draco could not believe his ears. He stood his ground and snapped, "You're trying my patience."
He was on the verge of storming out but reluctantly gave in to hopefully the last request of a vicious reporter, "Get on with it, Skeeter. I haven't got all day." The day was already at an end, and Granger's saddened face propelled him to tolerate these ridiculous demands.
Gloria waved her wand, and out of it burst a magical setting that covered nearly half of Skeeter's office, but the women were unfazed since it was an almost daily occurrence.
Draco was impressed by the complex enchantment. She had conjured what looked remarkably like a plush black armchair that sat on a dark green carpet in a regal setting, complete with an elaborate mantelpiece and roaring fireplace in the background.
Gloria approached the tall man cautiously and invited, "Please follow me."
She led him over to the fireplace, waved her arms about and instructed firmly. The woman clearly knew what she was doing, "Rest your elbow on the mantelpiece and look directly at the camera. Do not smile. Appear intriguing and mysterious." She arranged his hair with trembling fingers without his consent. Hence, it seemed unkempt, and a few rogue strands fell carelessly yet enduringly onto his forehead.
This was a bit much, but Draco did as he was directed. Gloria took several shots, and though the blinding light of the flash hurt his eyes, he did not dare blink. A few minutes passed, and once she was satisfied by the pictures she took, Gloria flashed a smile, extracted a few with her wand and came closer to show him the result.
He showed indifference but was quite glad about the outcome. Skeeter hurriedly looked at the photographs and gave her approval before continuing to the next situation.
Gloria led him over to a simple but regal-looking chair, and before she could get a word in edgewise, Skeeter spoke in a carrying voice, "You can lose the robe now and undo the top buttons of your shirt. You don't have to show the goods."
The young, carefree woman shot Skeeter a wide-eyed look of disbelief, but the seasoned reporters withering glare had the young witch rethinking her actions.
Draco pursed his lips but said nothing. He undid the stubborn row of buttons taking his time and slipped out of the heavy robe outlined with dragon skin. Folding it neatly, he kept it carefully on the stool nearby and awaited further instructions.
The women stared at his six-foot-two-inch sturdy frame without shame.
This interview was turning out to be far worse than he initially thought. Draco felt exposed in more ways than one.
The photographer's grip on the camera tightened, and Skeeter discreetly excused herself to visit the washroom. She needed to splash some chilly water on her face and regain her flattering composure.
Merlin, he was sculpted, and some somewhat pornographic thoughts were invading her mind.
Draco raised a brow at the hurriedly retreating figure of the annoying journalist who simply refused to look his way, but he appeared disinterested and looked to Gloria for guidance.
He took the seat as told by the flustered woman and sat up straight. The aristocratic nature of his upbringing did not allow him to slouch. He ran his long fingers through his fair in an attempt to appear presentable.
"Cross your legs, sit at an angle and keep your hands folded on your lap." Gloria directed. Her eyes kept darting to the door in the hope Rita would return soon.
It was a cliche setting and pose, and one Draco had seen his father do countless times in similar settings for family portraits. His sizable signet ring with the bold family crest glistened on his index finger.
Gloria set to work, shouting instructions while clicking several rolls of film.
Like before, once she was satisfied by the photographs, she showed him a few and pointed to a dark setting with no visible furniture except a bright red chair in the centre, "Mr Malfoy, can I have you over here, please." He was suspicious and outwardly reluctant at first. Still, by the time Skeeter returned, Gloria had shown him references of Muggle celebrities in similar situations and positions as she intended for him, and those put his mind at ease.
He thought increasingly of Granger, which gave him the strength to push through and stomach Rita Skeeter's outlandish requests. It would be the last time he would play by her rules.
Conceding defeat, Draco complied. He was asked to lean back casually, spread his legs wide and look away as if in deep thought but by preserving a certain level of arrogance.
She took several low-angle pictures of him looking dangerously good-looking and settled on a full black-and-white background with only the red chair to add any colour.
Gloria beamed. This pose was by far her favourite, and despite his initial reluctance, Draco had to agree with the aspiring photographer. He did look quite appealing.
Skeeter grinned, causing her eyes to sparkle behind her bejewelled glasses. The shots were spectacular. Malfoy was a natural.
Draco glanced out of the window and caught sight of the orangish hue that fell over the buildings and street.
Where had the time gone? It was an absolute waste of precious time, and he had missed a full day of Auror training.
He hoped Audrey would not penalise him too harshly. At least Potter would defend his actions and offer any further explanation if needed on his behalf.
Draco sighed as he gathered his robes off the stool and set to the gruelling task of pulling it back on.
Skeeter held out her hand, "Thank you for your time and agreeing to this, Draco." She had given them little choice but to adhere to a request.
Draco ignored the poor attempt at a handshake and hissed, "Remember my words, Skeeter. Do not push your luck."
He walked past her and out of the room while she stood rooted to the spot and unable to produce a retort.
Unlike Hermione's empty and somewhat childish threats of late, she supposed it was mainly due to her position. As the Undersecretary, she couldn't take matters into her own hands and behave recklessly. Malfoy's words, however, struck fear in her heart.
She was undoubtedly sure he was a man of his word and would follow through on his warning.
The man entered as he usually did with a cheery, "Good evening, Sarah."
She ignored his presence and stared at the wall. When she heard the movement of his feet get closer, she screamed, "Don't you dare use my name. You have no right."
Her attitude shocked him and caused him to come to an abrupt halt. She appeared so docile of late. He was convinced she was warming up to him, maybe even falling in love as he had.
What brought on his sudden change of heart?
He cooed in concern, "What's the matter, darling?"
She shot up, pulled at her restraints, not caring whether the metal would cut into her skin and screamed, sending flecks of spit spiralling through the air, "Kill me, you bastard. I am tired of this fucking game. I welcome death."
He gazed at her through a loving haze of his own creation and rasped, "Shh, I know what will make you feel better." It had been days since they last made love, and he was convinced it was the cause of her outburst.
Pushing down his trousers, he stepped out of them and stroked his growing erection. He strode towards her with his socks still on, and she grew horrified and pleaded helplessly, "No, please! Stop!"
Her feeble pleas fell on deaf ears of a man consumed by lust. Grabbing her by her bruised ankles, he pulled her towards him and pushed her legs apart with some force.
Sarah fought him with what little strength she could muster, but it was pointless. He lined his penis up with her vagina and entered her in one swift movement.
A strangled sob tore from her lips, and she went numb.
He buried himself to the hilt and groaned in intense pleasure, "I love you so much, darling."
She fought the urge to claw at his back with the uneven nails she constantly chewed on.
Reaching between her legs, he rubbed her tender clitoris while pounding into her feverishly.
He confessed in a muffled voice punctured by the sound of flesh hitting flesh, "You belong to me. It's time you met my mother and gave me a child." He was past caring about being careful. Unlike the others, he preferred to violate her without protection.
His words caused her breathing to still. A Child? Merlin, no!
If he impregnated her, she would belong to him whole. The thought of starting a family with her applied to him.
Once she was pregnant, maybe he could risk getting a Marriage licence, but they were already spouses in his eyes. The license was a mere formality.
She kicked him in the gut and twisted to escape his grasp. The enraged man brought his hand around and slapped her hard across the face causing the inside of her cheek to split and blood to gush out.
Sarah whimpered and spat up blood, but he ignored her discomfort, pushed her legs apart further and continued to fuck her, grunting and heaving as his release closed in around him.
A silent cry left her that his pleasured moans drowned out.
What wickedness had she ever done to deserve this?
His orgasm was swift. He pulled out in time and coated her abdomen with thick spurts of semen.
Sarah lay perfectly still. Her vacant expression held no emotion. Her spirit withered away into nothingness until only silence surrounded her. She looked away as he pushed himself off her with a satisfying final groan.
Her legs were bent awkwardly; her arms twisted uncomfortably above her head while his release clung stubbornly to her skin.
The man disregarded her. His hair was matted to his head and covered his disfigurement perfectly. A thin line of sweat dripped down his back and thighs. He urgently needed to cleanse himself, but she was so sweet and desirable.
Her naked form prompted his flaccid cock to show signs of life, but he diligently fought the urge and pulled up his beige trousers, securing them as he strolled towards the door.
This was not the right time to impregnate her. He wanted his mother's approval, her blessing. Once he had that, there would be no stopping him from claiming her as his own.
He glanced over his shoulder at the lifeless woman and said with a satisfied smirk, "I'll be back with dinner, darling. Won't that be fun?"
Sarah did not respond. She barely heard a thing he said. Thankfully, he did not pursue an answer, and she continued to stare at the Gryffindor scarf on top of the table.
The intricately embroidered scarlet and golden lion was visible even in the dim light. She wondered how the rough material would feel around her neck.
Her fingers itched towards it, but it was out of reach. Pity, she would not have hesitated to take her own life.
Hermione returned early after hordes of letters kept disturbing the peace. She simply could not handle the bombardment of hate mail.
Brenda had marched into the room and commanded Hermione to take the rest of the day off. She had assured her that she would look after things in her absence and contact her if necessary.
She found her assistant's bossy nature amusing, but she welcomed the intervention wholeheartedly on days such as this.
Once she was inside the comfort of her flat, Hermione shut herself off from the outside world using a few crafty spells but made a mental note to ring Ginny. Her best friend had called her no less than twenty times and left numerous messages, even resorting to owl when she did not reply.
Hermione wondered if Ginny knew about the events that transpired between Ron and her.
She wildly shook her head, making her unruly curls fall haphazardly over her face and decided on resorting to happier thoughts and treating herself to a warm uninterrupted bath—she had numerous glasses of red wine before changing into an oversized t-shirt and cotton shorts.
The distressing events of the day repeatedly washed over her, but she refused to let them consume her any longer.
Hermione plopped down on the sofa, nursed a tub of chocolate chip ice cream, and ate a generous helping of the delicious treat. Chocolate could mend a broken heart and offer temporary release. It was exactly the quick fix she craved.
She had thought of no one else but Malfoy since he stormed out of her office.
Did he despise her? Probably.
What was his plan for Skeeter? She hadn't the faintest clue.
Unanswered questions ate at her, but she was too much of a coward at that moment to call him and ask what happened after her blatant refusal of him.
Onlookers would undoubtedly fault her for picking Ron and dismissing Malfoy so quickly.
Most would even call her weak for putting up with her ex-boyfriend's childish and dominating behaviour. Still, no one understood him as she did. She was not weak, she was tolerant, and that wasn't the best of habits.
Ron's bark was worse than his bite, and he had been there for her countless times. How could she, with good conscience, pick Malfoy over her past love? No matter what, she trusted Ron with her life, which would not change in a hurry.
She knew her somewhat misleading behaviour gave Ron the hope of one day reconciling, but that simply wouldn't come to pass. They were long since over in the humblest of ways, and he was a married man, a fact he clearly did not take seriously enough.
The thought of marriage made her think of Draco once again. She was faced with the conundrum of having to figure him out.
For all Hermione knew, Malfoy could have by now abandoned all thoughts of confronting Rita Skeeter after her poor treatment of him and headed straight home to weather the onslaught of the article, leaving her to fend for herself.
She was quite capable of handling Skeeter but grew angry at the prospect and unjustly accused him of being a ruthless arsehole.
Her fingers moved over the barely visible scar she was maimed with. It was hardly noticeable and had become one with her skin with time. However, it prickled when least expected, and the unimaginable pain she endured as the tip of the dagger carved her flesh was still crisp as if it were yesterday.
Could she genuinely forget everything and let Malfoy claim her savagely?
She wanted him to bed her and make her scream his name in intense pleasure, but would she arise from their union unscathed?
The scar began to burn incessantly, causing Hermione to stare at the unforgivable word used to label her as a magical outcast.
Though it was healed, the words glowed when darkness came. It prompted the maddened witch that lived in her mind to come forth and torment her, reminding her of the sinful deeds she would commit with her nephew.
Pride. Her pride and self-doubt stood in the way of opening up to him.
Greed. For his lingering caresses and feverish kisses.
Lust. To have him stake claim over her body.
Envy. Of others who would take his fancy.
Gluttony. To gorge on him until overwhelmed.
Wrath. Anger towards anyone who would dare question them.
Sloth. To lazily stay naked and entwined in bed.
Hermione ignored the burning sensation. She was far too accustomed to it to care. She licked the spoon clean and blamed her current state of mind and disturbing thoughts on The Algorithm and the Ministry she swore to serve while she held office.
Chapter 47
Notes:
A huge thank you to everyone who posted a review and for everyone following! It means so much! 😍
Loads of love to my amazing beta Carrie 😍
There is a fair bit going on. I hope everyone likes the long chapter :)
Enjoy Chapter Forty-Seven!
Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! 🥰
Chapter Text
It was quarter to midnight when Skeeter stepped into the glass-encased lift that would take her to the penthouse flat in one of the more prominent parts of Muggle London.
The new Editor in Chief of The Daily Prophet liked to splurge and chose to live an extravagant lifestyle, and that suited her fine as long as he was willing to share the spoils of war.
She had a thick glossy magazine trapped under her arm and tapped her heeled foot impatiently as the lift headed towards the desired floor.
The Chief Editor, Simon McGregor, was of Irish descent and cut from a different cloth than his predecessor, Barnabas Cuffe.
Cuffe was notoriously known for lacking journalistic integrity, but he was somewhat respected for running a tight ship though he favoured sales more than factual accuracy.
On the other hand, Simon valued a good story with accurate information. To accomplish such a tumultuous task, he had many Ministry workers and St Mungos Healers on his payroll willing to let a few bits of information slip when needed. Still, he was scandalously known for allowing Rita Skeeter to bend his ear in whichever way she pleased to get her way. It was speculated that exchanging sexual favours kept both parties satisfied.
He was a childless widower with a neatly cropped head of greying hair that he diligently dyed every week with a well-maintained beard and moustache that sat above fleshy lips.
Simon was of a generous build and taller than most men. He had been a handsome man in his youth. Still, the blatant favouritism he treated Rita Skeeter with had everyone suspecting a relationship between the two.
He often indulged in a glass of scotch every evening after a gruelling day's work, but he chose to keep the entire bottle close on this particular night.
The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had paid him a discreet visit, and it was certainly not to check on his wellbeing.
Simon took a long, gratifying sip of the smoky liquid and thought back to the Minister's short but impactful visit.
Not that he hadn't expected one after reading through Rita's article that painted Hermione Granger unfavourably, yet he gave his approval for the scandalous story to go to print. Simon was glad he ran the front-page story despite Kingsley's stern words.
They had a record number of sales prompting Rita to ask for a substantial increment for her trouble. He had agreed, of course. Skeeter and he had an understanding of sorts.
Earlier that day.
Simon glanced at the enormous fireplace that served as the Floo network in his office.
The usually dormant hearth showed signs of life, and Simon hurriedly rose to his feet as none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped out of the wide ashen area that connected the two offices.
The busy Minister hardly ever visited except when peeved. Simon felt a tightening in his chest but brushed it off and gave the commanding man in the room his undivided attention.
Kingsley straightened to his full height, dusted the remnants of particles off his robes and fixed him with a murderous glare.
The Minister was far from pleased and was not bothered in the slightest to hide his displeasure.
"Good morning, Minister. What can I do for you on this fine day?" Simon swallowed hard and feebly greeted with a slight stutter cowering in the presence of the once Auror and intimidating man.
Kingsley stared him down, repulsed by his behaviour and hissed, "Stop your pathetic arse kissing."
Simon held his tongue, sank slowly back into his chair, and waited for the bombardment of abuse that was about to be hurled his way. Beads of sweat gathered on his upper lip, but he hurriedly wiped his forehead and then lip with his handkerchief and braced himself.
Kingsley twirled his wand and paced around the room. He stopped to pick up a copy of the morning paper and pursed his lips in annoyance, yet he inquired in a casual tone, “Do you like your job, McGregor?"
Simon hesitated, not quite knowing how to respond. Before replying, he took a deep breath and almost squeaked, "Yes, sir."
"That's good to hear," Kingsley said with faux politeness that nearly put Simon at ease, but he should have known it was too good to be true.
The Minister followed up with a quick and decisive nod, “I won't take much of your time.” Crimson and gold sparks flew out of his wand, igniting fear in the pits of Simon's being. His fingers edged towards his wand, but he could hardly attack the Minister of Magic and live to tell the tale.
Kingsley caught the slight movement of the perspiring man out of the corner of his eye and almost laughed. Did the idiot believe he even stood a chance?
He took the comfortable seat meant for visitors and leaned back before bringing his hands together and making his reason for visit abundantly clear, "I expect an apology to Hermione by Skeeter and a retraction of the biased lies that were printed today."
Kingsley turned towards the nervously twitching man and glared sternly, "Do I make myself clear?" He was in no mood to negotiate or listen to pitiful excuses.
Simon almost breathed a sigh of relief. He flinched and nodded without a moment's pause, "Of course, Minister. I will personally see to it."
His satisfactory answer caused Kingsley to smirk. Even so, he gave a subtle warning, "See that you do, or I'll be paying you another visit soon."
He slowly got to his feet and turned his back purposely on the dishevelled Chief Editor of The Daily Prophet and bid the snivelling man a fond farewell, "Good day, Simon. I hope in the future you will keep your wit intact before granting permission for such obnoxious pieces to see the light of day."
Simon could not gather enough words to form any sensible retort. Instead, he settled for staring at the Minister’s back as he stepped into the Floo network once again and disappeared in a puff of dark green smoke.
Whatever happened to freedom of the press? He thought despondently.
He was brought back to the present by an impatient heel tapping on the floor and a womanly fragrance invading his space. Skeeter had clearly let herself in.
His throat was parched, so he tossed back the drink in his hand and once again reached for the decanter and poured himself a hefty shot.
Pointing it in the direction of the woman in the room, he stated with a deep frown etched onto his face, "Your little stunt has landed me in hot water with the Minister of Magic."
Rita stifled a laugh. She cocked her head to the side and inquired almost innocently, "How so?"
Simon sneered, "Don't act so bloody naive, Rita. You knew exactly what you were getting us into." He further enlightened her with a sarcastic snort, "He does not take kindly to crude remarks about his beloved Undersecretary."
Skeeter grinned in her most flattering manner. She brought the magazine from under her arm and slammed the fresh copy of Witch Weekly Magazine down on the table. The abrupt action caused parchment and other knick-knacks scattered across the table to raise a couple of inches into the air and fall back down haphazardly. It was the first copy, hot right off the press.
Simon pulled the publication towards him and raised a quizzical brow while Skeeter leaned forward with a smug expression displaying her jiggling bosom for him to ogle.
He tore his gaze away from her prominent cleavage and asked in a strained voice, "What's all this?"
Skeeter encouraged, "Go on. Have a read.”
<<-- The Malfoy Heir Returns -->>
Presumed dead for years, Draco Lucius Malfoy, redeemed one time Death Eater, speaks frankly of the horrors of his past, his enlightening journey to finding inner peace and life among the Buddhist monks who made it possible in our phenomenal article. In this exclusive tell-all interview with Rita Skeeter, hear his thoughts on his recent engagement to prudish Undersecretary, Hermione Jean Granger.
The cover photograph was a black and white embossed closeup of Malfoy looking directly at the camera, seeming mysterious and aloof but radiating arrogance with his smouldering gaze and a flawless slight smile.
Skeeter initially had reservations about making the deadline since the editing of the riveting story could not be rushed. It was a unique piece and one that would not grace their presence ever again.
She would have published it in next week's issue if push came to shove despite her immense impatience.
Unlike the Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly Magazine ran an exclusive edition once a week, but once she had gotten down to it, Rita realised that the whole interview had required minor tweaks and edits. She kept the raw emotions and points of anguish and darkness Malfoy took delight in emphasising.
Simon read through the highlighted points of the interview in wide-eyed shock, and once he was done, he asked in complete awe of the woman before him, "This is…. umm, brilliant. But how in the world did you manage to get Malfoy to agree to this?"
Skeeter adapted a profound sense of smugness and smiled devilishly, "Malfoy threw himself under the bus to save his precious fiancé's reputation." She further explained in giddy happiness, "I knew Hermione would not be able to stand being labelled a gold digger. I purposely targeted her to lure Malfoy out.”
She dragged her words, “It worked like a charm."
He massaged the bridge of his nose and scolded, "Must you call Granger prudish?"
Rita giggled, "Old habits die hard, I'm afraid."
Simon chuckled. She never failed to amaze him. Her sheer tenacity was to be admired on some level, even though her work ethic was shoddy at best.
He remembered the Minister's demands and hoped that it would not put a damper on the current mood, "This is all well and good, but Shacklebolt demands an apology from you and retraction of today's story."
Rita laughed; her peals of laughter echoed through the lavishly furnished flat. She expressed with resounding firmness, "Merlin, I'll give it to him! I will apologise to the prissy twit when I send her a copy of the magazine."
She clutched the weekly magazine tightly to her chest in an elevated state of euphoria and proclaimed, "This is precisely what I was after, and I got exactly what I wanted!" She knew Malfoy did not need to comply, but he did for whatever reason and to her utter delight.
Skeeter put the precious magazine aside, took the tumbler from Russell's grasp and tossed the contents back before sensually pulling down the zip of her velvet dress and stepping out of it.
Standing in nothing but black sheer lace knickers and bra to match, Rita fanned herself with her fingers and pouted innocuously, "Hmm, is it hot in here?"
Simon felt his cock spring to life. Despite his age, he found himself wholly aroused but fought his carnal urges and gritted out, "That is not going to work."
Skeeter sensually strode towards him, sat across him, making sure to rub her lace-covered cunt over his sheathed penis and drawled, "Oh, I think it will."
She licked his bottom lip and spoke in a babyish voice that caressed the shell of his ear, "Have I been a bad girl?
Simon swallowed hard, and his hands acted on their own to cup her sizable breasts. He took a pebbled nipple in his mouth and bit down on the eager nub garnering a low groan from the witch on his lap grinding on his fully hardened appendage.
Skeeter managed to roughly pull out his belt and thrust it into his hands with some difficulty. Her eyes sparkled brightly, and she asked coyly, “Maybe you should punish me.”
Simon knew his weak resolve hung by a thread. It crumbled around him like stale biscuits. He grabbed a fistful of her blonde hair and yanked her head back, and crushed her lips with his.
He would leave his mark on her creamy smooth arse tonight. She knew of every single one of his perversions and delighted in catering to every one of them.
The next day.
Astoria worked out religiously. She was not under any false impression that she would survive the curse placed upon her ancestor, but that did not dampen her determination to keep her body in pristine condition.
She vigorously swam lengths in their modest-sized swimming pool, cutting effortlessly through the water like a well-oiled machine, not stopping until the ache in her leg prompted her to.
It was indeed a lovely day. Though it was not particularly sunny and barely seven am, the trees swayed in the gentle wind, and the happy chirping of birds was audible among the rustling and bustling of leaves.
Thinking that she had enough exercise for the day, she gracefully hoisted herself up from the pool. She made her way to the recliner where a dry towel lay awaiting her return, and a small table held a hot plate of breakfast, a mug of freshly brewed coffee and the latest edition of The Witch Weekly Magazine.
She grabbed the towel and wiped herself off before taking the mug between her cold fingers and feeling the welcome heat seep into her skin. Draining the almost scalding liquid, she carefully set it down, laid back, slipped her sunglasses on, and reached for the overturned publication with its back page and contents to her.
Astoria flipped it over and almost dropped it as Draco’s face stared right at her. His eyes bore into hers, causing her heart rate to hasten, and she could not quite fathom what possessed him to agree to such an interview.
It was unlike him and entirely out of character. She worried about how Skeeter had twisted his arm into agreeing.
Her eager eyes roved over the cover taking in every minute detail. She moved her fingers lightly over his face, lingering on his lips and prominent jawline.
Astoria took in the intricate details before flicking it open and gorging on the content within. She was not pleased by how he had addressed his forced courtship with Hermione nor the words he had used to describe a woman he loathed in the past but brushed it off as a few white lies he would have said to appease the general public.
She stomached the gut-wrenching answers and grew exceedingly nervous at the mention of her name. Astoria braced herself for Draco’s answers regarding their non-existent relationship. Still, he had handled it tactfully, and she hung onto the meaningful words— Astoria is one of my oldest and dearest friends. She will always have a special place in my heart. Those simple words had a profound impact on her.
An overwhelming surge of happiness engulfed her. She embraced his words and mistook it to mean that he harboured hidden feelings for her. Astoria was certain Draco would willingly give himself to her in her deluded mind, and they would live happily until she succumbed to her eventual fate.
They would have a beautiful child that mirrored his father in every way. She would lovingly name their son Scorpius, and even in her absence, Draco would never be alone. Many a night, she would ponder such blissful thoughts and relish in the delight they brought her.
His marriage to Granger was duty-bound. There was no iota of love or affection between them, and Astoria was more than convinced Draco deserved a loving, doting wife to return home to after a tyring day's work as apparently an Auror. He truly was renouncing the old ways and embracing some rather questionable new ones.
She had almost given up on their happy ending, but his loving words gave her such hope.
Astoria rose elegantly as her upbringing dedicated and walked towards Greengrass Manor with newfound resolve and her heart bursting with joy.
A flash of lightning illuminated the skies, and a deep growl of thunder followed, making her shudder. She glanced at the dark clouds laden with raindrops looming over the gardens and hastened her footsteps.
Drops of water chased after each other and ran down the windows. A sudden rumble of thunder shook the frames and caused the slumbering witch to crack open her eyes slightly to assess the dark surroundings.
Hermione slept fretfully, given the circumstances. Even though the self-inflicted wound was completely healed, a lingering tingle remained, and it was most uncomfortable.
Her mind was a jumbled mess of uncertainty. She had stayed up late into the night consuming glass after glass of warm milk as a solution for her insomnia while obsessing over Draco and what possible action he would pursue.
The alarm blared. Hermione turned and shut it off before it gave her a splitting headache. She pushed the duvet off her body, and stared at the ceiling and random thoughts of what a new day would bring popped into her mind.
Would the barrage of hate mail accusing her of being a traitor to the wizarding world for agreeing to wed a Death Eater and heinous comments about her selfish desire to inherit her husband's vast wealth continue to dog her every step?
It was inevitable that she and Malfoy would cross paths considering the proximity of their departments and jobs. She felt a shiver shoot down her spine at having to face him after what transpired yesterday.
Hermione sighed. If she were going to mope around thinking about countless different scenarios, she would undoubtedly be late for work, and there were more than a few urgent matters that needed her immediate attention.
Gathering her strength, she pushed herself off the bed, dislodged the material of her shorts that were stuck between her arse cheeks and sluggishly dragged her feet to the bathroom.
Once there, Hermione stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was pleased with what you saw for the most part.
How far had she come since her days at Hogwarts? She felt a sense of immense pride in her accomplishments, which gave her the confidence to go forward and ignore the ramblings of a few disgruntled individuals.
In a secluded part of London
The nervous man moved the longish strands of hair off the disfigured side of his face and stared out of the window and the falling drops of rain.
As a child, he enjoyed jumping in puddles and playing in the mud as any child would, but his strict mother would reprimand him severely with a cane for acting like a roguish Muggle child unbefitting of their noble birth.
She had confided once while brushing her long auburn hair that it was her greatest desire at the time to commit him to an orphanage. Still, she decided against it, hoping that his magical abilities would manifest later.
Those abilities never came much to his dismay. He thought about the woman who gave birth to him with disgust. Yet, even years after her death, he sought her ardent approval.
Her unimaginably cruel acts towards him were unwarranted, especially when all he wanted was her love and acceptance.
He would have been better off in an orphanage than suffering as he did at the hands of a ruthless woman who took out her intense psychological issues on her only child, scarring and maiming him as she saw fit.
The heavy downpour pelting against his windows caused him to brush away thoughts of his mother and think of the three women he laid to rest. He had done them a kindness by sparing them a prolonged stay in a horribly unfair world.
They were so innocent and beautiful with long flowing red hair and smooth skin to touch except Sarah, he thought fondly. She was a spirited Gryffindor, unlike the other three who belonged to Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin.
He dreaded going to work, preferring to instead lay with his beloved and make sweet love till the rains passed, but it would be a luxury he would have to forgo.
Sitting back down at the workbench nursing a steaming cup of tea, he set to work once again on the final pendant of the owl clutching an intricately carved wand. He was a self-taught jewellery maker who excelled at the craft.
He remembered a painful incident when he was fifteen where he had slaved for days over a similar piece and presented it to his mother on her birthday. She had taken one look at it, snatched it out of his hand and thrown it in the fireplace while he watched in horror as the flames swallowed the pendant whole.
They said it was his calling card, but the small trinket was deeply personal to him and carried a profound meaning.
The man diligently polished the surface and moulded the wand, carving the little groves to match the others he had gifted the women. He looked across the room and stared at the stuffed greyish owl on the mantlepiece that served his mother.
It was a cruel beast that pounced on him when least expected, sinking its talons into his tender skin as he shrieked in pain while covered in blood, but his mother would tenderly stroke the bird's feathers, ignoring his pleas for help and treat the owl with much love and respect.
The creature and his mother’s precious wand gave him the inspiration for the pendant.
He had taken great pleasure in wringing the filthy bird's neck at the first opportune moment.
Soon he would stop the madness and settle down with Sarah. After all, she was his purpose for living.
An ear-piercing scream shattered the peace.
Hermione opted for a lovely red dress with small cap sleeves that oozed confidence.
She completed the outfit with a pair of treacherously high black heels and walked into the living room, attaching a single diamond stud to each ear.
Her stomach rumbled with slight pangs of hunger. She glanced at her watch, decided she had time for a spot of breakfast and threw the fridge door open.
While studying the contents to make a quick sandwich, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the usual Daily Prophet rolled up neatly and along with it a sleek magazine inside a plastic casing.
Thinking it was incredibly odd since she did not subscribe to magazines of any sort, Hermione forgot the task at hand and headed straight for the table where the intruding magazine lay.
A sealed envelope grabbed her keen interest. She snatched it off the table and stared at her name written on the front in perfect cursive script.
Hermione took a deep breath and opened it carefully not to damage the letter. She gingerly took it out and read the contents growing exceedingly surprised and annoyed with each passing word.
My dearest Hermione,
I beg your forgiveness for my published article in yesterday's Daily Prophet. We will retract the story and issue a formal apology. It was never my intention in the slightest to slander your image or cause you any harm. Please accept my humble apology.
P.S - Your precious reputation is safe. Malfoy came through on your behalf. You have bagged a winner—my warmest wishes for a happy married life.
Skeeter made Malfoy seem like a prize to be won at a fair.
Hermione crumpled the perfumed-scented paper that contained Skeeter's neatly written words in anger and tossed the small paper ball aside.
The audacity!
She bared her teeth and hissed, "Skeeter, you lying bitch."
The absolute gall of the woman to wish them well on their marriage, but what did she mean by Malfoy came through on your behalf?
He had done diddly squat as far as she was concerned. Something was definitely amiss.
Her answer came swiftly as she glanced at the magazine, and her eyes widened in utter disbelief. She stumbled on her high heels and fell into the nearest chair with the magazine clutched tightly in her hands.
She was unable to tear her gaze away from the front page. The black and white image of the brooding, sexy man who adorned the cover was dangerously handsome and, most, notably her intended and future husband.
What in the name of Merlin's saggy left testicle had he gone and done?
Hermione hurriedly flipped through the pages of the magazine. She passed countless articles on hair treatment, facial remedies, and fashion choices for the career-driven witch before stopping at the story that caused her mind to go blank of any useful thoughts or speech.
She leaned back dumbfounded by what he had done and started to avidly read without stopping, only going back to reread some answers that struck a distinctive chord with her.
The emotion behind his honest declaration was plain to see. She could practically hear his husky voice as the printed words rolled off his velvety tongue.
His answers when asked about her. Merlin!
She simply could not comprehend them. The meaning at the back of them spoke volumes to her, and at that exact moment, she wanted to run to wherever he might be, throw her arms around him, nestle into his warmth and smother him with kisses. It seemed surreal and unthinkable.
She blushed deeply at his response to the question of whether they had been intimate.
Did he genuinely believe his words, or were they perfectly articulated for Skeeter's benefit, or worse had the unscrupulous reporter twisted his words and printed a version of her making?
Nonetheless, Hermione choked back a sob and fought the stubborn tears that threatened to streak her perfectly made-up face.
Not in a million years did she expect a sacrifice of this magnitude.
She thought back to how lonely and dejected Draco seemed in his final year at Hogwarts.
He had suffered from the weight of the world on his young shoulders, no wonder he looked ready to throw himself off the highest tower.
With her head in her hands, Hermione wept for his intense suffering and how he spoke so flatteringly about her. Her heart ached with the overwhelming need to soothe his pain.
Who was this man coming to her rescue? He could not possibly be the Draco Malfoy she knew and despised.
Her stomach knotted unpleasantly, and she could not subdue the nervous flutter within.
Draco had been up for hours, and abandoning the usual workout routine, he had gone for a much-needed walk around the property with Max to clear his head.
The eager Alsatian chased the butterflies and barked at the many birds that burst into song to signify a blissful morning.
Sleep had not come easily, mainly due to his thoughts drifting towards Granger. He wondered incessantly how she was fairing in the face of the abuse she received, but without knowing what happened after he left her office, he was reluctant to call in case Weasley answered.
It wasn’t a setting that sat too well with him. Her refusal to accept Weasley for being a boorish lout was infuriating.
He had been staring at the sky in deep thought when a single drop of rain fell onto his cheek and slid off the edge of his chiselled chin. The skies darkened, and sudden flashes of light travelled through the clouds.
Draco whistled impatiently for Max, who came running towards him at breakneck speed with what looked remarkably like a dead rodent dangling from his mouth.
His long fingers slipped under Max's collar almost instantly, and he apparated them both without hesitation inside the comfort of the Manor.
They made it just in time as the heavens opened and unleashed their onslaught over the vast grounds. Max dropped the unmoving rat onto Narcissa’s expensive Persian carpet, and Draco grimaced. His mother would not take kindly to blood on her precious carpet.
His thoughts went back to Granger bleeding and writhing in agonising pain on their living room floor while his aunt loomed over her with a blood-stained dagger. Nobody seemed to care then.
With a quick wave of his wand, the unsightly creature disappeared, much to Max's dismay.
Another faint roar of thunder echoed through the Manor, causing the many paintings that hung on the walls to shake and tremble. It was then Draco decided on resorting to his training room for meditation.
Steady water beads chased after each other and ran down the centuries-old window. He always enjoyed the rain. It was childish, but to him, it meant the washing away of dirt and grime that lingered in the drains and gutters that he could not reach.
Even in China, he would look forward to the monsoon season and took great delight in watching the village children stomping around in muddy puddles and sending handmade paper boats down the small streams that formed.
The soft pitter-patter of raindrops falling onto the ground could be heard through the seemingly quiet Manor, and Draco synchronised his breathing to match his environment.
After a while, he opened his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. He felt a profound sense of calmness surrounding him.
Getting to his feet from his cross-legged position, he pulled at the drawstring on his bottoms to loosen it while he strode towards the ensuite.
The lukewarm beads of water fell chaotically over his form, coating his pectoral muscles and hardened stomach area as they travelled down his firm thighs and softened cock.
Draco leaned into the spray and closed his eyes to enjoy that gratifying feeling of cleansing oneself. In his youth, he was pretty partial to sex in the shower and had indulged in his fantasy often with Renee, his French piano teacher's older daughter.
He could not help but wonder if Granger would entertain the idea. Whether it was something, she would be a willing participant in.
Oh, how he would welcome her on her knees before him, taking his shaft in her mouth while the overhead shower cascaded a stream of water over her naked body. He enticingly imagined tiny drops of water hanging onto her pebbled nipples as he took each rosy bud between his teeth and twirled his tongue around them.
A groan of want tore out of his lips. His illicit thoughts caused his hands to move on their own to palm his thick appendage and gently caress it. Before long, Draco faced a raging hard-on and the imminent desire to fuck Granger into the smooth tiled cubicle wall and fill her with his seed.
His fingers moved with practised ease, working his manhood to climax. He needed to release the pent-up tension in his body, but more importantly, he needed Granger.
Covered head to toe with water, Draco felt the intense second his bollocks raptured, and thick spurts of semen burst forth, painting his cockhead completely. One hand on his cock, the other slammed palm down into the wall to steady himself.
His breathing hastened, but he milked his dick dry of every last drop before closing his eyes and smiling in satisfaction.
In Hawaii, he would make his intentions wholly clear and claim her if she was willing. It seemed the ideal location to commit the act that loomed over them every second they were alone.
He would let his insecurities about sex fade away and rely on his carnal urges and instincts.
Ron walked into the office in less than high spirits. His mind was riddled with images of Hermione snogging Malfoy, and his short marriage was falling apart thanks in part to his insensitive behaviour.
Despite his efforts to make polite conversation with his wife, she had snubbed his efforts, ignored his existence and left without so much as a goodbye.
He found his secretary reading Witch Weekly Magazine with a sappy expression and Malfoy's pointy mug sprawled across the entire front page. The slimy git was everywhere, but it piqued his interest as to why the ferret was such a hot topic. Without fair warning, he grabbed the issue right of her hands and started to read.
She protested half-heartedly and settled instead to watch Ron’s reaction intently.
His temper flared as he took in the answers, and it spiralled out of control when he came to the section where Draco had labelled him a bumbling Buffoon.
Fucking Slytherin bastard.
He closed the magazine shut with such force, causing Jane to flinch and tossed the copy in the bin before walking purposely into his office and closing the door behind him with a loud thud.
Jane waited until she was absolutely sure her boss wouldn't return and fished the discarded publication and shoved it quickly into her drawer for safekeeping.
She somewhat understood Ron's outburst and sympathised with the man's predicament.
Hermione slipped on dark shades to cover her red-rimmed eyes. She had bawled her eyes out at Malfoy’s intense suffering, and the crushing expectations society inflicted upon her melted away into nothingness.
She could not bring herself to believe Malfoy had done what he did. Was he that committed to right the wrongs inflicted upon her by him?
This was an unprecedented turn of events that Hermione never saw coming. He was making her feel things she had never felt before.
No! She could not afford to let her guard down around him. At least, not yet!
Hermione had simply assumed Malfoy would go down to the Prophet and have a few harsh words with Skeeter, maybe even attempt to scare her a bit but never comply with the reporter's unfair request to bring out the skeletons that lay hidden in his closet.
She was used to the glances that came her way and whispers directed at her. Still holding her head high, Hermione took the lift and pressed her preferred floor. Somehow, Malfoy's interview gave her an elevated boost of confidence.
Hermione pushed the glass doors and found Brenda seated at her desk with a smirk plastered onto her face.
She quoted happily as her boss came close, "What's not to like she's…."
Hermione tried to grab the copy, but Brenda giggled and moved it well out of reach.
"Haha, very funny, Brenda," Hermione quipped. Her mood had improved drastically.
Brenda mused, "He sounds like he's halfway in love with you already. The fucking simp."
Hermione rolled her eyes and greeted with dripping sarcasm, "Good morning. Any messages?"
Brenda winked, "You have a delivery from someone special."
Her face contorted unpleasantly, "There's also more delightful mail."
Hermione smiled and showed a blatant sense of indifference, "Burn them for me, will you?"
She added after a pause, "Oh, keep a few of the interesting ones."
Brenda applauded and gushed, "That's the spirit. Welcome back."
Hermione walked into her office, and an extravagant bouquet of white roses caught her immediate attention. It was a beautiful arrangement of flowers. She fetched the tiny card and read the words inside.
My darling,
You mean the world to me
Yours always,
Ron :)
He had childishly drawn a small happy face next to his name. Hermione sighed, he simply would not give up, and it was becoming exceedingly tiresome.
She carefully took a long stem rose with thorns still intact out of the arrangement and smelt the sweet fragrance in deep thought about how simple but empty her life would have been if she stayed with Ron.
Malfoy was destined to shatter the peace and drag her into a whirlwind of emotions that neither of them could contain.
Draco walked into the foyer in crisp black robes and cheery disposition expecting to find his mother and Bernard engaged in a lively conversation over a game of chess or breakfast but was sorely disappointed by what greeted him.
His mother ignored his presence entirely and continued to read the booklet in her grasp. Bernard was bent over with a serious expression reading a copy of Witch Weekly Magazine, and stretched across the front page was his likeness.
In his moment of disclosing intimate details, he had forgotten that his mother would read the interview. Draco hoped she would not be too appalled by his answers.
Making sure not to alert the adults in the room to his presence, Draco discreetly walked over to where his mother was seated and stood behind the chair. He peered over her shoulder and smirked, "I do look quite good, if I do say so myself."
"Merlin, you gave me a fright," Narcissa gasped, clutching her chest.
Bernard chuckled, "This is most interesting."
Draco looked over to where an unfamiliar sight caught his attention. By the look of it, hundreds of letters had arrived in a matter of hours, along with rosy-coloured envelopes and sweet, decadent scents that made him involuntarily move in their direction.
There was a massive box of chocolates that he felt compelled to open. An intense hunger to gorge on what lay within consumed him, and he impatiently tore at the stylish gift wrapping and ribbon, opened the box and with sufficient greed, pulled out a stubborn chocolate square that was wedged into a space.
He felt his mouth water with the overwhelming need to devour the treat. Still, He did not get very far since Narcissa appeared promptly at his side and smacked his hand away, causing the diamond-shaped treat to fall unceremoniously to the ground.
"Have you lost all good sense? These are probably laced with love potions and other worrying things to cause strong infatuations," she scolded with an anxious face and eyed the box with disgust.
Draco exhaled and wondered why his mother was acting so poorly. He shook his head slowly and tried to break himself free from the feeling of disorientation that clouded his senses.
Bernard cautiously picked up a barely open envelope and pulled out a picture of a scantily clad beautiful woman posing proactively. The woman was a stunner and evidently flexible.
He turned it at angles and smirked, "She's not bad, Draco. Quite appealing."
Narcissa threw him an utter look of abhorrence and slapped the hand holding the illicit picture with more force than necessary. The picture fell to the floor, and Max pounced on it and ripped it to shreds.
Draco composed himself and picked up a rose-scented letter. He took a deep breath of the enticing fragrance, looked up from a letter he was reading and mused, "Donna from Surrey believes I have a better future with her and that I should break off my engagement to Granger and rush to her side."
Next, he leafed through the letters and held up a picture of a buxom blonde in a tight-fitting bodycon dress and inquired candidly, “Would you prefer her as a daughter-in-law, mother?”
Bernard let out a hearty chuckle, and Draco followed suit, but Narcissa was far from amused.
She graced the laughing men with a look of intense disapproval and rubbed the bridge of her nose in exasperation, "This is no laughing matter. How can you both take this so lightly?"
"Mother, calm yourself. It is rather hilarious," Draco argued, and Bernard weighed in with a distinctive nod, "The boy is right, Cissy. Do not work yourself up over these meaningless issues."
Narcissa sat down, her face drawn and distraught. She implored, "Why would you speak so frankly about all you endured?"
Draco sighed and smiled slightly. It was not his intention to upset his beloved mother, so he knelt at her feet, took her hands in his and simply said, "I did it for Granger."
Narcissa fixed with a thoroughly bemused look. Her blue eyes shone with uncertainty. What did he mean?
He shuffled through his thoughts and explained best he could about the events that led to the interview's publication and how it was perhaps a blessing in disguise.
"That bloody wretch!" Narcissa thundered after Draco concluded his explanation of Rita Skeeter’s dubious plan and intent.
Draco’s lips curved into a smile, and he reassured with a firmness to his tone that meant business, "It is done. She will no longer bother Granger or face my wrath."
His features contorted and his face darkened, "I have made it clear that any further defamation will not be tolerated."
Bernard patted him enthusiastically on the shoulder with an approving nod, "Good man. I'm sure Hermione can handle Skeeter, but that might result in unfavourable backlash towards the Ministry."
Draco could not agree more. He emphasised with determination, "Exactly! It was a small sacrifice on my part and one I gladly made."
Narcissa rose gracefully, cupped her beloved son's face and gazed upon him lovingly, "I am so proud of you, Draco. You continue to amaze me since your return."
He covered her right hand with his own and said, "I must leave, or I’ll be late for Auror training. Have a good day, mother."
Bernard came to stand by Narcissa. He put his arm around her shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze. She leaned into his touch and watched in pleasant surprise as the once arrogant youth left the comfort and wealth of Malfoy Manor to earn a minimum wage.
Hermione pushed her spectacles further up her nose and concentrated hard on the document in front of her. New letters kept coming, but she paid them no mind whatsoever. Malfoy's interview was causing quite the stir far worse than the slandering article the previous day.
Her earlier confidence waned.
Were people so deluded in their thinking that they thought she was useless and unworthy of the Malfoy heir?
Why? Because of blood status?
Some had gone as far as to attack her physical attributes, calling her a vast number of vile things but mixed with the backlash were caring positive feedback wishing them well and a bright future.
There was one sealed black envelope that Brenda had brought to her with an air of suspicion and a face shrouded with unrest. She did not dare to touch it.
She suggested asking Michael, Harry or even Malfoy to assist, but Hermione pacified her. After all, she was quite capable and had astounding skills second to none of an Auror.
They cautiously opened it together using their wands, and the letter presented itself without hassle, but the contents within made Hermione's blood run cold. Whoever wrote it accused her of tarnishing a centuries-old bloodline and that dire consequences awaited her should she carry forth with the union.
Her thoughts went at once to her poor Muggle parents. Would this unhinged group of purebred fanatics target them?
Brenda urged her to hand over the letter to Harry. The language used was of a learned person. It was not the scribblings of a simple-minded fool, but it was not the words of warning that alarmed her. It was the unmistakable stamp of the Dark Mark embedded into the wax seal.
She had received plenty of threats before, but the forbidding mark had branded none. Malfoy's return made it easy to assume that their unlikely pairing caused certain determined underground groups to make their presence known.
“Well, are you going to hand it over?” Brenda eyed the letter and solemnly pressed in concern.
Hermione shook her head. It was hardly necessary. There were no spells or hexes as such placed on the letter. If so, it would have already been detected before ever making it to her by the Ministry's extremely component Mail Room handlers.
She informed her stunned assistant, “I do not think it’s necessary. It's obviously the work of a desperate copycat bastard trying his level best to intimidate me by implying the involvement of Voldemort.”
Brenda pursed her lips, but she was not convinced. The letter looked foreboding, and it did not sit well with her at all. She feared for her boss's safety.
While Malfoy's actions had been noble, they had quite the reverse effect on a society that still held extreme prejudice against those of her birth.
So caught up in her thoughts, Hermione barely heard the knock on the door or its opening.
Harry poked his head in and smiled, "Busy?"
Hermione came back to her senses and frowned, "Go away, Potter."
Harry held up a peace offering, "I have chocolate. It's your favourite." He knew her weakness for milk chocolate. Unlike the rest of them, she preferred the delicate blend of milk and cocoa without the addition of nuts, raisins, and other things.
Showing a level of indifference, Hermione waved him in, "Fine! Come in."
Harry strode in with a happy smile and spotted the large bouquet of white roses now resting in a vase. He pointed at them and raised a brow, "From Ron?"
Hermione ignored his presence but nodded in reply and went back to reading the massive proposal Stacy from logistics saw fit to burden her with for the rest of the day.
The annoying cow was probably out for revenge since she harboured feelings for Malfoy.
Harry came straight to the point, "Look, I'm sorry about yesterday."
Hermione regarded him with a curious expression as if to say really? Instead, she voiced her thoughts, "Are you truly sorry for siding with Ron?"
Harry countered without hesitation, "Of course, I am. Ron should never have behaved that way, and I'm sorry for encouraging him." They had been entirely out of line in their treatment of her. At times it was easy to forget that neither Hermione nor Malfoy was entirely at fault.
Hermione scowled, "Ron will never change. I'm so tired of his childish outbursts and crude comments." Yet she put up with them, forcing him to continue his brazen behaviour.
Harry shrugged and argued, "I guess, but he is worried about you. It is Malfoy, Hermione. Ron has good reason to be concerned."
Hermione almost screamed, "You think I don't know that? But that doesn't give him the right to control my life or speak to me like I'm some two-bit slut."
Harry willed his spirited best friend to remain calm, "You are absolutely right."
Hermione looked purposefully away and said slowly, "Besides, Draco is umm, different, but, still, it's like I've been sucked into an alternate universe where Malfoy is a decent human being capable of compassion."
She confessed in anguish, and Harry truly sympathised with her predicament, "I don't want to have these feelings for him."
Harry raised a brow and teased in an effort to lighten the mood, "Feelings, huh? Like, err, love?" Surely, it was not love? Malfoy had not been among them long enough for such strong feelings to develop.
Hermione started to laugh. It was wholly unconvincing, though she tried her best to throw Harry off, "Merlin, no! It's purely physical."
"Ugh, I wish you hadn't said that," Harry complained.
Hermione pulled the enormous bar of chocolate towards her, tore the expensive wrapping open and broke off a sizable square of pure chocolate. She tossed it into her mouth before saying, "I honestly can't wait for Hawaii. Ginny will love it too. It would be a welcome change to get far away from this madness."
Harry grew thoughtful, "Ginny had a go at Ron. He almost cried." Being the youngest in a family of seven and the only girl, his wife was not afraid to speak her mind even if her harsh words were directed at her siblings.
Ginny tolerated no-nonsense and had little to no patience for Ron's overbearing childish self.
He thought back to how vicious and to the point his beloved wife had been.
Ginny opened the front door and looked bemused as her husband and brother strode in, smelling faintly of Firewhiskey.
She looked behind them and outside before closing the door behind her and raising a brow, "Umm, where is Hermione? Didn't she come with you?" She had been expecting to have a chat face to face since Hermione was being elusive and entertained no calls. It was an annoying character trait of her best friend.
Ron gritted out in annoyance, "Probably snogging Malfoy in some dark Ministry corner."
Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes. The resemblance to Molly was uncanny, "Excuse me? What the heck have you two done?"
Harry moved well out of harm's way and offered, "I'll let you take this one, mate."
Ron swallowed hard and hissed out of the corner of his mouth, "Coward."
Once Ron had explained his version of the events that took place, a lengthy argument resulted between brother and sister, with Ginny siding firmly with Hermione and blatantly accusing Ron of being a horrible husband.
She had then turned on Harry and scolded, "And you stood by and let him treat her like rubbish."
Harry hung his head in shame and pursed his lips. There wasn't a single retort he could say in their defence, but her mention of Tracey opened a floodgate of repressed emotions, and Ron collapsed into the armchair. He then blurted out to a stunned Ginny and Harry that his marriage was falling apart.
Ginny was unmoving and scoffed, "You have no one but yourself to blame."
"Forget about Hermione. Focus on your bloody wife, you moron," she advised fiercely while Harry threw her a look that implored her to be sympathetic to her brother's plight. He tried to offer words of comfort, "Ginny has a point, mate. We spoke about this, and you know there's no future with Hermione."
Ron’s bottom lip trembled, and he tried to counter with a weak retort, but it was a futile effort as any.
Hermione brought Harry back to the present, offering him a piece of chocolate and stern words, "Ron needs to let me go. I cannot imagine what Tracey must be going through."
"She's not doing well," Harry sighed. Tracey was a good woman. She was far more tolerant than Ron deserved.
Hermione frowned, "His behaviour is completely mental."
Harry shrugged, "He's blinded by love."
Hermione scowled, "You’re raving. It is not love, Harry. He is caught up in what we were.”
Harry felt the need to defend Ron and his questionable actions, "It's not that he doesn't care about Tracey. He does. Maybe it's because of Malfoy?"
He added with a bitter taste in his mouth that even the most delicious chocolate could not wipe out, "It's a difficult pill to swallow, Hermione, even for me."
The pitch-black envelope with blood-red writing caught Harry's wandering eyes. He narrowed them behind his glasses and scrutinised the mysterious letter Hermione had poorly tried to hide under a few parchments.
"What's this?" He asked in interest while pulling the thick envelope towards him.
Hermione shrugged nonchalantly and disregarded it, "Hate mail."
Harry flipped the letter over, examined it with wide-eyed disbelief and bared his teeth. This was no ordinary letter from a disgruntled member of the general public.
His tone grew serious, and he scolded most severely, "This carries the Dark Mark. Why didn't you bring this to me at once?"
"Because you would have kicked up an unnecessary fuss," Hermione said with a smidge of guilt. Perhaps, she should have brought it to Harry for a thorough investigation.
He read the contents and grew angry with each passing word. His hold on the letter tightened, and fiery rage clouded his judgement. Along with the warnings of hate and repercussions that would surely follow if she went ahead and married Malfoy was an explicitly detailed series of events that would befall her.
Whoever wrote it was a sick pervert who would defile Hermione to teach her a valuable lesson about knowing her rightful place, saving Malfoy from taking a soiled witch as his wife. They had conveniently forgotten about the marriage law and how the situation had been forced upon them.
"Have there been others like this?" Harry impatiently questioned and followed up with a grim, "This letter is not to be disregarded, Hermione."
He raised a curious brow and raised at once, "Did you tell Malfoy about this?"
Hermione responded abruptly, "No! I haven't, and I would appreciate it if you didn't either."
She had not spoken to him since he left her office with less than his ego intact the previous day.
Harry argued with purpose, "It would be in your best interests to tell him. I have a feeling that he won't take this lying down."
A feeling of deep unrest engulfed him, and, try as he might, he was unable to shake off a sense of dread.
It was undoubtedly related to the potential uprising they were investigating, but unlike Kingsley, Hermione was yet to be briefed on the finer details of a possible upcoming war.
He pocketed the letter for further analysis and left shortly after with the promise of meeting up for lunch in a few short hours.
Draco abandoned the lift, jogged up the stairs ignoring swarms of witches that glanced his way and headed straight for the vast training hall.
Audrey adjusted her gold-rimmed spectacles and quipped, "Ah, Mr Malfoy! Thank you for gracing us with your presence this morning. I apologise for not rolling out the red carpet."
Draco stiffened and barrelled into explanation, "Good morning, Miss Audrey. Please let me explain…."
She waved her hand dismissively, "Don't bother. Potter has already seen to it. However, I would like a direct word from you in the future."
Draco heaved a sigh of relief and nodded curtly, "Yes, of course. You have my word."
Emily flashed a happy smile in his direction and waved him over. Dennis and a few others threw him the usual looks of suspicion before Audrey yelled for them to pay attention and started the lesson.
They worked in pairs, and by the end of the first half, Draco and Emily outshone their comrades with their quick decision-making and survival techniques that combined magic and Muggle tactics.
Emily beamed, “That was brilliant.” She was exhausted but considered every ache and pain utterly worth it.
Audrey clapped in appreciation, "Well done, team! Have lunch and return promptly."
Hannah was waiting for him outside the training hall with a smug look plastered onto her pretty face.
She mused, "Figured you could use a good bodyguard."
Draco rolled his eyes, "Don't start."
Hannah laughed, grabbed him by the arm and dragged him towards the cafeteria, "Come on before all the good stuff is gone. I'm starving."
Draco let himself be pulled and refrained from reminding her that it could be multiplied using magic while the food was there.
His thoughts went to his feisty fiancé and how she was fairing. He refrained from paying her visit in case his presence was not welcome.
Draco thought it wise to let her approach him when she was good and ready. He had to tread carefully with Granger.
Hermione and Harry entered the large cafeteria bursting with energy. Many heads turned their way, but it was a fleeting moment as everyone returned to their meals and conversations.
She caught sight of a familiar head of ice-blonde hair and glanced in its direction in time to see Michelle bent suggestively over Draco, whispering in his ear while Hannah looked positively livid.
To Hermione’s dismay, the brazen French woman slid into the seat next to her fiancé and continued to touch his arm and cheekily throw her head back in laughter. Hannah sulked, and it was clear from the frown on her face that she did not welcome the untimely intrusion by Michelle.
Well, he seemed to be having a jolly good time.
Hermione willed herself to move towards Draco, but her legs turned to jelly, and she was too ashamed of herself at that moment to speak with him or thank him for what he had done on her behalf.
She knew firsthand how difficult it was to speak about one's suffering, especially with an outsider. Her disastrous therapy sessions were a testament to that, but for him to bear his heart and soul out to a despicable lout like Skeeter was most definitely thousand times more strenuous.
Draco moved pointedly away from Michelle, brought his head up and caught Hermione staring at him with mixed emotions. She seemed somewhat forlorn and sad. He itched to close the distance between them and gather her in his arms, but all he could fathom at that moment was how tempting she looked in red.
Neither attempted to break eye contact, and they exchanged meaningful glances over the crowd of people that spoke volumes.
Her stomach knotted unpleasantly, causing her breathing to hasten to some extent, but she didn't dare look away.
Oblivious to what was happening, Harry studied the area for an empty table, and having located one, he prompted, "Shall we sit down? Lunch is on me!" He said with a happy grin trying hard to flatten his unkempt mess of black hair.
Hermione observed Michelle's flirtatious attempts to get closer to Draco and frowned. The woman had no qualms about publicly making her intentions known towards an engaged man.
Since when did she regard Malfoy as engaged?
Turning on her heel, Hermione announced abruptly and fled the area, "I've lost my appetite."
Harry caught up and studied his best friend's odd behaviour. He nudged her playfully, "What's going on, Granger?" He only used Granger as a term of endearment.
Hermione averted her gaze and mumbled, "It's nothing. Shall we head out for lunch?"
Harry touched her arm, gently stopping her from storming away and questioned, "Are you softening towards Malfoy? The git had said some pretty nice things about you in Witch Weekly Magazine." He tried his best to keep the contempt for Malfoy out of his voice.
He had read the tell-all interview. Malfoy's answers shocked him; it wasn't at all what he would expect the once arrogant man to say regarding Hermione. The man had even complimented his leadership skills. It was bizarre.
Harry was pretty sure Hermione was having a tough time coming to terms with it.
"You read it?" Hermione asked at once. He had not mentioned that bit when he visited earlier. It was the sort of thing you generally led with.
Harry sighed, "Ginny made me read it." In reality, he read the women's magazine while sitting on the loo on the odd days that Ginny left it lying about. It held some interesting articles at times, but in this instance, his wife had forced it upon him and insisted he read every word.
He had to admit he was taken aback by some of the replies.
Hermione chewed on her bottom lip nervously and confessed, "I haven't spoken to him about it yet."
Harry raised a quizzical brow, "Umm, shouldn't you? I'm guessing he did it to get Skeeter off your back."
Hermione confirmed rather loudly, "Yes, he did!"
Her features twisted, and she said sarcastically, "But after what happened yesterday, I can hardly march up to him and go, thank you so much for defending my honour, Malfoy, I do love snogging you, but I'm sorry for picking my sodding ex-boyfriend instead of you."
Harry frowned deeply, "Erm, you can omit certain details, you know? I do not need to know that you love kissing him." He concluded with a definite roll of his eyes.
He looked momentarily mortified as a vision of Malfoy and Hermione entwined flashed before his eyes, "Oh Merlin, now that image is stuck in my head."
Hermione linked her arm through his and laughed, "Grow up, Potter."
He massaged his temples and groaned as they headed towards an exit, "Why do you hate me, Hermione?"
Draco expected a reaction from Granger, but she remained uncharacteristically quiet about it.
Even a simple thank you would have sufficed compared to the declaration he had in mind of her throwing herself into his arms and kissing him passionately. He was quite frankly addicted to the feel of her soft lips moving under his.
A heavyset Auror called Michelle away. She reluctantly followed the stern-looking woman and glanced over her shoulder at Draco, who moodily picked at his lunch.
At the same time, Hannah threw him thoroughly amused glances as witches in other departments hurried past whispering among themselves and discreetly pointing at them.
Hannah grew tired of a bunch of dimwitted bints at the following table staring at him and giggling like a bunch of randy schoolgirls.
What was the matter with these women?
She scowled openly in their direction and hurled, "Take a bloody picture. It will last longer."
The women threw her a look of pure loathing, and turned beet red as others turned to look and poke fun. They hurriedly got to their feet and scurried off in the opposite direction.
Draco could not help but laugh, "Thanks, love." Abbott was a breath of fresh air he wholeheartedly welcomed.
Hannah twirled the fork around the pasta, trying to get a generous helping to stick to it and rolled her eyes, "Well, you do look quite fetching in the pictures. It's your own fault."
Draco chuckled, "It's not my fault I'm blessed with good looks and impeccable manners."
Hannah stuffed her face and grew thoughtful, "It would have been interesting to see how this would have panned out if you bared a similar resemblance to a hairy troll."
Draco ran his fingers through his hair, scrunched up his nose and thought hard. Crabbe and Goyle came to mind.
She interrupted his thoughts and was enthused, "Look on the bright side, after you are done with training, we are going on patrol. There are a few other active cases besides The Dollhouse Strangler, and a particularly nasty one regarding an illegal potions ring has come to our attention."
Draco perked up and straightened, "That sounds brilliant!" It was the distraction he needed and his first field assignment.
The rest of the day passed without much fuss, with the odd owl turning up of some witch he had never met confessing her newfound love and admiration for him.
He thought of Hermione often as the minutes ticked by relentlessly.
While his intention for the interview was selfless, he was forced to admit that Rita Skeeter had been right in her assumption. They were now faced with the problem of his growing obsessed fan base.
Women were crawling out of the woodwork, and it was utterly bizarre how his life story was being romanticised, and Hannah had a valid point. He wondered if he would have gained the same fame and adulation if he looked like anyone other than himself.
He returned to training and was less than his usual self, thanks largely to his disturbed mind.
Later that day, in one of the boardrooms of the DMLE
Harry leaned forward and addressed his team gravely, "Nothing?"
Michael tossed the pictures aside in frustration and sighed, "Nothing. Perhaps, he's stopped?" He put forth the question and waited for everyone's input.
Harry brought his hand down hard on the table and hissed, "It's fucking infuriating."
Another Auror working on the case shared her thoughts, "That's impossible. There's one woman left."
Michael leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest and said grimly, "Maybe her disappearance is unrelated. We have no proof he took her."
The same woman pointed out and argued decisively, "She's a redhead."
Michael argued with just cause, "That doesn't mean anything. It could be a sheer coincidence. "
Harry frowned in his direction, "They are no coincidences in our line of work, mate."
He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something was definitely amiss, "Something feels off."
Thomas had listened to the various takes on the case and offered from his place in the corner, "Maybe he's fallen in love with her."
Harry was taken aback by the declaration and asked curiously, "What do you mean, Thomas?"
The veteran shared his profound insight, "I've done some research into similar Muggle cases, and in quite a few instances, the killing and abductions stop because the kidnapper develops romantic feelings towards the woman in his possession."
A general hiss of disgust and an air of unrest settled over them. They were aware the victims had been sexually assaulted, but subjecting them to the notion of love seemed unusually cruel.
A seasoned Auror scowled, "That's absurd. He's no mere kidnapper but a sick bastard incapable of love." She shook with incomprehensible anger.
Thomas disregarded her reaction and shrugged, "He's looking to fill some void." It would not help the case to get emotionally involved. Once you let feelings cloud your judgement, mistakes happen. That's why he remained detached at all times except when it came to Audrey, and he had paid for it with a limb.
Harry gritted out, "Unless we are certain, we will not give up on Sarah."
Thomas nodded curtly, "Agreed."
Michael heaved a sigh and shrugged. Unlike Terry, his opinion was valued but hardly counted.
The sound of files falling to the floor prompted the black-clad individuals to turn towards the source. John knelt on the floor, gathering the dropped files and repeatedly muttered, "I'm so sorry."
Michael callously pointed out, "This is a confidential meeting. You have no place here." He was still sore after catching the man being extra friendly with his girlfriend.
Harry gave Michael a withering look and spoke kindly to the man collecting the fallen files and scattered parchments, "John, we didn't hear you come in, mate."
John answered almost at once and cowered in the presence of the intimidating individuals, "I knocked plenty of times, I swear."
Harry waved his hand dismissively and smiled, hoping to put the timid man at ease, "Relax. It's not a big deal."
Meanwhile, Michael puffed his chest out and frowned in a most despicable manner. John tried to look away, but his eyes slowly moved over the many photographs of the dead women looking angelic yet brutal and exposed.
While studying the man intently, Thomas injected slowly in a carrying voice, "John?"
John snapped out of his daze. Placing the files on the table, he replied timidly, "Arthur said you had asked for these."
Harry answered and slapped him hard on the back, "Yes, thanks for bringing them up. You shouldn't have."
John smiled, "It's not a problem, Mr Potter."
The meeting resumed after John hurriedly left without a backward glance. Thomas watched his departure with newfound interest.
Even after consuming many pots of tea and numerous packets of biscuits, they were still undecided on whether to consider The Dollhouse Strangler a cold case and move on to more pressing issues like the letter Hermione had received earlier that day.
Hermione succeeded in avoiding Draco by staying well away from the DMLE. She hugged herself as the wintry weather surrounded her.
She crossed the street and looked over her shoulder whilst walking towards her flat complex. A shadowy figure fell in step behind her, but it amounted to nothing since the man stopped to greet an old friend.
It was hard to shake off the feeling of being followed but brushed it off as nothing more than paranoia and rattled nerves from the threatening letter. The document affected her far more than she let on. There was a certain truth behind it that genuinely startled her.
Only once she was inside her flat did she relax and breathe a sigh of immense relief.
Hermione sat on the sofa fully clothed in her office attire, picked up the phone and stared at Draco’s name and number. She owed him an enormous vote of thanks for what he did, but why was she feeling so utterly gutless?
She contemplated inviting him over for dinner. A delightful, home-cooked meal as a sign of gratitude would be something he would appreciate. He was partial to her grandmother's green apple pie.
The phone rang, and Hermione jumped at the sudden loud noise that spread throughout the flat and fumbled the phone but thankfully did not drop it.
She was overly fond of the person calling and thought about how ironic it was that she was just thinking about the caller's beloved son.
Hermione connected the call and put it on speaker, "Good evening, Narcissa."
Narcissa spoke warmly, "Hello, my darling. How are you?"
"I just got in. How can I be of help?" Hermione asked eagerly and fought the urge to ask about Draco.
Narcissa said in a businesslike tone, "Darling, I've arranged a meeting with the contractors and designers to discuss the renovations of the cottage at eleven am tomorrow."
Hermione was quick to point out, "I'm fine with whatever you pick, Narcissa."
Narcissa laughed in the most ladylike manner, "That's flattering, my dear, but the cottage will be your home, and despite the nature of this marriage, you must make it yours and add any personal touches of your liking."
She added thoughtfully, "Maybe an exquisite bath."
Hermione beamed, "That would be wonderful." She held back her excitement as good manners kicked in and said politely, "If that's your wish. I'll see you then."
Narcissa gushed, "I look forward to it." Her tone shifted to that of concern, "I've been meaning to call you after the Prophet's article. I hope you are well."
Hermione felt emotional, and she could not quite figure out why, but she kept the tears at bay and responded, "Thank you for asking. I'm used to Rita's unflattering words." She was not, not really. The unfair assumptions always stung.
Narcissa knew the young woman was suffering and sought to lift her spirits. She gushed, "Let's catch up tomorrow."
Hermione said fondly, "Good night."
Narcissa sighed, "Sleep well, Hermione."
Hannah pressed her back against the wall and waited for her partner to turn up. She glanced at the clock; it was a little past six pm.
She smiled as Draco came into view and towards her. She shoved a set of folded clothes into his arms.
"Change," Hannah instructed firmly.
At first, Draco was sceptical and a little repulsed with having to wear clothes that had been in another's possession, and Hannah guessed as much. She put his mind at ease, "Relax, Princess. I got them brand new for you. The Ministry picked up the tab."
They ditched their prominent Auror robes and opted for more casual attire consisting of a pair of plain jeans, a black hoodie for Draco, beige trousers, and a deep brown hoodie for Hannah. They could have easily passed off as Muggles.
He was impressed by how well she handled everything. The girl he remembered, barely, was certainly not the woman before him.
She led the way into the bowels of the DMLE and entered a room Draco had not seen or been in before. It was heavily guarded with enchantments, and a well-built wizard with a fashionable ponytail and permanent scowl stood guard.
He eyed the incoming pair with a slight smile and crossed his arms over his chest.
Hannah greeted coolly, "Clive."
Clive tipped his chin, "Heading out, Hannah?"
Hannah nodded and requested eagerly, "I need the Glock 17."
Clive gave his approval, "You've taken a liking to that one." He walked into the back and returned with a pair of pistols with black handles.
Hannah shrugged, "Hmm, it handles well and is easy to conceal." She picked one up and loaded it with gold-plated bullets while Draco eyed the procedure in interest.
Clive gestured towards Draco with his head and mused, "What about your boyfriend here?"
Hannah wasn't fazed. Instead, she smirked, "He's still in training. He has his trusty old wand." If only she knew the truth about his abilities.
She felt compelled to explain since it seemed like Draco was waiting for one, "In a raid a few years back, a bunch of Russian wizards opened fire on a group of Aurors sent to detain them. The fuckers used AK47s and shot the approaching group at close range. It was lucky Thomas projected a shield charm that took the brunt of the bullets."
She included with a hint of pride, "Once Potter took up the reins, he thought it wise to couple magic with firepower on field assignments."
Draco could not help but feel impressed by Potter's wise decision to implement change and keep up with modern times.
He also couldn't fathom why Hannah would need to carry a lethal weapon on a random, seemingly harmless patrol.
Was she expecting trouble?
A neglected pistol sat on the counter. Clive had it out for cleaning. Draco gave in to temptation and picked up the lethal but slick-looking gun. It fit perfectly in his hand.
He had practised with multiple swords and staffs of various lengths and sizes but never touched a gun. The teachings at the Temple went against the use of such methods. His teachings promoted peace, not bloodshed and violence.
Clive eyed the young Malfoy getting a feel of the gun and said, "Ah, one of my personal favourites. The Desert Eagle 50 is probably one the best-known handguns of all time."
Hannah smirked and asked her partner, "Are you ready?"
Draco laid the gorgeous pistol down and nodded curtly, "Lead the way."
Hannah did not wait for an explanation. She grabbed his sleeve, and they disapparated and appeared near a dark cobbled lane littered with debris in a lane a little way off Knockturn Alley.
The stench of rotting flesh hit them first. What in the name of Merlin was that horrific smell?
Both fought the bile that rose and maintained a level of profound professionalism. She pulled up a hood that obscured her face and gestured for him to do the same and advised, "Follow my lead."
Draco took in the drab surroundings and covered his head entirely with the hoodie. It wouldn’t have been prudent to be recognised given the circumstances. Following his partner down the alley, he made sure to avoid the rabble of shady-looking characters that leaned against the walls, smoking cigarettes and observing their every movement. He balled his hands into fists and took a deep breath to calm himself.
They entered an ages-old shop. The paint was peeling, and a name board hung loosely off its hinges and threatened to plummet to the ground crushing whoever stood underneath, but surprisingly the interior was spectacular.
There were numerous neat rows of jars upon jars with unexplainable oddities floating about within them, and a separate set of rows held raw ingredients for potion-making.
Hannah pushed open the door, causing a bell to sound and confidently strode in. She smiled somewhat politely at the man behind the counter but received no greeting of any kind in return.
Draco followed suit and entered inconspicuously behind her. His eyes took in the finer details of the place that was most overlooked. There were a handful of customers, and like them, they covered their faces and kept to themselves.
Hannah fished out a list out of her pocket and slid it across the counter, and inquired, "Are you, Mr Smith?" Detailed on the paper were ingredients to make a large batch of Polyjuice potion.
The man glanced at the paper and showed indifference, "I am. We don't sell these here. Take your business somewhere else." They certainly did, but he needed all available stock to cater to his Master, who sought different faces when it suited him to walk among the populace unnoticed and undetected.
Hannah adopted an air of smug superiority. She informed the shop owner knowingly, "That's funny."
She looked about for good measure and shrugged casually, "You see, one of your regular customers highly recommended your shop, and I was hoping to get these."
Draco hovered in the back but kept a keen eye on the exchange. Hannah was doing brilliantly and hardly required his assistance.
The man paled but gathered his courage and gritted out, "He's mistaken. Leave.”
Hannah reached over the counter, grabbed the stunned man by the collar, and pulled him roughly towards her in a blink of an eye. She spat in his face, "I don't think so." Her usually calm demeanour was replaced by rising anger and frustration.
Draco sprang to action as the stout man in the corner they had not noticed earlier leapt to his feet and drew out his wand with the intent of causing Hannah bodily harm.
Still, he barely had time to point it in her direction since Draco acted fast and subdued him wordlessly by throwing him against the tall rack of neatly stacked potions causing the contents to fall to the floor around the enraged man.
The man groaned and, with a prominent snarl, sprang to his feet, but Draco narrowed his eyes and swiftly used a well-placed roundhouse kick to knock him unconscious. The sickening sound of his heavy boot colliding with the stunned man's head spread to the corners of the small shop.
Hannah was momentarily shocked by his use of wandless magic combined with Kung fu giving the shopkeeper an unfair advantage over her, but he wasn't quick enough and failed in his attempt to grab her by the coat.
She slammed his face down on the counter, took out her wand and pressed the tip into his cheek and exclaimed, "You are under arrest for the illegal peddling of unicorn blood."
Draco could barely contain his surprise. The slaughtering of a scared being such as a unicorn was punishable by a weighty sentence at Azkaban, but most importantly, what was the purpose for slaying such a pure creature?
The man sneered, "Where's your proof, girl?"
Hannah smiled serenely. She effortlessly flicked her wand, and a cowering sobbing man's memories and confession came forth. The blubbering mess of a wizard spewed out every bit of information regarding the vile deeds committed and exactly where to find the banned materials.
"That treacherous bastard," Smith cried in outrage. The traitor would pay dearly for his betrayal.
Hannah stated in a carrying voice, “Ah, don’t be too hard on him. We, Aurors, can be quite persuasive when the need arises.” She pointed her wand towards the vast shelves and dust-covered shelves and said in a clear voice, "Accio Unicorn blood."
A sizable bottle filled to the brim with a thick silvery substance came flying at her. She caught it expertly, brought it up to the light for further clarification and smirked in satisfaction, "And there's the stuff."
She pushed the wand further into his skin and gritted out," Lock up! You will not be returning from Azkaban anytime soon. I will make sure you serve a hefty sentence for this heinous crime."
Smith scowled, "Filthy bitch."
Hannah roughly hoisted him up and mocked, "Now, where are your manners, scum?"
She looked over to where Draco stood awaiting further instruction and said rather sweetly, "Malfoy, if you would…."
Draco nodded in understanding, moved closer and took out his wand. He muttered the incantation Audrey had seen fit to drum into their heads since day one of training.
A pair of rusty handcuffs materialised out of his wand and secured themselves around the man's wrists, tightening under his slightest movement.
Michael stepped out of the shadows and made his presence known, "Nice job, Hannah. We missed you at The Dollhouse debriefing." Potter had assigned him to the Potions case with strict instructions that he only observed and not interfere unless necessary.
Hannah frowned in bitter disappointment, "A bit too late, Corner. I was wondering where you were."
Michael answered with a hint of guilt, "I'm sorry, I got held up.” He smiled and said proudly, “But you hardly needed my help." He had gone to pay Terry a quick visit after the meeting and lost track of time.
In the days since his admittance to the rehabilitation centre, Terry seemed to have a tough time sobering up and looked a right mess with days-old stubble adorning his face, and bloodshot eyes, and he seemed to have lost weight overnight.
Hannah pressed urgently, "Have they decided to stop pursuing the Dollhouse Strangler?"
Michael shook his head, "Not yet! Potter is adamant.”
Hannah breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank Merlin.” She needed to catch the killer. Her mind would not rest until they did.
Corner faced Draco with a certain degree of remorse and sized up the man who had performed well on his first patrol. The last time they met had not been a pleasant occasion, but hoping to make amends, Michael straightened to his full height and commended, "Good work, Malfoy. I didn't even see you pull out your wand."
Hannah threw her partner a sceptical glance, and Draco nodded curtly regarding the compliment but didn't bother to follow up with encouraging words.
Draco marched over to the semi-unconscious man among the debris and pulled him to his feet. Hannah had Smith well under control.
Smith was simply an alias; his real name was Griffin Sandar Montague. A small-time villain from a prominent wizarding family with a self-presumed higher calling.
The defeated man stared deadpan at the wall and refused to speak. He seemed awfully quiet for a man who was being carted off to Azkaban.
Hannah took hold of Draco's hand. His fingers closed around hers tightly, and she gave a curt nod before disapparating them to Azkaban.
Draco had never been to the infamous prison, and with good reason. Dimly lit narrow corridors appeared before him like a labyrinth he had to manoeuvre around and escape from. The strong smell of disinfectant was repulsive. It hung over them as if to suffocate them with its pungent aroma.
He felt a sudden shift in his mood and cries of those he had long since forgotten invaded his mind, but terrifying sounds of anguish and despair of the prisoners surrounded him.
His eyes fluttered shut, and he almost collapsed from the sheer weight pressing down on him.
The voices he locked away and refused to acknowledge clawed their way to the surface, scraping at the inner walls of his mind and letting him bleed.
It started treacherously, his mother's desperate pleas for mercy as another Cruciatus curse tore through her fragile body and her cries of pain combined with the malignant laughter of her torturer echoing through the Manor. At the same time, he sat in his room holding onto his mother's wand so tightly it might have snapped in half and invaded his mind.
He held onto his head and groaned, his mother's voice morphed to be replaced by Granger's ear-piercing screams with his aunt's maddened yet panicked voice accusing her of stealing, “What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!”
Hermione’s cries echoed off the walls, and Draco was once again the helpless boy who stood by the sidelines while the screams intensified. It was his father's moderately deep voice from beyond the grave that sent a shuddering chill down his spine.
Lucius scowled at his son and hissed, "You gutless worm."
His voice sounded much like himself but was laced with pure malice, "How dare you come here when you didn't so much as lift a finger to help me?"
Trapped in his mind, Draco tried to argue, "No, I…."
Lucius said with a definite snarl, "You abandoned me here to die!"
Venomous words spewed out of his mouth, "My suffering is on your conscience, and my blood stains your hands."
Draco refused to be goaded even by a memory. He countered with resolve, "You brought it upon yourself, father."
Lucius laughed aloud and spat in contempt, "Coward. I wish you had never been born."
Draco closed his eyes and gritted out as fiery rage consumed him, causing the walls he put up to crumble and his magic to surge to the surface, "Get out of my fucking head!"
Hannah heard her partner speak to an entity that was not present.
Alarmed by his behaviour, she turned to face him and implored in a gentle voice, "Draco, are you alright?" She touched his pale face for good measure in an effort to snap him out of the trance he had fallen prey to.
Draco slowly opened his eyes and grew wistful, "Yes. It's this place…."
Hannah looked about and visibly shuddered, "It's terrible, isn't it?" The Dementors were stationed outside, overlooking the boundaries, but their ghostly presence leaked through the cracks in the walls and affected all those who dwelled within the prison.
She grew solemn and wisely explained further, "It affects you more because you have horrors in your past that others don't."
"I suppose, but I best get used to it," Draco agreed and kept his eyes trained on the shadowy, ominous pathway ahead of them.
Hannah mumbled, “Hmm….” She would do what she could to help him ease into his new job role. It was in every sense morbid and soul-sucking. Heavy winds beat down around them, threatening to suck them into its epicentre of horror.
Though they could not see the inmates, they could hear the agony and whimpering of tortured souls and the many whisperings of the prisoners who were slowly succumbing to their bleak surroundings and becoming one with their sentences.
Draco had a firm hold on Smith while Hannah trailed behind them with the unnamed man occasionally stopping to speak to the guards and other Aurors that passed by.
Smith glanced at Draco and spoke in a deep clear voice, "I know you, boy."
Draco eyed the man out of the corner of his eye and sneered, "Can't say I’ve had the pleasure."
"My Master knows of your return," Smith said in determination with a reverent yet disturbing look in his eyes. Draco knew that look well; he had seen the flicker countless times across Voldemort’s most loyal subjects.
Out of nowhere, with some degree of difficulty, Smith grabbed Draco’s arm as they walked, allowing his long fingers and short fingernails to press into where he had been branded with the Dark Mark. He leered, showing off his yellowish teeth and a single gold tooth, "They will come for you, Malfoy. You cannot forget your past or run from it. Eventually, it will catch up to you."
Draco broke free from the grasp and roughly pushed Smith back, causing the handcuffed man to fall and collide unceremoniously with the black-painted sterile floor. An eerie silence fell over them as Smith started to laugh deliriously, prompting the wizard guards on the watch to intervene and drag him away along with his protesting, cowering accomplice.
His deafening cries echoed through the narrow passageway, “Please! Help me! I was only following orders.”
The wizard guards shot Draco a look of deep loathing and disapproval but relaxed once Hannah came into view.
"Carry on. I will fill the paperwork to process him and be right back," she informed all those within earshot and exchanged a grave final look with Draco before moving away.
Draco glanced at his arm, which was red with visible scratches from where he had been grabbed and stared at the gruesome snake in disgust. There were no known ways to remove the mark. He had tried on numerous occasions, but it just wasn't possible without severing his limb.
His thoughts grudgingly went to his father once more and his miserable last days alone and dejected in this horrible place. It caused his heart to ache, and he felt an unfamiliar pain directed at his father grip his chest.
It was a kindness that Lucius passed without suffering too much, and according to Narcissa, he was not driven mad by his surroundings. He had died with his mind reasonably intact.
"You did good," a familiar encouraging voice made it to his ear, pulling him out of his unsettling thoughts.
Draco turned to find Hannah smiling at him. He retorted, "So did you."
She wearily looked around and stated with sarcasm, "Are you ready to leave?"
Draco tried to muster a smile, "If all is in order."
Once again, Hannah reached for his hand and disapparated them away into a narrow alleyway near a popular Muggle eatery that was open at all hours.
Hannah fetched a bar of Honeydukes best chocolate from her pocket, broke off nearly half the slab and pushed it into Draco’s slightly trembling hands and commanded, "Eat!"
He did as instructed, and the very second the chocolate touched the minute taste buds on his tongue, a warmness spread throughout his body, making him feel instantly better.
Hannah smiled and followed suit. Like her partner, she felt the chocolate work its unique blend of magic. She always kept a bar of chocolate handy, just in case, and it had nearly always paid off.
Their attire allowed them to blend into the surroundings without too much hassle. They entered the almost empty restaurant, ordered steaming cups of coffee, and a sizable piece of chocolate cake to share between them and slid into a booth.
The coffee arrived, and Hannah took a sip before heaving a sigh and studying the man in front of her with a mixture of awe and uncertainty. She hesitated at first, not wanting to pry but asked in fascination after a moment's thought, "How long have you been able to do wandless magic?"
Draco took a sip of his coffee before drawing a deep breath. Abbott was his partner and someone with who he would spend a considerable amount of time. They needed to trust each other.
He did trust her and could hardly keep a secret of this magnitude from her. Sooner or later, his remarkable gift would come to light, and pointless intrusive discussions would surely follow.
Draco took his time, exhaled, and confessed slowly, "For a few years."
Though Hannah grew deeply thoughtful and concentrated on eating the cake, she thankfully did not pursue the subject.
"Are you okay?" She inquired after a few moments of silence about his well-being since their trip to Azkaban had not been well received by him.
Draco stared into his coffee and replied gravely, "I'm fine.”
“I heard my father's voice. He accused me of leaving him to rot." His voice cracked on the last word.
His grip on the mug tightened, "He sounded pitiful and without remorse."
Hannah reached over and squeezed his hand, "I'm sorry, Draco, but those voices aren’t real. It’s your deepest fears brought to life."
"Don't worry about it. I will put up better shields to keep any unwanted voices and thoughts out," he said solemnly but with some confidence.
Hannah, still reeling from shock over his abilities, nodded in agreement but said nothing to placate him further.
After the coffee was consumed and the heavenly piece of chocolate cake devoured, they paid and thanked the server before stepping out. They fell into step beside each other and walked along the deserted London streets in the dead of night in companionable silence.
Draco pierced the silence with a firm, "It's late. Let me see you back to yours."
Hannah chuckled, "Don't be bloody ridiculous."
She rubbed her hands to keep warm and said with a slight smile, "See you tomorrow."
Draco replied good-naturedly, "Definitely."
Hannah punched him in the arm playfully and exclaimed, "Don't bother coming in early. I'll clear it with Audrey."
Draco nodded but thought it wise to inform his superior himself. He did not want to get into another pickle with the strict instructor.
Hannah gave a two-finger salute and disapparated. Draco pulled up his collar to weather the brutal winds that swirled around him, stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, closed his eyes and thought hard of Malfoy Manor.
It was past two in the morning when Draco arrived at the Manor. He collapsed onto the white marble bench and stared at the angel that sat atop his favourite fountain. Smith's warning did not sit well with him, and he was adamant about finding out what the man's crass comments meant.
Who was this Master of whom he spoke so worshipfully? He shuddered as an image of Voldemort floated into his mind.
Could it be? They had witnessed the Dark wizard's demise. No, it was impossible.
Chapter 48
Notes:
A gruesome crime scene - Trigger warning - Please read with caution.
Firstly, I sincerely apologise for the late update, I've been down with a fever, and it was awful.
Hermione and Draco visit the cottage, and sparks fly.
A twist in the plot ;)
Enjoy Chapter forty-eight. Hawaii is around the corner ;) I will be splitting it up into two chapters :)
Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
In the dead of night, Harry, Kingsley and Thomas crossed the empty road and walked down a deserted street in a more undesirable part of Muggle London where poverty rang steady and petty crimes ran rampant.
They walked in silence, having apparated earlier from the Ministry upon hearing the tragic news.
Each wizard was caught up in their thoughts until Thomas cursed aloud and held onto his new trendy hat with his good hand to stop it from being blown away by a sudden strong gust of wind.
Kingsley raised a curious brow, "I've never seen you wear a hat before, Spencer.
"Going bald, are we?" He mocked good-naturedly in an effort to lighten the mood.
The veteran Auror quipped in his rough voice, "Thankfully, not yet. Although Audrey thought it looked quite dashing." She had commented on his bold fashion accessory earlier that day when they crossed paths on the way to the cafeteria.
"Still holding a torch for that one, I see," Kingsley brazenly teased the older man. Oh, he knew all about Thomas's feelings towards Audrey and that she reciprocated them. It was a hot topic of gossip over the years among the more senior members of the DMLE.
Unfortunately, Thomas loved his job above all else and whilst his dedication to his career was admirable, it could put a severe damper on a relationship.
A deep, hearty laugh tore out of Kingsley's mouth, "You look like a sleazy Muggle gangster from the fifties." Harry hid the smile that made its way to his face and swallowed the laugh that bubbled to the surface despite the grave situation they were headed towards.
Thomas pointedly adjusted the vintage-style greyish hat and frowned, "Fuck off, Shacklebolt."
The Minister of Magic chuckled and stepped lively. The weather didn't help much. It was bitterly cold, forcing the men to pull up the collars of their thick coats and plunge their gloved hands into the deep pockets to seek extra warmth.
None used magic. It seemed inappropriate and somewhat disrespectful to those whose lives had been cruelly taken that day.
It wasn't a charming street, and obscene graffiti adorned the walls. A myriad of fluorescent colours mixed with shades of black was splattered haphazardly across the grimy walls. Some were brilliant works of art depicting darkness, poverty and hardship. Harry glanced at the drawings and wondered from what pain the artist suffered to draw these graphic images. His heart sank to the pits of his belly.
Overflowing dustbins and discarded scraps of newspapers swimming in puddles from faulty plumbing added to its unappealing nature. The pools of water were abundant and difficult to sidestep. Their boots collided noisily with the murky water.
It was clear why such a place had been chosen for the heinous crime that left Muggle authorities completely baffled.
To an onlooker, it seemed like they were three men in heavy coats out for a night stroll after a few drinks at a pub, but the real reason they were out was far more distressing and alarming.
They approached an area prompting Harry to scan their surroundings meticulously, but it was deserted but for a homeless man who sat quite still in a corner, fast asleep. Harry discreetly took out his wand, slashed it through the air, and muttered a single elongated word.
A horrific scene opened before them, and they walked towards the bloodied area of spilt guts and gore of two Muggle men and a woman on her back twitching and writhing in agony. The site was bustling with Aurors walking back and forth with severe and intense expressions.
The team had arrived earlier on the scene and were busy at work, waving their wands over torn pieces of flesh with bits of ligaments still intact, taking pictures of the scattered remains and speaking to each other in hushed tones as if not to disturb the deceased. Still, everything came to a standstill once they spotted the incoming trio.
Kingsley nodded in acknowledgement at a few who greeted him and swore as his astute eyes wandered over the mauled body with many deep gashes down the man's abdomen that caused his skin to be shredded into delicate thin ribbons, "Fuck."
Thomas sniffed air thick with unrest. He inhaled deeply—blood. The pungent decadent smell of death surrounded him whole.
He licked his bottom lip and scanned the immediate area. His gaze fell upon a woman in a simple server's uniform with a blank expression staring unfalteringly at the decapitated bodies on the cold, dirty floor. She held a lit cigarette between trembling fingers. It perpetually burned, dropping bits of ash at regular intervals.
Harry took the report he was handed and keenly flipped through the pages of what had been documented thus far. He outright refused to accept such an atrocious crime had happened on his watch.
What bloody madness was this?
Keeping his eyes fixed on the countless photographs, he inquired gravely in barely a whisper, "How many?" His head was spinning, and he wondered if there were more than the three visible bodies.
The thorough Auror replied solemnly, "Three, sir. Two are dead and mutilated beyond recognition." She glanced over her shoulder at the scattered fragments and almost spat the last words out.
Michael Corner passed by with a brown file tucked under his arm and wand pointed at the skies. He muttered a spell in an ancient tongue to keep their presence hidden from the outside world for longer. A clear sound of vomiting pierced the silence as a novice Auror standing close by hurried off in the opposite direction and threw up in the corner because of the repulsive stench of blood, spilt guts and the surrounding swarm of flies.
His burly partner threw him a look of pure disapproval and ignored his existence while he proceeded to vomit violently. She paid him no mind and went about her tasks without pause. Kingsley deeply exhaled. The rookie caught him looking, smiled sheepishly and muttered a quick Scourgify before scurrying off in shame.
These youngsters were keen on the fame, accolades and respect that came from being an Auror but were quick to forget the gruesome cases and monstrosities they were constantly challenged with.
Moving close, Kingsley stood over a body of a male shredded to so many pieces that the deceased man's severed nose was mere inches from his leather boot. He could hardly blame the newbie for feeling sick. He had never come across a more horrific scene in all his years.
Covering his mouth and nose with a pearly white handkerchief, Shacklebolt inquired in an ominous tone, "Cause of death?" He somehow knew the answer already. If this were the work of rabid dogs or some Muggle-related creature, they wouldn't have been called in.
The experienced Auror, bent over the victim, scrapping bits of stuck intestine off the ground with her wand, looked up at him and said the foreboding word, "Werewolves." She whispered like it was taboo to utter.
However, Kingsley was hardly discreet. He wasn't averse to causing a commotion by making his displeasure quite vocal. He bellowed in outrage, "Are you fucking serious, Amelia?" His deep voice travelled through the ramble of Aurors, who stopped what they were doing to stare his way.
Michael hissed from the sidelines, "Preposterous." He was in complete denial about the true nature of events.
Harry came up from behind, swapped a serious look with Kingsley and questioned persistently, "Werewolves? This close to Muggle London?" It was mind-boggling, to say the least.
Kingsley shook his head in disbelief and argued, "It's unheard of in over three hundred years."
Michael nodded in agreement, "They wouldn't risk killing Muggles in the city." Werewolves generally kept to themselves and occupied wooded areas or lived within forests where plenty of animals roamed free to hunt.
An uncomfortable silence fell over them as the truth began to sink in.
"After all we've done for them?" Kingsley scowled in bitter disappointment. He had sacrificed his safety by refusing any bodyguards despite Granger's persistence and personally met with prominent pack leaders and spoke at great length about terms and conditions for coexistence.
They had agreed to the terms eagerly enough, adding a few of their own conditions but could this be some sort of macabre message?
Treaties were signed to ensure peace among all magical beings. However, it was probably the one decision he took that received nationwide backlash and plenty of controversial comments from prominent members of the wizarding community.
It hadn't been an easy task to achieve such a feat, but with the help of Granger and her unwavering loyalty and diligence towards a just cause, they had achieved the impossible. It had worked marvellously up until now.
Unafraid to speak her mind, Amelia scoffed, "Kingsley, even you cannot be so naïve. Just because the Ministry passed a law allowing unanimous registration of Werewolves so they can obtain Wolfsbane and compete for poor job opportunities, that this community who has feared them for centuries is going to accept them with open arms."
Kingsley flinched as Amelia's harsh but true words cut through his thick outer defences and wounded his fragile ego.
She pointed to the shoulder of the victim with a gloved hand and trailed her fingers over the gaping wound, "These marks are consistent with a werewolf bite." A sickening squelchy sound emitted from where her fingers made contact and dug into the open wound, causing the men watching her to wince and swallow the bile that rose in their throats.
Ignoring the squirmish reactions, Amelia got to her feet, took off her gloves and enlightened the group further, "This could be the work of a rogue wolf that is not bound to the rules of a pack or Alpha."
Kingsley massaged the bridge of his nose in exasperation. A rogue wolf was a massive problem that fell through the system's cracks.
Harry offered Amelia a slight encouraging smile, "Good work, Jones."
"Merlin's beard!" The loud exclamation came from the other end of the crime scene.
Arthur Weasley had arrived with John in tow and rolls of parchment tucked neatly under his arm.
The cowering man in brown trousers and a plain white shirt stuck close to Arthur and squarely avoided the vomit on the floor, not wanting to dirty his shoes. He wished Arthur had picked Perkins to go in his stead.
His sadistic colleague was far better equipped than him to tackle such horrifying images. The smell alone was making his stomach turn.
Although he couldn't stop thinking about how random and disgusting the killer had been, whoever it was had not given a second thought to leaving behind an unprofessional mess, but that was hardly his concern. He was there to do his job to the best of his ability, not psychoanalysis a murderer.
"Arthur, what brings you by?" Harry led his father-in-law away from the scene and probed in interest. Arthur was the Head of The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts department. While his expertise in all things Muggle was above the average wizards, he hardly ever visited crime scenes and especially not ones of such a gruesome nature.
Arthur wiped his brow and then upper lip. His eyes kept darting to the woman in a tattered dress screaming in agony as an Auror tended to her. He replied glumly, "They requested identification on some Muggle items."
He pointed to the parchment that John clutched tightly in trembling fingers, "We brought along a couple of images for you to reference."
Indeed, Harry looked over the pictures and sighed. Most were computer-related hardware such as a portable keyboard, a sleek black mouse and a few scratched CDs.
The items had fallen out of one of the victim's bags, giving some insight into the dead man's profession, and Arthur had been called in to help identify and catalogue the equipment. It was a tragic circumstance.
A tall Auror with a scraggly beard and loose-fitting robes came forward, "Weasley, right on time! You are an absolute lifesaver, mate." His sharp eyes fell on Harry, "Sorry, boss. I didn't see you there."
Harry smiled, politely excused himself, left Arthur and John to it, and went over to where Kingsley was still talking with the Auror woman in charge of the blood-curdling crime scene.
Amelia pointed to the corpse of a man with his mouth open in a silent scream and half his tongue bitten off. She said with a certain level of disgust, "He's been drained dry of every ounce of blood through multiple puncture areas."
"Are we certain this is the work of one werewolf?" Kingsley asked incredulously, unable to contain the surprise in his voice. It was pretty farfetched to assume that one werewolf could cause this much devastation.
Harry addressed the Minister's concern and nodded curtly, "Yes, it is. A powerful one." He had another mystery on his hands, and he couldn't help but wonder if everything was somehow connected.
Next, Amelia indicated to the body closest to them, "This poor bugger was probably still alive as the wolf feasted on his flesh. His face was brutally mauled beyond recognition."
Without further word, she walked over to the magically bound woman on the floor in the ripped dress, screaming in what could only be assumed as unimaginable pain.
The others followed her at a short distance and approached the victim with extreme caution.
Compared to the rest, the woman was in considerably better shape. Harry looked at her and felt a deep sense of pity and remorse. He had failed to protect her and every other soul there.
Amelia stated openly, "She's been marked and well on her way to becoming a werewolf at the next full moon. Instinctively she will seek her maker and perhaps lead us to him."
A panicked voice interrupted, "Isn't she too dangerous to be kept alive?" The young Auror in training kept his distance and visibly shuddered. It was abundantly clear that he would not pass the upcoming Auror trials with his gutless attitude.
Harry whipped around and glared at the recruit, "Oh, really? And what does your abundant experience suggest? Should we end her miserable existence?" He goaded, "Go on then, if you believe it must be done, go ahead and do it!"
"Potter, you mustn't lose your head over this," Kingsley advised and speculated whether the pressure of the job was finally getting to the man. They were facing dark times, and none could afford any costly mistakes.
The nervous recruit backed further away and apologised profusely, "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean anything by it." He wished he had taken his mother's advice and become a Healer. This was certainly not what he had signed up for.
Harry pointed to the helpless woman and hissed, "This disastrous attack wasn't her fault. She's just a Muggle heading home after a hard day's work, by the looks of it."
Michael handed over a leather purse with a small wallet visible inside, "Her wallet, Kingsley."
Shacklebolt pulled it out, flipped it open, and sadness flooded him at the sight of the happy family picture that greeted him. He said slowly for all within earshot to hear, "Susan Alice Hartley. She is a loving wife and mother of two beautiful children."
He gritted out in a most displeasing manner, "Fucking wonderful. This woman's husband and children are probably frantic, waiting for her to come home."
In the nonmoving picture, Harry pointed to the pleasant-looking husband, "This man is probably worried to death." He knew he would be if Ginny were late from returning after an outing. He clutched his fists inside his pockets, trying to hide his anxiety.
He addressed the gathered group sternly, "Which one of you is willing to march into her home and tell them that the woman they love and cherish is slowly becoming a werewolf?"
The gathered group exchanged looks of concern over their boss's behaviour. It wasn't like him to snap at them or regard them in such a fierce way.
"Nobody?" Harry eyed every member of his team, "Then I guess it falls to me."
Michael intervened. He clamped Harry down on the shoulder and appeased him as best he could, "Calm down, mate."
Harry stared at the woman, grief-stricken, "Not all Werewolves thirst for blood. They have an element of control." He was reminded of his wise ex-professor and good friend Remus Lupin.
He struggled to compose himself and instructed firmly, "Transfer her to the Werewolf care unit and inform the blokes at the Ministry to expect a visitor. We are best equipped to educate her on how best to deal with her," he paused for a second, "Condition." He made up his mind to accompany the Ministry official when visiting her family. They deserved that much, at least.
A kindly medically trained Auror tending to the woman nodded dejectedly. He took out his wand, gingerly placed his hand on the victim's shoulder and apparated them away.
Michael looked to the heavens and breathed a sigh of relief. The off-white once full moon that loomed over them previously was smaller and obscured by the clouds, "Thank Merlin, the full moon has passed."
Amelia hated to be the bearer of more bad news, but she had no choice but to keep the team informed, "But some werewolves can transform at will. It comes with age and strength." It wasn't common knowledge that once a werewolf reached a certain age that they were able to shift when it pleased them, but it was a rarity. Most with the skill were mindful of their actions and strived to control their bloodlust by slaughtering animals to satisfy their thirst instead of humans.
Kingsley sighed in exhaustion and gritted out, "The Muggle Prime Minister is yelling bloody murder. His head is so far up my arse; it's choking me."
Fixing the Minister with a disgusted look, Amelia returned to taking photographs of the victims from every possible angle. She had witnessed some horrific scenes in her years as a dedicated member of the DMLE, but what lay before her rendered her speechless.
Kingsley had flooed into the muggle prime minister's office for a tense conversation along with the head of Muggle MI5. It was apparent from the Muggle Prime Minister's body language that he was doing his utmost to keep his composure and not have a complete meltdown, "Handle it, Shacklebolt. This is under your bloody domain."
The Minister of Magic crossed a leg over the other and regarded the Muggle Prime Minister through narrowed eyes and a sour disposition. His patience and tolerance for the man hung by a fine thread.
The balding man sneered, "Innocent civilians cannot pay the price for gross negligence in failing to keep your lot in place."
Kingsley glared sternly, slowly rose to his feet, towered over the seated Muggle minister, and gritted out, "What exactly do you mean by my lot?" The MI5 Agent known by the alias Evan moved instinctively between the men and attempted to diffuse the situation, "We must remain calm, Shacklebolt."
Keeping a watchful eye over the sweating man, Kingsley stated with little room for argument, "I will disregard that last comment, Minister, as poor judgment on your part considering the situation but rest assured the situation is already handled." He wasn't about to sit idly by and be insulted by a tub of lard who hadn't a clue about running the country.
Evan sighed and returned to his place by the main door to keep watch. Witches and wizards, he hadn't believed it first, brushing it aside as a joke in poor taste until Kingsley transfigured a simple stapler into a bottle of scotch.
Kingsley further advised in a tone that was not to be taken lightly, "There will be instances where our worlds collide, and without passing blame and panicking like some witless pillock, we must work together to keep the peace."
The Muggle Prime minister flinched and nodded hastily in agreement before apologising, "I understand. Please accept my humble apology for my crude remark, Kingsley. It was truly uncalled for."
Kingsley turned to the other man standing in the room and advised, "I trust you will do all required to ensure this does not become public?"
"Indeed, Minister Shacklebolt. Rest assured, we will be available should you require us." Evan nodded.
He had left the Prime minister's office immediately and met with Thomas and Potter, who were working late, to discuss the grave situation.
"Any witnesses?" Kingsley irritably grilled Michael and Amelia.
Amelia nodded and pointed to a girl of no more than twenty, looking dazed and quite frankly hypnotised, "Just the Muggle waitress who stepped into the Alley for a quick smoke, but she's petrified and no good verbally."
Michael added with a smidge of hope, looking over his shoulder, "Thomas is shuffling through her memories. Hopefully, we can salvage something worthwhile to pin this bastard."
Kingsley pursed his lips, "If he was in his wolf form, we are without hope."
Harry thoughtfully interjected, "Do you think Granger's letter is connected? It's too much of a sheer coincidence."
Kingsley weighed the possibility and concluded that it made sense somewhat, "I wouldn't rule it out, but Voldemort and his merry band of Death Eaters considered Werewolves beneath them. They treated the lot like filthy mongrels only fit to do their bidding."
Michael chimed in, "The predator is smarter than we give him credit for because by targeting Muggles than magical folk, it can go undetected for weeks."
"First, the Dollhouse Strangler and now this?" Kingsley questioned Harry solemnly. Things were looking quite bleak for DMLE.
Thomas approached them with a frown etched onto his face.
Harry raised a brow, "Any luck?"
Thomas shook his head and barrelled into explanation, "The culprit is quite a large greyish wolf with a distinctive line of white fur down its back."
Glancing at a mountain of neglected garbage bags filled to the brim with debris and rotting food, among other things, he encompassed, "The girl hid behind those bags, and the revolting odour masked her smell from the werewolf and possibly saved her from an early demise."
Thomas said with a slight smile, "The poor lass. I wiped her memories and sent her on her merry way."
His tone turned dark and menacing, "I've seen bigger wolves who hunt Muggles because they were threatened or eager to feed, but all this, it looks like it was done out of pleasure." After a moment's thought, he added, "For the sheer thrill of the chase, and there's something vaguely familiar about the wolf in question."
Harry suggested, "I think it's time to pay Dorian another visit."
Kingsley warned everyone within earshot, "Make sure the parasites at the Daily Prophet do not get wind of any of this. I don't need a nation in panic."
Michael gave a two-fingered military salute and made a mental note to call Brenda. He missed her terribly, but it didn't look like he was heading home soon.
It would be hours later when the last Auror disappeared from the scene, having cleaned up the place and removed all trace of what happened that Harry had left for home.
Ginny and James were, of course, fast asleep. Taking care not to wake them, he stepped into the bathroom, stripped and stood under the shower for ages thinking incessantly about the situation that he landed himself with a headache.
Satisfied that he had succeeded in scrubbing the stench of death from him, he climbed into bed and sought the comfort that was Ginny.
She felt his unrest and looked at him sleepily, "What's the matter, love?"
Harry hugged her tight and asked with almost boyish insecurity, "Do you think I'm shit at my job?"
Ginny rubbed the sleepiness off her face, smiled and did her best to reassure her husband, "You have the toughest job besides the Minister of Magic. You can't save everyone, Potter, but I know you try your very best, and you have saved hundreds of people, which makes you bloody brilliant at your job."
"I'm losing control," Harry confided and choked back a sob.
Ginny cupped his face and kissed his forehead, "You are human, Harry. We all lose control at some point, but what's important is that you get back out there and take control."
Harry kissed her passionately and whispered between heated kisses, "God bless you, my Ginny Potter."
Malfoy Manor
Draco bolted up in a state of panic with his hands balled into fists and raised before him aggressively with the single intent of striking a faceless entity. His entire body was coated in a thin sheath of cold sweat.
Rapidly blinking to gather his bearings, he came to the shuddering conclusion that he was within the comfort of his room with steady beams of moonlight licking the floors in a luminous silvery glow.
Kicking the sheet that covered him to the side with some force, Draco threw his legs over the edge letting his bare feet touch the coolness of the wooden floors. It served as a wake-up call, and his breathing hastened while he stared out of the window into the seemingly sinister grounds.
It had been years since he had a nightmare.
Smith's boisterous warning and his father's words from beyond the grave tormented him.
There was a feeling of intense unrest that curled like a trapped serpent in the pit of his belly.
What fresh hell had he returned to?
Next morning
Hermione sat at the table nursing a cool glass of orange juice. She owled Brenda to inform her that she would be running late and asked her to take care of matters in her absence.
She chose her outfit with care and thought it best to visit Narcissa and the contractors before heading to work and made sure to purposely arrive late at Malfoy Manor to avoid any run-ins with Draco. He was a stickler for time and would have undoubtedly left for work before she came to meet with his mother, Hermione wisely thought.
Hermione grabbed her handbag and apparated with a single destination in mind. She appeared near the vast rose bushes on the ground. As luck would have it, Narcissa, Dotty, and Max tended to the red roses, oblivious to her arrival.
Max sensed her presence first and ran towards her with his tongue and saliva flying in every direction and jumped into her waiting arms, almost knocking her back. It was then Narcissa and Dotty looked her away, and instantly their lips curved upwards to form happy smiles.
"Hermione!" Narcissa gushed, abandoned the white roses she diligently tended to and glided over to where Max was attempting to lick every inch of Hermione's face. Dotty hurried over and, with some difficulty, pulled the stubborn dog off their guest and managed to tame him momentarily.
"You look lovely," Narcissa raved as she usually did, and Hermione replied almost at once, "As do you. Green is such a stunning colour on you." They exchanged air kisses, and the aristocratic woman exclaimed, "Your timing could not be more perfect."
With a slight smile, Hermione wondered what the statement meant and made her thoughts known with a raised brow, "How so, Narcissa?"
"The contractors and interior designer made their way towards the cottage not fifteen minutes ago," Narcissa gestured graciously and offered a quick explanation. She looked pointedly in the direction of the cottage and asked with a twinkle in her eyes, "Shall we?"
Hermione nodded and moved to Narcissa's side, but a rugged voice of pure steel cut effortlessly through the moment, "I will show Granger the cottage, mother."
Bloody hell! Hermione thought with an imminent roll of her eyes and butterflies relentlessly fluttering within her stomach.
Draco strode towards them as the mist cleared, and a lump formed in Hermione's throat, which she swallowed with some difficulty and stared shamelessly at the man walking towards them in freshly laundered black Auror robes and a panther-like stride.
She was instantly reminded of the classic Muggle novel Pride and Prejudice. Malfoy bore a striking resemblance in both looks and mannerisms to Mr Darcy.
This was going horribly wrong. He wasn't supposed to be home. It was nearly noon, and she knew without a doubt Auror training started sharp at ten am per Audrey's strict guidelines. At first, Draco ignored Hermione's presence, much to her annoyance, causing her to purposely look away and focus her attention on the sweet-smelling roses that grew in abundance. He flashed a bright smile at his beloved mother and lightly kissed her on the cheek, "Good morning, mother."
Narcissa patted his cheek and smiled fondly, "Good morning, darling. Did you sleep well?"
His face fell into darkness but only for a fleeting moment. It would not do for others to know his predicament. If only he could share the truth of what he endured during his short trip to Azkaban with his mother without needlessly worrying her. Instead, he settled on an excellent white lie to protect her, "I slept like a baby."
Hermione watched him intently. Her astute eyes took in the dark circles around his eyes, and she mumbled without much thought, "Babies sleep fretfully. They get up every two hours to feed."
Slowly turning to face his intended, Draco finally acknowledged her and smiled somewhat smugly, "Good morning, Granger."
Hermione attempted to keep calm and appear professional. She muttered almost inaudibly, "Morning, Malfoy." You could cut the tension between them with a knife. It was thick, prominent and bound to swallow them whole.
Oblivious or completely undisturbed by their behaviour, Narcissa punctuated the moment with a firm, "I trust you will see Hermione to the cottage."
Draco kept his mesmerising swirls fixed on Hermione. He nodded curtly and replied with an air of superiority, "But of course, mother. You have my word."
Shuddering at the intensity his eyes bestowed upon her, Hermione fought the cowardly urge to flee Malfoy Manor and return at a time when Draco's presence was only limited to the lingering smell of the aftershave he left in his wake.
Narcissa grinned devilishly and clapped to show her delight, "Wonderful!"
She looked over to where Dotty was struggling with Max and commanded, "Come here, Max," But the German Shepherd whimpered, stubbornly broke free from Dotty's weak grasp and stayed firmly by Hermione's side. Wagging a ringed finger at the dog, Narcissa scolded with a fond smile, "Fine, you naughty rascal. See if you will get any treats from me."
Draco moved closer to Hermione, who went rigid as his presence invaded her space. Once again, he ignored her, ruffled the fur on top of the eager dog's head and insisted, "Let him stay, mother." He lifted his gaze from Max, fixed it on the squirming witch, and declared arrogantly for all to hear, "Granger and I shan't be long."
Hermione cleared her throat to compose herself and stated brazenly, "I didn't expect you to still be at home."
Draco smirked, "Of course, you didn't." He thought it prudent to explain why he was running late, "I was out on a mission last night and got back quite late."
He raised a perfectly shaped brow and questioned in an amused tone, "Does that appease your curiosity?"
That bit of voluntary information piqued her interest, "What mission?"
"I am not at liberty to divulge sensitive information," Draco replied with a shrug.
The nerve of him to imply that she didn't have the proper access to know about stealthy missions. Hermione scowled but held her tongue in Narcissa's presence. His nightly wanderings hardly mattered to her. With his newfound fame, thanks to Rita Skeeter portraying him as a Saint, he was bound to have scores of witches lusting after his cock.
Draco started to move away, and when she didn't attempt to follow him, he glanced over his shoulder and snapped, "Well, are you coming, Granger?"
"Narcissa…" Hermione mouthed helplessly, but the Malfoy Matriarch smiled and encouraged with a tip of her chin before returning to preen over her beloved flowers.
She willed her jelly-like legs to move and almost squeaked, "Yes. Lead the way." Hermione was appalled by her behaviour and wanted nothing more than to string coherent words together to break the ice and thank him. Still, unfortunately, no such comments made it to the surface, and they maintained an uncomfortable silence.
Max happily ran ahead, chasing the many butterflies feeding on the nectar from the many sweet-smelling flowers that blossomed.
Draco inconspicuously glanced at the witch who purposely walked behind him in silence, putting as much distance between them as possible, only stopping to smell the flowers or gaze in delight at the many birds that burst into song. Her behaviour was peculiar at best, and he infinitely struggled to understand her.
A large part of him wanted to confide in her about Smith's words and his visit to Azkaban but decided against it for the time being to focus on the matter at hand.
They walked steadily along the cobbled pathway explicitly built to lead people to the cottage. Though it had been around since the inception of Malfoy Manor, hardly anyone occupied it. For centuries it lay abandoned but kept in pristine condition by regular cleaning and minor renovations.
It was by no means a close distance, and clearly, heels were not the ideal shoe for such a trudging. Her ankles were beginning to ache and buckle, but she put on a brave face and marched forward with less grace than before, cursing the inventor of heels with every painful step. They could have easily apparated, but neither suggested it since they were content in strolling through the grounds and taking in the interesting sights and countless breathtaking flowers, or at least Draco was.
Unable to keep his troubling thoughts shielded any longer, Draco gazed longingly at a blue-breasted bird with a tuft of yellow feathers lulling his mate with a beautiful song and asked thoughtfully, "Are you about done avoiding me?"
Bugger! Hermione thought. Oh well, best to address the elephant in the room and be done with her abysmal conduct.
She tore her eyes away from the same bird that captivated him and retorted with an audible sigh, "I'm not avoiding you, Malfoy. I simply do not know what to say."
Hermione couldn't help the resentment and smidge of spite that crept into her voice as she uttered the following words, "Besides, you had your hands full yesterday catering to scores of infatuated bints who now think you are the catch of the decade."
A hearty laugh tore out of Draco's pale pinkish lips. Without a shred of decency, he teased, "Don't tell me you're jealous, Granger?"
Hermione stopped to look at a rare orchid and scoffed, "Don't be ridiculous."
Draco curled his bottom lip with his teeth and mused, "Well then, you can start by…." His words trailed off into nothingness as he took in his fiancé's look of utter disbelief and silent wonderment.
They were greeted by a spectacular two-storey modest Victorian abode painted in brilliant white. Hermione's flabbergasted look of shock that left her with her mouth hanging open amused Draco.
She grew wide-eyed and asked incredulously, "This is a cottage?"
Showing utter indifference, Draco shrugged, "It's smaller than the Manor."
She raised her eyebrows so far up they disappeared under her fringe of hair. With her hands on her hip, Hermione hurled fairly, "Not by much."
Cocking her head to the side, she teased, "Do you even know what a cottage is?"
Draco grabbed Hermione by the wrist and pulled her forward with a roll of his eyes and a rather commanding, "Come on. Let's go inside." She hadn't expected him to take her hand, let alone touch her after her terrible behaviour, but Malfoy seemed to have tough outer skin.
The cottage was untouched and breathtakingly beautiful. There wasn't much she would change in the exquisite interior.
Hermione felt like she had stepped into one of the many fairy tales she was obsessed with as a child, minus the handsome Prince, of course. Still, ironically she supposed Malfoy did qualify even though they were destined to divorce and seek they're happily ever after elsewhere.
The draperies were a rich crimson with gold trimmings, and the furniture in the foyer by the large fireplace was tasteful and nothing short of spectacular. She grew happy yet embarrassed, and then her face fell in sadness at the prospect of adorning the mantlepiece with their wedding photographs and many pictures of their children.
She envisioned a life with him as some foolish lovestruck woman bent on marrying and starting a family. What in the name of Merlin was wrong with her?
An embroidered carpet lay by the dormant hearth adding sinful thoughts of naked nights entwined in each other's arms to her imagination. Her fingers brushed along the velvet material of a chintz chair that she could only imagine as costing a sizable fortune and moved closer to a window that boasted a splendid view of the garden.
She desperately needed to think clearly and shake her head free of enticing and wholesome thoughts. This thing between Malfoy and her wasn't real in the slightest. It was a farce, a sham marriage cooked up by The Ministry.
Husky tones of pure lust invaded the shell of her ear, yet there was no physical contact. He seemed to share her sentiments on roaring fires and passionate, unbridled sex.
His deep voice caressed her skin, sending goosebumps in droves to the surface, "So, which of these rooms should we christen first?"
Draco had watched in fascination as Hermione walked around the cottage in a world entirely of her own, smiling secretly and literally having the time of her life. Seeing her in such a state of euphoria made him gravitate toward her even more.
Hermione stiffened at the sudden movement and whispered, "Excuse me?" He had come up from behind, pressed into her back and soothingly ran his fingers up and down her arms. Closing his long fingers around her upper arms, he spun her around, stared down at her stunned face, and took in the perfections and imperfections. She looked so oddly innocent it made his heart bleed.
Despite her halfhearted protests, he positioned her by the window and said, "You look beautiful when the sun hits you at this precise angle." Stubborn beams of sunlight bounced off the wild curls of her hair and enveloped her face in a healthy glow highlighting her puckered, slightly parted lips with a nude shade of lipstick and lowered eyelids.
Hermione felt the warmth of the sun seeping into her skin. She kept her eyes downcast and said abruptly, "I'm sorry." Her statement was almost childish.
Her sudden declaration caused his fingers to dig in, making her wince. Draco relaxed his hold, cursed his stupidity for causing her pain and sincerely implored, "For what?" She couldn't bring herself to make eye contact. Hermione averted her gaze and mumbled, "For many things."
Draco reluctantly let go and regarded his betrothed intently. He enjoyed her discomfort immensely but kept his reactions well hidden and urged with mild impatience, "Go on. It's not every day one gets an apology from the Undersecretary." He would have bet his inheritance that Granger hardly apologised unless absolutely necessary.
Hermione could barely stand his carefree attitude. She complained somewhat unfairly, "Why aren't you mad at me? You should be livid."
Draco swallowed the laughter that clawed its way to the surface. Instead, he shrugged and offered a plausible explanation, "Perhaps, but I understand you far better than you give me credit for."
Nervously chewing on her lip, Hermione said meekly, "I wanted to leave with you, but…."
"Weasley is an immature git," Draco mused from his place by an exquisite cabinet that undoubtedly housed antiques with runes carved into them.
Undeterred, She continued with unwavering determination, "And, I…," but the words were barely out of her mouth before he rudely interrupted once again, "Still have doubts about my intentions?"
Damn his uncanny ability to read her like a book.
Draco closed the distance between them in less than three purposeful strides and tipped her chin, "The most enjoyable part is trying to convince you otherwise." Sure, her rejection of him dented his ego, but he understood perhaps better than anyone why she did what she did, and he wasn't about to penalise her for it.
There was another beat of silence as he bent to claim her lips, but she suddenly turned her head sideways, catching him off guard, and offered her flushed cheek while staring unsurely at the entrance.
Hermione protested halfheartedly, "Stop, Draco. Anyone could walk in on us."
A sound of deep disappointment emitted from him and sent a shiver down her spine. It was heavenly to be encased by his smell and trapped in his arms.
Draco placed a heated kiss on to the throbbing pulse of her neck and muttered, "I must say the interruptions are getting rather tiresome, but the contractors work for Malfoy Industries. I can tell him to take a long walk while we…."
"I saw you having lunch with Michelle," Hermione blurted out. It had been on the tip of her tongue to say since seeing him.
Draco closed his eyes and sighed, "Right." After a fleeting moment, he opened them and regarded her with a frown, "Well, you have succeeded in butchering the mood. If you want to talk, then we can talk." He backed away, leaned against a polished desk, crossed his legs at the ankles and waited for her to begin, but her hostile body language indicated she was waiting on him to explain.
He shrugged nonchalantly and said, "She's hard to discourage, but rest assured it was nothing but a shared brief moment between colleagues." He chuckled as he recalled Abbott's sour disposition, "It's hardly a date with Hannah breathing down my neck."
Hermione raised a brow and questioned gleefully, "Doesn't Hannah like Michelle?"
Draco held back a laugh with an amused expression and replied frankly, "She does not!"
"Do you like her?" Hermione averted her gaze and inquired casually, hoping not to show keen interest but failed miserably in her attempt. Deciding to take the piss out of the peeved woman before him, Draco answered with faux enthusiasm, "As a matter of fact, I do. Abbott is intelligent, a joy to have around and…."
Forgetting all composure, Hermione stomped her foot on the ground like an impudent child and admonished, "Not Abbott, you idiot. I meant Dubois."
Draco grew thoughtful. He scratched his chin in deep thought, taking his time and retorted, "Ah, she's a very attractive woman and quite intelligent…."
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, and her nostrils flared. Bah, Intelligent, my foot, she thought in envy. The former Slytherin was enjoying himself immensely but enough fun. His tone turned serious, "But Michelle pales in comparison to you, Ma Cherie." The last two words rolled off his tongue, leaving Hermione dumbstruck but pleasantly surprised.
Draco raised a brow and addressed the obvious plainly, "How much have you accomplished since leaving Hogwarts? Judging by the sheer number of accolades that decorate your office, I'd say it's more than a few." His tone held a sense of immense pride.
Hermione looked away shyly and blushed at the compliment.
It was general knowledge that she was the youngest witch in history to take up office as the Undersecretary and the most dedicated to the job. She picked up a beautifully crafted crystal peacock and coyly defended, "Well, I like helping others, especially underprivileged children."
Caught up in the heat of the moment, Hermione rambled on, "There's this one wizarding orphanage in the upper East side of London. They lack the basic requirements, but I've done all I can to provide them with running water, clean sheets and food." A good portion of her wages went to the place each month, but it was barely enough.
Draco said after a moment's thought, "Interesting. I would like to visit this place you speak so passionately about."
Hermione wandered around the massive room, picking up expensive-looking trinkets and replied politely, "You don't have to, Malfoy."
Draco blatantly insisted, "But I want to, Granger," He argued with purpose, "I am capable of doing some good things."
He added with a low laugh for good measure, "And I do have a vast inheritance at my disposal."
A jewel-encrusted box grabbed her avid attention and stroked her insatiable curiosity. The light bounced off the many semi-precious stones that adorned the lid, creating a prism of colours to reflect on the walls.
Hermione anxiously opened the box to see the contents within and frowned when she discovered it was empty and said without much thought, "Then you should first help Teddy." She knew things weren't always easy for Andromeda, but the refined woman's noble upbringing and pride stood in the way of asking for help outright.
The words left her lips effortlessly. As the realisation of her actions sunk in, Hermione covered her mouth and stared at Malfoy in true mortification, awaiting the rightfully stern words that would likely follow.
Draco stiffened but gathered his wits and answered truthfully, "I have every intention of relinquishing my rights and handing whatever is due and more to Teddy Lupin and Aunt Andromeda."
His features contorted in sadness, but he said with fierce determination, "They have suffered enough, but they will no longer whilst I draw breath."
Hermione softened her gaze and questioned in barely a whisper, "You would do that?" Her heart thawed in that exact second, and Draco Malfoy managed to make a memorable mark.
Straightening, Draco nodded curtly and affirmed, "Mother and I have already spoken about it." She couldn't help but stare at the dangerously handsome young man saying such things worthy of admiration.
Draco smiled and teased good-naturedly, "Close your mouth, Granger. The awestruck look does not become you. I prefer your sarcastic quips and banter where I am concerned. It amuses me."
"Smug prat," Hermione frowned and proved him right once again.
His eyes clouded over with the many splendid memories of China. He had the overwhelming urge to share them with Granger, "At the temple, we looked after many orphans, and I taught the little rascals English when time permitted."
"It was quite fulfilling to do something worthwhile for a change," Draco confessed with a heavy heart. He fondly recalled the many sessions of keeping the many children in line as he valiantly tried to teach them the alphabet.
He flashed a bright smile, "Besides, I would like to do something you approve of and believe it or not, I enjoy working with children." He thought back to Suri Jun's younger sister and her merry band of misfits.
At first, Hermione hesitated and then implored once good sense kicked in, "Do you really mean that? They could truly benefit from proper funding."
Draco rolled his eyes, regarded her with an amused expression and said candidly, "Always the tone of surprise. Must you always expect the worst from me?"
His tone was not to be questioned or trifled with. The seriousness of the words he spoke imprinted themselves on her heart, "Of course, I mean it. I would hardly joke about such a serious matter."
"Malfoy?" Hermione said in a slightly low voice but enough to be heard.
He smiled and eagerly responded, "Yes, Granger?"
She locked eyes with him, never faltering, and responded genuinely, "I never thanked you for doing the interview."
Draco smirked and brushed it aside, "Ah, there's nothing to thank me for, but it does sound nice coming out of these cherry red lips." His gaze fell to her plump lips causing Hermione's pert tongue to dart out and moisten her bottom lip.
Swallowing the sizable lump that formed in his throat, he included in disbelief, "I meant every word in the interview. However, I am shocked Skeeter kept my answers as is and did not tamper with them."
A devilish glint lit up his eyes, "Rita knows better than to tarnish you in her column anymore."
Hermione looked at him directly and felt compelled to ask, "You didn't stretch the truth?"
"No, I did not. I saw no reason to," Draco eased her mind with his sincere answer.
A strained silence fell over them until Hermione almost choked back a sob, "Do you truly feel that much regret over what happened to me?" Her tone was heavy with the overwhelming weight of the situation.
He replied solemnly, "Of course, I do. I, umm, looked away for the most part. My father warned me to shield my thoughts, bury them deep within, he kept saying, but I had just started to learn Legilimency. It wasn't an easy task."
"It's one of the reasons why I left," Draco purposely looked away and caught sight of Max immensely enjoying himself in a hole he had dug. A slight smile curved his lips as the carefree creature uprooted decades-old plants.
Hermione backed away and nodded in agreement, "Yes, I'm beginning to see why you did, and oddly enough, it makes perfect sense."
Keeping his eyes on the many antics of Max, Draco further enlightened, "Like you, I hate being inside the Manor at times. New furnishings and a coat of fresh paint do not undo the horrors and blood shed within those walls." A sudden burst of anger surged through him.
Hermione assured, "I understand. Thank you for doing what you did. I know it wasn't easy."
Draco moved closer and smirked. His eyes roved over her in appreciation, and he boldly tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, allowing his thumb to brush over her sensitive earlobe. He towered over her and whispered, "Well, you can ease my pain."
Hermione moved away slightly, and her back hit a wall. She blushed, "I don't follow…."
Slamming his palm down on the wall to steady himself, Draco pressed himself unashamedly flush against Hermione's body, causing her bosom to flatten against his chest, garnering a satisfying low moan from her.
He leaned forward and drawled seductively, "I'm going to kiss you now, Granger."
Hermione looked at him through hooded lids contemplating her next move. Her eyes mirrored the intense arousal he evoked in her. She pulled him close, put caution to the wind and let her arms encircle his neck.
He smirked in the most alluring way, and she wanted to bite his lip.
Playing with the fine blonde strands that fell carelessly onto the back of his neck, she licked her bottom lip and sensually rasped, "Well, if you must."
Draco did not waste time. He had her consent to do as he pleased. He pushed her up against the closest wall and hungrily devoured her lips. Hermione responded feverishly by moving her fingers into his hair and grabbing at his robes later.
Their lips moulded perfectly together and moved in unison, but Draco deepened the embrace by parting her lips and pushing his tongue hard against hers.
He would surely drown in her sweet essence. Their need was urgent. The hunger for each other consumed them, and soft mewls of want pierced the air.
Her leg snaked around his waist in her eagerness to bring him, if possible, closer, and the heel slipped off her foot and hit the ground noisily. He moved between her legs, causing the skirt to further ride up her thighs, barely covering her most intimate place.
Gently, his hand edged up the exposed flesh of her thigh. He dug his fingers into the sensitive skin, making her moan wantonly as he held her in place by pinning her to the wall.
A single finger slipped under the band of her silk knickers, and Hermione thought he would proceed to remove them. Her breathing hitched. The anticipation was causing her nerve endings to come alive, and her arousal wet her panties.
She angled herself to make it easier for him to remove them and then buried her face in the crook of his neck and proceeded to leave a trail of reddish love bites peppered across his palish skin. He did have the most deliciously defined long neck.
"I want you," Draco huskily rasped against her neck while tugging at the silk material, and Hermione took his bottom lip between her teeth and bit down hard.
She arched her back, possessively pulled him by his waist and rubbed his aroused bulge against her core, "Then take me…."
Heavy footsteps entered the foyer without announcement. A smartly dressed woman gasped, "Oh, sorry, sir. We were not aware that you had arrived"
"Yes! We were expecting you much later," A visibly perspiring man barreled into further explanation. He could barely tear his gaze away from Hermione's partially visible thong, stubbornly peeking from where her dress was hiked up.
Every bloody time. It was uncanny and infuriating.
Draco purposely turned his back on the unexpected visitors, shielding Hermione with his large frame covering her exposed flesh from roaming eyes and issuing a dire warning, "Leave. Now!"
"Of course, Mr Malfoy. Pardon our intrusion," a man in a formal white shirt and black trousers snapped to attention and replied at once. They swapped looks of concern and backed out of the room hurriedly.
"Oh, that's quite alright. Let's start, shall we?" Hermione injected loudly as she clumsily adjusted her blouse and skirt while the two constructors and interior designer stepped outside without another word and awaited further instruction.
She scolded once they were alone, "Well, that was rude."
Draco straightened, removed any remaining lipstick stains from his face, and frowned, "What do you mean?" The untimely interruption irked him since he was painfully hard and unable to do anything about it.
"It wasn't their fault. You didn't have to be so…intense," Hermione moodily stated. She was beyond embarrassed at being caught in such a compromising situation yet again. Still, it was no one's fault but their own for letting their urges get the better of them in inappropriate settings.
Draco hissed in a foreboding manner, "I'm not overly fond of others getting a glimpse of your knickers."
"Right, of course, but as noble as your actions were, your behaviour was tyrannical," Hermione countered and pursed her lips.
With a roll of his eyes, Draco ignored the yammering, took her hand, and dragged her out to meet the awaiting contractors who had made good use of the time to arrange colour palettes, references of bathrooms and suite layouts on the sizable dining table.
"I'm paying for half the cost," Hermione hissed out of the corner of her mouth, and that insulting bit of information caused Draco to tighten his hold and mutter, "In your bloody dreams, Granger."
"Good afternoon," Draco greeted with an air of superiority, pushed Hermione forward and introduced, "I'm sure you all know my fiancé."
The interior designer spoke first, "Of course, Mr Malfoy." She smiled broadly, "It is good to meet you in person, Madam Undersecretary." She extended her petite hand, which Hermione shook with a polite greeting, "The pleasure is all mine. Shall we begin?"
Draco held out a chair for Hermione to sit on before taking the seat beside her. The others followed suit, and Dotty magically appeared with a large pot of tea and other delectable goodies such as pastries, cakes and sandwiches to sustain them.
They spoke for a good hour about specific designs, colour schemes, furniture to match their different tastes and various patterns for an exquisite bath.
Hermione fell in love with every single bathroom design they presented but ultimately settled on a gorgeous porcelain clawfoot tub to lounge and relax in and all the more exemplary fittings that went along with them. Her room would be fitted with an enormous walk-in closet to house all her knick-knacks.
Draco interrupted the proceedings, "Make sure an entire section is dedicated to her ever-growing shoe collection." Hermione blushed. She was pretty taken aback by the fact that he knew of her one weakness where fashion was concerned.
On his visits to her flat, he hadn't overlooked the cramped cupboard she kept, especially for shoes of various designs. It baffled him that one woman could require and manage to wear so many shoes in a lifetime.
Draco leaned back in his chair and watched Hermione pull books with designs towards her and enthusiastically discuss bathroom fittings as if they were the most significant part of the renovation. He smiled at her schoolgirl-like amazement and happiness when presented with the best materials. There was an innate softness to her face that he had long since forgotten, and it enthralled him.
The interior designer inquired courteously, "What about you, Mr Malfoy?" He had remained calm and quiet the entire time.
"I'm a simple man," Draco replied with a slight smile. Hermione rolled her eyes exasperatedly at the blatant lie that left his lips.
Simple? He was anything but a simple man.
Leaning forward, he informed offhandedly, "My mother has already provided you with the detailed plan of my training room."
The man sitting to the left with a severe expression answered at once, pulled out a hand-drawn sketch, and waved his wand over it, "Yes, she has, Mr Malfoy, and we've begun work on creating the room to your exact specifications."
Nodding curtly, Draco instructed, "My bedroom suite will consist of mostly black coloured furniture. I am not particularly fond of bright colours. A sizable wardrobe with glass sliding doors will be required, along with a sturdy personal desk and..," his voice trailed off, and his gaze shifted to Hermione, who listened intently to his every word. He completed his last request firmly, "And a large bed with silk sheets if possible."
"Of course, Mr Malfoy," The nervous man jotted down the requirements and nodded vigorously. He wondered why they were designing two master bedrooms instead of the usual one.
Draco glanced at the time and grimaced. Salazar, he was running very late. He had informed Audrey via owl that he would be joining the second half of training but received no reply, and he had no intention of prolonging the inevitable.
He abruptly got to his feet and smoothened his robes, "I must leave. My fiance will answer any further questions on my behalf. I trust her impeccable judgement."
Hermione threw him a look of surprise, nodded in acknowledgement but said nothing. She knew he had Auror training and was well aware of the tight ship Audrey ran. The woman was respected, and rightly so.
Draco requested with a satisfied smile, "Are you staying for lunch? I have to go in for training, but you are more than welcome to stay. I know my mother will enjoy it."
Hermione returned the smile, "I think I will take you up on that."
He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead, "I will see you later, darling."
Fighting back the urge to kiss her once again, he took out his wand and disapparated quickly before a moment of weakness could tempt him any further.
Hermione sighed. Despite the unpleasantness surrounding them, they had fallen into a comfortable pattern.
She gave her undivided attention to the gathered group of people who would see to the renovations and who looked upon her with awe and interest.
They discussed a few more details regarding Draco's room, and when the meeting ended, Hermione was quite pleased with all that was discussed and could hardly contain her excitement at seeing the end result.
"So, I think we've covered everything?" Hermione said and slowly got to her feet.
There was a collective nod of heads and a distinctive, "Yes, Miss Granger."
One by one disappeared, leaving Hermione alone in the cottage. She welcomed the solitude and took the opportunity to wander around on her own with only Max to keep her company.
She came across the rooms that would serve as her and Malfoy's bedrooms. They were empty and devoid of furniture until new ones took their place. There was a haunting feel to it but not so much to discourage Hermione from exploring. She soon discovered that the two rooms could be accessed by a door that connected them.
The corridors seemed endless, but a carpeted one led Hermione to the holy grail. She pushed open the tall doors and stood inside a striking library with high wooden shelves, neatly arranged books and ledgers. It lacked the breathtaking ambience of the Manor library. Nonetheless, it was exquisite, and Hermione smiled happily as her eyes fell over the valuable books.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" A snide voice demanded. Max growled with his hair standing on end.
Startled, Hermione wiped around to find the source and saw a large portrait of Lucius Malfoy watching her closely. His features were contorted into a permanent scowl, bearing a striking resemblance to how he had been when among the living.
She regarded him evenly and replied without fear, "Yes, I am, actually. I have a fondness for books."
His tone was heavy with contempt, "I gather my son has agreed to marry you and taint a bloodline that has remained pure since the inception of the Great House of Malfoy."
Anger clouded her vision, yet she kept calm and collected and replied with witty banter, "He can do a lot worse than the likes of me, but if you are not aware, Mr Malfoy, I would be glad to educate you on the Algorithm."
Lucius sneered openly, "I have no time to listen to pitiful explanations from an impudent girl." His beloved wife had happily explained the workings of this so-called Ministry law that encouraged the mingling of bloodlines to create the next generation of mediocre witches and wizards.
Hermione said with dripping sarcasm, "The only thing you have left is time, Mr Malfoy." She emphasised, "This marriage is not our doing. While we have collectively decided to give it a go for Narcissa's sake, make no mistake in understanding that I am doing this against the very things I have fought hard to uphold."
The gall of this Mudblood, Lucius thought in anger. He hurled spitefully, "You should feel privileged…."
Narrowing her eyes, Hermione gritted out, "I feel nothing of the sort. Draco has returned a changed man by some small miracle, and whatever atrocious ideologies you instilled in him no longer dictate his life."
Lucius thundered, "He is a blood traitor and a disgrace to the Malfoy name."
Hermione frowned to make her displeasure evident and fired back, "Believe what you wish, but I speak for many people when I say he has changed for the better and will be the first Malfoy in history to do some actual good."
She smiled almost politely, "I bid you a good day, Mr Malfoy. I suggest we attempt to get along for the duration of this coupling, after which you will no longer see or hear from me ever again."
Turning on her heel with Max at her side, Hermione fled the library before something genuinely awful left her lips and made a mental note to move the portrait to a more suitable location.
Hermione left the cottage and collapsed onto one of the many white benches of the garden. Max sensed her shift in mood and came closer. He rested his head on her lap and whimpered as if to ask what the matter was.
Hermione took off her heels and let the coolness of the grass invade the space between her toes. It felt liberating and glorious. She stroked Max's head and sighed, "You don't think I'm useless, do you?"
Max responded by jumping on her and eagerly licking her face. Hermione giggled, got to her feet and walked barefoot towards Malfoy Manor with her heels dangling from her hand.
Draco entered the normally busy DMLE and raised a brow, "Where is everyone?" Except for a handful of people the department was mostly empty.
Hannah hopped down from the desk she was sitting on and shrugged. She chuckled as Draco came into proper view and pointed to the unbuttoned exposed side of his long neck, "Eventful morning?"
Draco bemused, "What are you on about?"
She pulled him towards a reflective surface and pointed more aggressively, "Darling, you have a sizable hickey on the side of your very pale neck."
Draco widened his eyes and took in a reddish bruise that stood out like a sore thumb. When had Granger branded him in such a crude yet satisfying manner?
Hannah grinned, "Granger is a wild one. I didn't think she had it in her."
Draco touched the spot with two fingers and closed his eyes in concentration before asking, "What makes you think it was Granger?" He tried to throw Hannah off but unsuccessfully.
"You must think I'm a simple-minded fool," Hannah replied, shaking her head. In time, she glanced over her shoulder to catch Michelle staring at them, and Hannah quipped, "Speaking of simple-minded fools, your French stalker was asking about you."
Draco laughed, promised to meet up after training and strode off towards the training hall with Hermione's sultry moans and scorching touch lodged deeply within his mind.
It took Hermione a while to reach the Manor, mainly because she stopped along the way to twinkle her toes in the icy water of the large pond with many exotic fish. It had been years since she last allowed herself to be silly.
Taking the outside marble stairway, Hermione walked up to the terrace while Max overtook her and hurried up the stairs at double speed. She heard the unmistakable happy peals of laughter from Narcissa Malfoy, "I missed you too, you little devil."
Once Hermione made her presence known, she was greeted by an ecstatic, "Hermione. How wonderful to see you. I thought you might have left." Narcissa took in her future daughter in laws dishevelled appearance, and her eyes went directly to Hermione's bare feet, and she couldn't help but smile at the oddness.
Max laid down by his mistress's feet, closed his eyes in contentment, and drifted off into a peaceful slumber shielded from the sun.
Hermione grinned sheepishly and used her wand to clean the dirt off her feet. She slipped on her heels and sat next to Narcissa, "Draco left for work. He invited me to stay for lunch, if that's alright with you, of course."
Narcissa beamed, "I would love it. I was just about to have lunch served. Bernard will not be joining, he's away on work, and you must be famished."
Hermione hadn't given a thought to food, but her stomach rumbled with the pangs of hunger once she did.
On cue, Dotty appeared with a cool pitcher of orange juice, which she gingerly set down and clicked her fingers. The table was burdened with mouthwatering dishes of freshly baked rolls, an assortment of garden salads and cold cuts of meat.
Narcissa offered an explanation for the lack of fine meats and other extravagant dishes, "I hope you don't mind, but the food is more on the lighter side of things seeing that it was only me and we were not expecting company. However, if you wish for something else, Dotty can prepare it for you."
Hermione reached over and squeezed Narcissa's hand and reassured her, "Please, I am fine with all this." She went the extra mile and smiled at Dotty, "Everything looks amazing." The tiny elf radiated happiness and curtsied.
Narcissa smiled warmly, "If you insist, my dear."
Hermione helped herself to a warm bread roll and oodles of butter. While she carefully buttered the roll, Narcissa questioned curiously, "Did you sort out everything at the cottage to your liking?"
Mouth full of bread, Hermione nodded in reply and mumbled, "Yes, thanks to you." She thought it best not to mention her encounter with Lucius. They were having a pleasant time, and there was no need to dampen the mood by mentioning the pretentious senior Malfoy.
Narcissa smeared a dollop of caviar across a bite-sized piece of bread and asked rather offhandedly, "Have you and Draco given any thought to a date?"
Hermione swallowed hard and replied with a weak answer, "Oh, not really." They had to get cracking. If memory served her correctly, they were on borrowed time.
"Well, you best get a move on," The older woman advised a touch sternly.
Hermione bobbed her head in agreement but made no further comment. However, she made a mental note to clear it with Malfoy and set a definite date.
Narcissa delicately forked a combination of lettuce and smoked chicken and strongly suggested, "I thought it would be prudent to have your family over for a meal before Draco and you depart for Hawaii."
Hermione paled, dropped her fork and choked on the pear, fig, and goat cheese salad she was enjoying.
Completely disregarding her discomfort, the headstrong Malfoy Matriarch explained with just reason, "I'm well aware that we live in modern times, but I rather not overlook certain traditions, and if you are going away on holiday with my son, I would like to meet your parents beforehand and put their minds at ease that their daughter is well thought of and loved."
Technically, she wasn't going away with Malfoy. It was a trip among friends and acquaintances, but Hermione thought against mentioning it.
Hermione cleared her throat and said as politely as possible, "It's not necessary, Narcissa. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you."
Narcissa dismissed the notion with a swift wave of her hand, "Nonsense. I think a lovely dinner at the Manor on Wednesday is quite acceptable."
Oh no! Wednesday was two days before they embarked on their journey to Hawaii.
"Shouldn't we first discuss this with Draco?" Hermione tried to find a plausible excuse.
Narcissa raised a sceptical brow, "Whatever for? Draco will do as he is told." She still spoke of him as the small boy she sent off to Hogwarts.
Somehow, Hermione strongly disagreed. True, Malfoy held his mother in the highest regard, but she was sure he wouldn't just yield to her every whim and suggestion at the drop of a proverbial hat.
"As you wish, Narcissa," Hermione hesitated but reluctantly agreed, not knowing what else to say or do to discourage the stubborn lady.
On a more positive note, she knew her parents, especially her overprotective father, would be delighted at the prospect of meeting her future mother-in-law.
Her stomach knotted unpleasantly, and she wondered how Draco would feel about this impromptu dinner.
The disfigured man walked into the room, and Sarah lay motionless. Her hair was stuck in oily strands to her forehead, and her skin was ashen from the lack of proper exposure to the sun and nutrition.
She was once a pretty woman, but now, she was but a former memory of her once confident self. He had succeeded in breaking her spirit.
A day earlier, she had lost her mind and screamed for no good reason. She just yelled as loud as she could to rid herself of the immense frustration of the situation and hoped someone passing by would hear her. Unfortunately, the monster that kept her captive came rushing in, grabbed her by the hair, slammed her face-first into the mattress, and pelted her back with his belt until she couldn't scream anymore.
He was a man who suffered from multiple personalities. Once he had beaten her black and blue, he held onto her broken body and wept, apologising for his unprovoked attack and trying to justify his actions by blaming it on her. She could barely hear the pitiful words he uttered.
He left and returned with a jar of soothing ointment that he rubbed all over her back slowly in small circles until each mark caused by him was covered in the rich healing liquid.
It smelt familiar, and she knew at once that it was Dittany. He had left her to rest and heal, only returning much later with a plate of fried chicken, chips and a generous portion of mashed potatoes which she struggled to eat without throwing up.
The man came closer with a shopping bag and sat by Sarah. She looked away and didn't utter a sound. He inspected her back and ran his fingers over the barely visible scars the rough end of his belt created and shuddered. He vowed never to strike his beloved again and spoke softly, "Darling, I have a surprise for you."
Sarah couldn't bring herself to speak. When she didn't answer, he pulled out a red dress from the bag and held it up for her to see. It was knee-length and fashionably cut compared to the one dress he had gifted her in the past.
"Come, let me help you wash," He encouraged and held his hands out for her to take.
A cleansing bath sounded more desirable than food, but his acts of kindness often came with a steep price. Her voice was hoarse from the screaming, and she croaked, "Why?"
He smiled broadly, displaying an impressive set of dazzling teeth, "I want you to meet my mother."
Chapter 49
Summary:
Jeez, my longest chapter yet! I hope you enjoy reading it.
My stunning country Sri Lanka is facing an economic crisis due to the mismanagement of finances by corrupt government officials, but I implore tourists to visit this beautiful destination.
Now, back to the story. There is quite a bit going on and much to remember. There's darkness on the horizon. A potential werewolf uprising might spell disaster for our young lovers, or will it bring them closer?
Enjoy Chapter forty-nine.
Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Harry stood outside one of the rooms of the werewolf care and victims unit situated on the Care of Magical Creatures floor. He watched the woman with unkempt hair and deep gashes down her arm staring deadpan at the whitewashed walls through the thick glass of the one-pane window that separated them.
Doris, the head Matron, came out with a tray of odd-shaped bottles loaded with potions and a vial filled to the brim with blood, leaving a small space for the thickened liquid to breathe.
Harry eyed it sceptically but kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, he pointed to the woman lying on the bed and inquired, "How is she?"
Doris sighed in reply and said, "Not great. She mostly screams and stares into space but seems to have calmed down somewhat in the last hour." The first hour after her admittance had been the absolute worst, and calming the troubled woman had required her powerful persuasion skills.
She added for good measure, "We've seen much worse." Indeed, they had. There had been instances where victims would turn hostile and violent, prompting the Healers on the watch to use magic to restrain them. One unfortunate incident resulted in the suicide of a victim who chose death over his predicament. The disturbed man hung himself from the rafters while Doris stepped out to bring his medication.
Harry nodded in understanding. He was unable to string enough words together to form an appropriate retort. Doris included in a pained tone while keeping a watchful eye over the patient, "Would you expect any less after the ordeal she's been through?"
"Not at all. Is she stable?" Harry queried in concern.
Doris answered at once, "Yes. Her immune system is quite strong." After a moment's thought, she supplied, "It makes me wonder if he targeted her specifically. They can sense these things."
"Interesting," Harry responded while narrowing his eyes and taking an even keener interest in Susan Alice Hartley.
Doris offered eagerly, "There's more about lycanthropy I can educate you on if you wish to learn." She and most of her staff were educated on the complex subject since it was imperative to their job.
Harry smiled gratefully, "I'll keep that in mind." At first, he hesitated but requested, "Can I speak to her?"
"I don't see why not, but I warn you not to upset her further. Tread carefully, Harry," Doris replied with her own slight smile.
Harry held the motherly Matron in high regard. She genuinely cared for all her patients. He reassured, "I appreciate the advice. You have my word that we will not upset her. We just need to ask her a few routine questions."
A smartly dressed man in a crisp navy-blue suit, striped tie, and neat head of hair with a file tucked under his arm approached them hurriedly and said impatiently, "Ah, I'm just in time. I was afraid you'd spoken to her first."
Harry heaved a sigh of relief, "Just in time, Branson. You're better equipped with handling these things."
A hearty chuckle erupted from deep within Branson, "Having over ten years of experience breaking it to Muggles about breeches in the Statute of Secrecy does come in handy."
Harry smiled, held the door open and graciously offered, "After you."
Branson stepped through the open passageway and mused in a subtle effort to lighten the mood, "Thank you. Hopefully, she'll take it well."
Harry frowned at Branson's poor attempt at humour and pursed his lips. Was he a blithering idiot? Fat chance of that happening. They were about to walk in and announce that her earlier life was over, magic was real, and she was slowly turning into a werewolf.
Branson greeted with a solemn expression, "Good morning, Mrs Hartley."
The woman toyed with a gold pendant of a cross that hung from a chain around her neck. She looked up at the approaching men with haunted eyes and stated firmly, "It's Alice."
Harry stepped forward and politely introduced himself, "Hi Alice, I’m Harry Potter, and this is, umm, Branson." He gestured to the man standing beside him and felt like a complete arsehole for not knowing the man's first name.
Branson remained unfazed. He smiled and provided helpfully, saving Harry from further embarrassment, "Norris. It's Norris Branson. Harry suppressed a laugh. He was reminded of the Hogwarts caretaker Argus Filch's precious cat, Mrs Norris.
Looking around the surgically clean room, Alice questioned in a hoarse voice, "Where am I?" She had clearly lost her voice from all the screaming.
Harry sighed, "It's a bit complicated, I'm afraid." He did not know where to begin to explain. His presence at these reveals was not necessary, but he succumbed to the strong need to be there in this case. In some peculiar way, he held himself responsible for what happened to her.
Alice shuddered and choked back an audible sob, "I saw an unholy creature attack two men. The beast ripped the head clean off one of them and tossed it aside like it was nothing." Every time she shut her eyes, the horrific scene was all she could see. The splattering of blood and gore across the walls creating a macabre Jackson Pollock was embedded deep in her mind.
Branson and Harry swapped looks of grave concern but let Alice speak without interruption.
She brought her knees up to her chest, hugged them tight and rocked back and forth. Her eyes darted madly around the room, and she spoke in an unhinged way, "That monstrosity attacked me! Its eyes, oh Lord! They were blood red and daunting. It was pure evil!"
Harry gathered his courage, stepped forward and almost reached for her hand, "I'm so sorry you had to endure that." Ignoring his genuine words of comfort, Alice demanded outright, "What is this place? Am I at some secret government facility out in the sticks?"
"No, but it is confidential and, on a need, to know basis," Branson responded almost at once. He truly hated this part of the job, but someone had to do it.
She winced in pain and slightly complained, "My shoulder hurts. The woman caring for me keeps giving me some foul liquid to drink." The concoction tasted vile and vaguely similar to blended chicken livers. Harry explained with an encouraging smile, "It's to help manage the pain. It should subside later today."
Alice implored, "I want to go home." Her eyes widened with realisation, "Has anyone informed my husband? He must be frantic." A relentless stream of tears streaked her face as she recalled her loving husband and adorable children.
Branson offered sympathetically, "Of course, he must be, but unfortunately, the situation is complicated, as Potter mentioned earlier, and we haven't been able to contact Mr Hartley."
Alice glared and gritted out, "You keep saying it's complicated without explanation." She was rapidly starting to lose her patience with these strangely dressed pillocks. "What the fuck is going on?!" She yelled, not caring who heard her or if they severely punished her for her insubordination and noncompliance.
However, Harry remained calm and collected enough to extend further insight into her unprovoked assault, "The creature you saw, which attacked you, was a werewolf."
Alice fixed him with a look of complete shock. She threw her head back and laughed maniacally. Within a few moments of calming herself down, she hurled back, "Do you think I'm a complete idiot? I do not believe in fairy stories or mythological creatures."
Harry's features contorted unpleasantly, "I wish it were a lie, but sadly it is not." He slowly pointed to their pristine surroundings and announced, "You are in the Ministry of Magic."
"Ministry of what?" Alice expressed curiously, and her gaze shifted from Harry to Branson as the tall man came closer. Branson intervened. He clamped Harry down on the shoulder and offered kindly, "Potter, if I may?"
“Yes, of course,” Harry said and moved out of the way giving Branson clear access to the distraught woman on the bed.
Branson cleared his throat and barrelled into an explanation, “Alice, you have been exposed to a hidden community of witches, wizards and plenty of other magical beings and creatures. We have kept our presence hidden for centuries with the sole intent of protecting our way of life and yours." His elucidation lacked warmth, Harry thought. It was a well-rehearsed speech that he had undoubtedly delivered hundreds of times.
Alice was not appeased. She cried without further thought, “You're crazy! You want to hurt my family and me for some bloody reason.”
Sighing, Branson pulled out his wand from his coat pocket and almost lazily flicked it, triggering blue sparks to fly out the end and transform into a brilliant crystal rose that glistened and hovered a foot above them before leaving a shower of shimmering dust to fall over them in its wake.
“No! That's impossible. You've drugged me!” Alice yelled in panic and moved to the edge of the bed, almost causing her to tumble to the floor. Branson pocketed his wand and brought up his hands to stress that he meant no harm. “I assure you, we haven't, Alice.”
With a shaky finger, Alice pointed to where his wand was concealed and croaked, “It's a trick. Any half-arsed magician can do what you did.”
“You've been bitten,” Branson pointed to the bandaged wound on her neck and emphasised. His patience was weaning, and he sought to make her aware of her grim situation.
At once, her hands went to the covering in such aggression that the bandage slightly came apart while she shrieked, “No! Please tell me it's not true!” She tightly clutched the cross around her neck with her free hand and started to pray. The edges of the cross dug painfully into her palm, but she paid it no mind.
Branson reassured the best he could, “There are ways to control your condition.”
His words gradually began to sink in, and it was as if they had delivered a death sentence. She whipped around and questioned in panic and unmistakable fear, "Condition? Am I going to turn into a werewolf?"
He absolutely detested this part. Branson nodded slowly, “At the next full moon, yes, you will go through your first transformation.” He added with acute determination, “But we can help you, Alice. Lycanthropy is incurable but manageable with the correct precautions and potions.”
Her bottom lip trembled as she fought hard not to break down and weep for her lost life. She lashed out, “I could hurt my family and children like that monster did yesterday.” The very thought of her babies made her heart clench in unbearable anguish.
“Not if you let us help you!” Branson argued with renewed determination. She was tough. He could feel it ripple off her in waves. He knew without any doubt that she would survive the horrendous ordeal that would plague her life. It wasn’t a sentiment he shared often.
Alice shook her head vigorously, “I would rather die than hurt my babies.” Harry watched disdainfully from the corner, and his heart shattered at the mother’s honest declaration. She desperately pleaded, trying to make sense of the unfair situation, “Why is this happening to me? I have always treated people kindly.”
Her voice broke as the events from the previous night invaded her mind against her will, “I was just heading home when it grabbed me and dragged me into the alley.”
Branson responded hopefully, "We can teach you to control yourself and anticipate your cravings."
"Cravings? What do you mean?" Alice questioned, wide-eyed and nervously. Was there no end to the foreboding condition?
Clearing his throat, Branson replied with the dreaded words, "Well, Werewolves have certain needs. Blood and raw meat, to name a few."
Alice's face twisted in pain and horror.
Deciding that he had observed in silence for long enough, Harry interrupted as he strode towards them, "Branson, stop. It's too much for her to take in all at once. Slow down."
Branson took in Alice's ashen face and acknowledged Harry's words with a quick nod, "Yes, quite right, Harry. My apologies, Alice. We can continue this discussion when you are ready."
Alice felt a sudden heart palpitation, it pounded and fluttered persistently, but she wiped the tears that fell with the back of her hand and begged the people she believed were holding her captive, "Please! I just want to go home."
Branson smiled and reassured, "Of course, you can! No one here is holding you hostage, Alice." He added genuinely with another slight smile, "We’re keeping you here for the sole reason of tending to your many injuries."
Alice heeded his words and relaxed. She shut her eyes, fought to regain her composure, and said in a weak yet strained voice, "I understand."
Moving closer to the bed, Branson boldly covered her hand with his, and even though she flinched, she did not attempt to move her hand away from his touch. He informed calmly, "We will have to come with you once you are ready to leave, and I must stress that our world remain hidden from Muggles and these harrowing events not be shared with anyone besides your husband."
"Muggles?" Alice searched for an answer in interest. What a peculiar word, she thought to herself.
Patiently, Branson clarified further, "Non-magical folk such as your husband. There are certain Laws to uphold, and we need to strictly educate your family on them and take precautions to make sure our world is not exposed." The very mention of her family caused her mind to snap, and the despair she was drawing in consumed her.
Brusquely taking her hand out of Branson's grasp, she grabbed her head with both hands, letting her nails sink into her scalp and begged, "Stop! My head's splitting!"
Harry came forward and offered soothing words, "What's most important is that you're safe and under our protection." Doris walked in without an announcement and with a stern face. She heard the alarming sounds coming from the patient and rushed in to see what the matter was.
Doris regarded the wizards and fumed, "What are you saying to this poor woman? She has been through plenty and needs to rest. I won't tolerate this nonsense."
Branson looked her way, ignored the seething look she often bestowed upon him and requested with an exhausted expression, "Can she leave now?"
Doris frowned to make her displeasure at the incompetent request evident, "Not yet. I'm still tending to her wounds, but she seems to be healing quite well on her own."
They exchanged looks of concern mixed with astonishment. Victims often perished within an hour of being brought in. Still, they were presently witnessing a rare occasion worthy of documenting.
Their terse reaction was not lost on Alice. She struggled to sit up straight and queried in a strained voice, "That's not normal, is it?" She knew little about werewolf folklore, but her blood was synchronising with the transformation remarkably well.
Harry kindly enlightened, "It’s quite normal. Your senses will heighten greatly over time."
Branson nodded curtly and said, "We will visit again soon to escort you home." He took his leave shortly after. Harry turned to leave but stopped dead in his tracks as Alice's pained declaration made it to the sensitive shell of his ear, "Maybe this is the Lord's plan for me." He couldn't bring himself to refute her beliefs, but he highly doubted it was.
Her heavy sobs of despair and Doris's valiant attempt to calm her down with soothing words followed him as he left.
Hermione breezed into the office in high spirits after her lunch with Narcissa. Despite the aristocratic woman's prejudiced upbringing, she knew how to engage in lively conversation and witty banter.
Brenda shot to her feet, blocked her path by dramatically throwing her arms wide apart and stopped her boss from entering the office. Raising a brow at her usually quirky assistant, Hermione probed rather impatiently, "What's the matter?"
"Kingsley wanted to see you tout de suite," Brenda responded with a swift, nervous glance towards the Minister's office and followed up with a fair warning, "He seems pretty peeved, so good luck."
Hermione grew exceedingly curious but frowned in reply and refrained from speaking her mind. A sudden sense of unease engulfed her, and she could not fathom why. Whatever it was that had Kingsley riled up would spell disaster for the rest of them.
Dumping her bag unceremoniously on Brenda's desk, Hermione turned on her heel and hurried off in the direction of the Minister of Magic’s office. His assistant Nancy was overwhelmed with numerous owl messages, interdepartmental memos and more than a few official letters bearing the official seal of the Ministry.
"What is all this?" Hermione asked, bemused. The woman barely acknowledged her presence, so she knocked on Kingsley's huge office door and waited to be granted admittance. His gruff voice came from within. It was abundantly clear from his tone that he was far from pleased, "Come in."
Hermione strode in with her head held high and mind riddled with random thoughts. She approached Kingsley's sizable desk and said in a clear voice, "You wanted to see me."
Kingsley took off his glasses, tossed them aside and regarded his Undersecretary with a stern expression, "Where the hell have you been?” He glanced at the antique clock and hissed his displeasure, “It's nearly two pm."
Hermione hesitated before replying, and she chose her following words carefully, "Umm, I had a private matter to attend to." Kingsley was livid, and she had no desire to add fire to his perturbed state.
He leaned back in his chair and accused harshly, "We are in the middle of a crisis, and you're off running errands." Initially, he had expected to come into the office and consult with her about the dire events from the night before and find a possible way forward. Instead, he had been profoundly disappointed to discover that she was running late. Unfortunately, Brenda had taken the brunt of his frustration.
Hermione sulked. She was not about to stand idly by and be referred to as incompetent or irresponsible.
She kept her anger at bay, not wanting to aggravate the situation. "My apologies, Minister, but I wasn't aware of any crisis,” she said evenly, “This is the first I am hearing of it. Why did you not inform me?" There, the ball was in his court.
Conceding defeat, Kingsley heaved a sigh. He massaged the bridge of his nose in exasperation and apologised, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you."
Uninvited, Hermione took a seat and peered into Kingsley's face. Heavy bags hung under his eyes from lack of sleep, and light stubble adorned his face. She proclaimed at first glance and then questioned impatiently, "Well, you look awful. What is going on, Kingsley?"
Kingsley pursed his lips and pushed a manilla file across the desk. Hermione threw him a quizzical look, flipped the file open and gasped. The mutilated remains of a man greeted her.
She swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat at the sight of the horrific pictures but forced herself to look through each one, "Merlin! What is all this?"
The Minister exhaled and began to explain the previous night's events in precise detail. He did not share an abridged version and spared no specifics. Hermione crossed and uncrossed her legs at intervals but sat still for the most part and listened intently to the unprecedented ghastly series of events that had occurred.
He concluded with a smidge of hope that he desperately hung onto, "I have sent Patronuses to the most significant pack leaders. They have agreed to meet at the werewolf settlement in Epping Forest. Hopefully, we can catch this rogue with their help and guidance before he strikes again."
Hermione could not fathom what was happening. She finally found her voice and lashed out, "You can't be serious! No! I refuse to believe it. Are you telling me apart from a serial killer on the loose, there is now a bloody rogue werewolf hunting Muggles?"
Kingsley nodded solemnly, "That is precisely what I'm telling you."
Hermione relentlessly thought of her best friend and Head Auror. He had so much riding on his shoulders. Would he never be spared a peaceful moment? She voiced her troubled thoughts, "Harry must be losing his mind and doubting himself."
Kingsley concurred without a moment's hesitation, "He is."
He included sincerely, "Have a word with him, will you? The man needs reassurance that all will be well."
"But will it? This is too much, Kingsley," Hermione argued and wished she had the Minister's confidence. Her own confidence over the matter hung by a proverbial thread.
Kingsley sighed, "I know." He fumed, "The Muggle Minister has become a royal pain in my arse."
Hermione suggested at once, "Would you like me to update him on matters pertaining to this issue?" She got on reasonably well with the Muggle Prime Minister, and he always seemed to value her input on important matters.
"If it's not too much trouble," Kingsley replied gratefully. That was one massive load off his plate. He trusted Granger to appease the Prime Minister and inform him that all was handled but knew that was far from the truth. In reality, he had no plan forward and hoped some proper answers would present themselves after meeting with the pack leaders.
Hermione almost smiled despite the grim situation they were burdened with, "Don't worry about it, but while I do that, you need to speak with the Alphas and figure all this out."
Kingsley nodded curtly in agreement, "Yes. I'll be leaving shortly with Thomas, Potter, Corner and Amelia." He slowly got to his feet, ignored the sudden jab of pain that shot up his spine, and walked over to the fully stocked bar to pour himself a much-needed drink. It wasn't like him to indulge during work hours, but he desperately needed a distraction.
He picked up the bottle and paused to read the label. Satisfied, he broke the seal of a twenty-five-year-old scotch, sniffed the pungent air that escaped and poured two fingers into a crystal tumbler.
Hermione was sympathetic to his plight. She said with a hint of warmth to her tone, "Good. I will see you later, then? And Kingsley..."
After taking a sip of the heavenly-tasting smoky amber liquid, Kingsley responded. "Hmm?"
"Be safe," Hermione finished with sufficient emotion.
Kingsley raised his glass in her direction and smiled in exhaustion, "I always am, love."
The shrouded man stared hard at the writhing man on the cold hard dungeon floor. He felt no compassion nor remorse but a mild sense of satisfaction. Even in his youth, he had been fascinated by blood and enjoyed watching with sick perversion the spilling of it from lesser beings than himself.
There was something immensely satisfying about the red-hot substance that pulsated through the veins giving life gushing out of a weakened form. His hunger for blood had not lessened, and while he would no longer heed the ideologies of his predecessor, he took vicious pleasure in practising the Cruciatus curse.
He was less than human now and relished that there were but a few who would amount to his brilliance. How wrong they had been in their assumptions. It was perhaps a costly mistake that led to the downfall of their cause and everything they had blindly believed in.
An army of wizards was no match for a group of mature werewolves. They had brute strength, agility, and heightened senses, which would outweigh the use of a wand given a fair fight. He had seen plenty of his brethren fall at the hands of witches and wizards. They called it a lawful killing.
It was murder in the worst form and overlooked by a ministry who were on a course to cleanse the Magical world from any who did not fit into their perfect illusion.
Still, Kingsley Shacklebolt was a formidable adversary. He could not be swayed like his predecessors nor tricked into believing many blatant lies like Cornelius Fudge. Shacklebolt offered peace, some remarkable perks, and a safe passage from persecution, which many pack leaders readily accepted. Yet, they would remain to be treated with mistrust, disgust, and fear by the wizarding populace.
He supposed they had every right to fear them, but this fight was not about generating fear. It was about justice that had been denied their kind for centuries by beings who thought themselves superior.
The full moon once a month brought about his release. It was the day of reckoning and one he looked most forward to. He loved to hunt Muggles with ardent pleasure. They tasted horrid, but the thrill of the chase and the fear in their eyes as he sank his teeth into the spongy flesh of their neck was exhilarating.
He had enjoyed marking one the night before and leaving a bloody trail for the Aurors to find. The woman was special. He had sensed it the moment he saw her crossing the street. It was time to make his intent and existence known but not his identity. Of course, they knew him and searched for him across countries and continents, but he had evaded recapture and embraced a new life.
It had not been easy escaping after his defeat at the battle at Hogwarts. While waiting to be carted off to Azkaban, where he would no doubt receive the Dementor kiss for his heinous crimes, he had managed to free himself by using a few wandless magic tricks learnt from his Master and fled by stealing a wand from a man he ambushed while hiding in Hogsmeade. No one knew about his wandless abilities except the man who taught them to him.
He used the wand to aid his journey but discarded it before reaching his true destination, fearing that the Ministry would track the wand's activity, leading them directly to him.
Fleeing Britain had been relatively easy. He had taken refuge among distant relatives in Romania. They shared his beliefs, gave him a hero's welcome and helped him recuperate.
They had heard about the fall of Voldemort at Hogwarts and had been doubtful of his escape but rejoiced in his return, and he was surprised to learn that they lived peacefully among werewolves. The mangy mutts offered protection in return for small luxuries such as red meat, acquiring wands and countless other favours that were often unscrupulous but doable.
He soon learned that it was an arrangement that worked well for both parties.
The very idea of mingling with the beasts disgusted him at first, and he kept to himself despite his extended family's insistence that he shed himself of such thoughts. As time passed, he came to appreciate them for the wondrous creatures they were, and after much deliberation, he willingly offered himself to be marked by the Alpha.
The Alpha had his doubts, mainly fearing this determined individual would usurp his position. Still, he knew that he would be a valuable addition to the pack.
It had been a gruelling journey, but his will and determination had given him the strength to endure and continue. He gathered a sizable following across continents throughout the next ten years by preaching what he believed to be the truth. Alphas of other packs were sceptical and cynical at first and sought to destroy him, but he was stronger and more intelligent than most.
Slowly they started to comprehend and understand his words, and before long, they acknowledged him as their self-appointed leader. It had not been an easy task.
At times, he was required to challenge an old Alpha who could not be swayed and take over the pack to further his cause. Over time, his reputation grew and spread like wildfire until he was regarded as a Werewolf royalty. A worthy king to rule them all.
A whiny voice brought him back to reality. His hand, which held a newly acquired wand, was still posed over the wizard whimpering in agony, "Please, have mercy!"
The cowardly bastard.
He spat brutally, "Mercy is for weak-minded fools and cowards. You will find I'm neither, and I do not take the failure of my tasks well."
Looming over the mess of a man on the floor, the masked individual deliberately pointed out, his voice was deep yet sultry and pleasing to the ear, "McLaggen, were you not trusted with securing funds for our brothers in Romania and Russia?" He bared his pearly whites and hissed ominously, "It has also reached my ear that you sent a letter bearing the mark of Voldemort to the Ministry. Is this true?"
Cormac paled and fought the urge to vomit as the last of the effects of the Cruciatus curse left his body and groaned, "No... yes, my lord. It was not my doing. Goyle thought it necessary to warn Granger…."
Gregory Goyle lunged forward before Cormac could finish his sentence, grabbed him around the throat in an ironclad grip, and snarled, "You rat bastard. I'll have your tongue for lying."
Their new master commanded from his seat, "Unhand him, Goyle. You will be spared the pleasure of killing McLaggen for the time being."
He hissed in annoyance, "You fools," and ridiculed after a moment's thought, "Goyle, your father would have your hide if he was aware that your mother raised an incompetent moron but then again, he was not the brightest bulb of the lot." The hooded figures emitted a ripple of mocking laughter. Goyle scowled and let Cormac go. He fell to the ground and gasped for air.
The letter carried a clear warning that he had every intention of making reality whether their masked Master agreed or not. He and Malfoy had been thick as thieves back at Hogwarts, and the traitor had not so much as tried to contact him since his return, he thought bitterly. Worse, he was about to marry a Mudblood. A woman they knowingly tormented at school.
Granted, it was the one Mudblood he would touch without feeling disgust, Goyle supposed with humour. He had a hard-on for Granger's long smooth legs and perky bosom. He had unashamedly ogled them at every opportunity when he visited the Ministry or, on the odd occasion, he saw her in Diagon Alley.
His wife was a timid creature who would not dare question her husband's wandering cock and abusive nature. Her job was to play the part of a wealthy aristocratic wife and raise his many children. He fucked her when it pleased him after a heavy night of excessive debauchery. She was an unresponsive bitch that hardly moved while he pounded her with his thick appendage.
The masked man silenced the group with a quick wave of his snake-skinned gloved hand. He walked over to where Cormac lay, overpowered and dejected. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, he pulled his head back until it was inches away from his cloaked face and rasped, "I will not tolerate a backstabbing weakling. You were clearly sorted into the wrong house."
The man cowering before him was a surprise addition to the new brotherhood.
He further degraded and mocked, "Is your Gryffindor heart questioning your conscience?"
Cormac pleaded, “No, My Lord. It is not solely my decision to withdraw funds. My father….”
The figure interrupted with an amused expression behind his mask, “Ah, senior McLaggen. He could never be swayed, and we all know he wouldn't be pleased with your choice to join our cause.”
Cormac shuddered. His father would Avada him if he ever found out. Unfortunately, the bastards had him by the balls and because of a few costly mistakes on his part he was forced to obey. He hoped Hermione would forgive him one day.
A darkness fell over the area, and the other members retreated into the shadows.
The man raised his wand and brought it down hard across Cormac’s back, causing him to scream in distress.
"Do not disappoint me,” The Master leered. He pocketed his wand and slapped the wizard, grovelling at his feet, sending him flying halfway across the room. The wizards observing exchanged severe looks of concern at the brutal display of physical strength. It was otherworldly.
Unlike their fathers, they were not as inclined to the cause.
The man caught sight of the uncertainty that flashed across their eyes—pampered princes living off their parents' money. Werewolves knew how to survive. Hardly anyone besides his pack no one knew he was one, except perhaps the latest recruit into their midst, Dorian Blackwood.
Blackwood had been one of Greyback's finest lieutenants but was heavily overshadowed by the ruthless beast and presumed dead by the Ministry.
His transformation and rebirth had been glorious. It was excruciating pain to be torn limb from limb as his form shifted to one of a sizable dark grey wolf with a thick white line down his back. The first moon had been the roughest, but he embraced his new life and knew he was destined for greatness beyond his dreams.
He had learned the ways of the pack, staying close to the Alpha as his personal guard and rising through the ranks, challenging the other males for food, mates, and superiority until there was no one left to challenge but the Alpha himself.
It was an exhausting battle that left both severely injured, but the Alpha was older and not as agile as he once was. A moment's weakness proved costly, allowing him to sink his claws and teeth into the rough exterior of the Alpha’s neck. He had tasted the blood, severed his previous leader's head right off his limp body with sharpened teeth and spat it out while the Alpha's mate, Mika, fell to her knees and howled for her loss while others backed away and retreated in fear.
The loud howl echoed through the forest was enough to command the pack, and even if they were unwilling, there was no disobeying the Alpha.
He had his way with Mika that night. It was a pure act of dominance against Luna, who had once been a witch. He had long since desired the headstrong beautiful woman who was a rose among a macabre garden of darkness.
Having sex in their wolf form was boundless and exhilarating. They made rough yet passionate love, feeling the earth beneath their paws, and by the end of their trysts, she was completely and utterly his, her former mate forgotten.
Werewolf courtship, he learned, was vastly different from wizarding soul bonding and much more complex. He had laid with Mika as a defiant act of authority, but it had blossomed into much more. Though he had taken others to bed when it suited him, to breed and add numbers to the pack, she would remain his one true mate.
He had been content being away from the pureblood prejudices that dictated most of his life. That was until their little haven was raided by Aurors of the Romania Ministry on some trumped-up charge made by a local farmer that his cattle had fallen prey to an unexplainable monster.
The confrontation was short but fierce, with many casualties on both sides. It was a lie that cost many their lives and a betrayal he would not take lying down. His inner demons and hunger for power from his former life had risen to the surface, and the need to overpower those in charge took precedence.
He rose through the ranks over the many years and now commanded one of the largest packs to grace the earth in nearly four hundred years. As Alpha, it was his duty to safeguard their way of life, and he had plans to bring them out of the darkness and into the glorious light of acceptance.
Despite the war and so-called prejudices deemed by the Ministry being laid to rest, he knew it was an unconcealed lie to appease the general public and create trust in the newly appointed Ministry. Werewolves worldwide were still treated like mongrel dogs and scum by the wizarding general public. He wore many disguises, mostly the faces of Muggles he mutilated out of necessity or sport. The advancements of the Polyjuice potion allowed him the flexibility to roam around freely.
It was painful to be away from Mika, but the fight for the greater good needed to continue. Their farewell had been difficult, but he had departed for London with a final promise of eternity together. Using a series of hidden passageways, he sought out his former allies, most of whom he learnt were in Azkaban with their souls sucked out of them except for Avery, Alecto and Amycus Carrow and Corban Yaxley. They were permanent residents at Azkaban and still barely among the living.
It was then he made the wise decision to join the underground gambling ring and fight club owned and hosted by the prominent members of the wizarding community. They bore a distinctive grudge against the Ministry but kept their opinions well hidden. He had stumbled upon the secret society quite by chance while drinking at a rundown bar in Knockturn Alley. A drunk patron boasted about the place and, eager for information, he had piled the man with drink and coaxed him into revealing everything.
He was most intrigued by the fight club where the rich bid on fighters while they tore each other apart without the aid of magic. A multitude of creatures participated in the blood sport.
The front was misleading to many where the pillars of society mingled, distinguished guests wore tuxedos, sipped expensive scotch, and puffed on imported cigars while gambling. Behind closed doors, dignity was lost and replaced by fists colliding with flesh and fresh blood being split. The victor was paid handsomely, and the loser suffered the mocking and dejection that came their way until the next match.
Untimely deaths happened but not often. Overall, it was a sickening spectacle.
Access to the private organization named Sanguis, which was Latin for bloodshed, carnage, power and might, was by invitation only. However, passing Galleons in the right direction had secured his entry. Once he revealed his true self to but a handful of trusted accomplices, word of a prophecy coming true spread through the underground circuit like fiendfyre.
He became well respected as a prominent and skilful Death Eater who worked closely with Voldemort as part of his trusted inner circle. Now, he brought justice and salvation to those who craved it. The members were ecstatic at the mere mention of a war and more than willing to avenge their fathers and stop the intermingling of bloodlines they believed deserved to be pure. He called them Knights of Walpurgis, a name Voldemort had used in the earlier days of conception. Galleons poured in as a show of goodwill to the cause.
One man, in particular, caught his avid interest. He later learned that Avery's eldest son, who attended Drumstrang, had returned, seeking justice for his fallen once Death Eater father. The youth in his mid twenties was the ringleader of the underground circuit, and unlike his father, he was a powerful yet competent asset.
There had been a time when he shared those ideologies in his former life and thought poorly of the beast he had become. He had taken much delight in treating Fenrir Greyback as a lowly being not fit to wipe his feet on, but how wrong he had been.
He had gathered a following among wizards by preaching his predecessor's values and pureblood dominance, but those were outright lies to generate funds and followers.
His loyalties lay firmly with his pack. Werewolves were a gift to be cherished. They valued those closest to them, were loyal to their pack and were certainly not a rabble of beasts without self-control or purpose.
He had taken a mark once to show loyalty to a misguided fool. Now the barely visible mark on his neck was far more beneficial.
Along with his werewolf brothers and sisters, they would arise.
Epping Forest was a massive, sprawling area of woodland which straddled the border between London and Essex. It was infamous among Muggles for being somewhat known as a burial area for murder victims due to its proximity to London. The thick mist that often settled over it aided its morbid reputation.
A group of mature wizards and witches appeared on the borders and quickly illuminated the tips of their wands. Despite the sun resting high in the sky, their surroundings and thick brush and tall trees that covered the area before them were gloomy and macabre. The forest was notorious for ghostly sightings or contact from the other world, and Muggles, in general, avoided the place like it contained the bubonic plague. It was the ideal place for a werewolf pack to thrive undisturbed.
A foreboding feeling fell over the gathered group as the wind swirled around them, bringing dead leaves and debris from the inner bowels of the ancient forest. Hardly a creature was in sight, but that was not odd considering the beasts that dwelled in the forest.
Michael sighed, moved his shoulders in small circles to calm himself and thought about Brenda and their quick farewell embrace. He loved her fiercely and could not wait to make her completely his.
From his place, Thomas stared into the gloomy interior of the forest with narrowed eyes and felt a deep sense of unease. His stump itched incessantly, and he absentmindedly scratched it with his good hand while letting the many whispers that emitted from within the forest caress his ear.
The rustling of leaves invaded the peace from all sides.
Harry stood his ground without a smidge of fear. His heavy boot dug into the moist earth to stake a claim. He stood close to the Minister and held his wand ready if they were ambushed.
The uncertainty of the situation scraped his mind's inner walls, and he looked around rapidly at the slightest sound. Ginny and James' happy faces popped into his mind and almost caused him to buckle under the pressure of the job. He was determined to return to his family safely.
Amelia closed her eyes, and the witch in her late thirties pocketed her wand. She knew they would not be harmed, but still, her stomach jolted with nervousness. It had been years since she last laid eyes on him, and she could not help but wonder if he was as devilishly handsome as he had been all those years ago.
With a firm grip on his wand, Kingsley regarded his team with a sense of immense pride. He exhaled and saw two large shadows fall upon the ground. They were being watched.
Thomas inhaled the pungent air and hissed, "We are not alone."
Kingsley held his head high and strode forward with a firm statement, "I do not fear death. To my country and kin, I will remain loyal. Darkness is not my enemy but my friend."
Harry and Thomas nodded in agreement and followed Kingsley with a sense of determination, with Amelia and Michael cautiously trailing behind them. Their robes billowed ominously in the harsh wind, with each purposeful step adding to the ghoulish nature of their surroundings.
Two burly figures moved out of the shadows, made their presence known and followed them closely as they entered the depths of the age-old forest.
One was heavy set with many scars running down his face and longish dirty blonde hair who sniffed the air around Amelia longingly, causing her to reach for her wand and Michael to pull her out of harm's way instinctively. Still, he needn't have bothered since the wolf in question stiffened as if petrified and moved well away from her. His Alpha had openly threatened him not to touch the woman through their pack mind link.
The other werewolf was relatively young, wore his raven hair back in a braided ponytail, and seemed less brutish than his eager companion. He shielded his wand from prying eyes and concealed it within his robes. The wand had chosen him when he came of age, and though he was destined on another path, the ten inches of ash with Phoenix feather was his for keeping, and no law would separate him from his beloved wand.
Michael felt the hairs on his neck stand on end as the werewolf in human form walked behind him. He could smell the musty scent drifting off the man in waves. It was strong and repugnant, but he stomached the repulsive smell and whispered so only his companions could hear, "We need to leave. This might be a trap."
A deep chuckle came from the werewolves behind them. Their acute hearing had picked up what Michael said, and his poor choice of words amused them.
Kingsley strongly disagreed, "No! We will not leave until I have got what I came for." He did not bother to lower his voice but said for all to hear, garnering a low growl of displeasure from one of the wolves that flanked them.
They passed a babbling brook, and the abundantly dense covering of the forest's plant life lessened as they came into a vast clearing. Many makeshift huts and dwellings occupied the space filled with suspicious eyes that fell upon the strangers in thick black coats sporting the Ministry of Magic badge.
Snarls of distrust and howls of dissatisfaction surrounded them, but the wolves at their back growled menacingly at anyone who dared to approach the group. Michael plunged his hand into his robes and pulled out his wand with trembling fingers, but Amelia shot him a look of disapproval and wordlessly gestured for him to put it away.
They came to an abrupt halt as another slightly larger man with thick brownish-black hair wearing a neat shirt and trousers approached them. He was well-groomed, with a kind smile plastered onto his face.
"Good afternoon. Please follow me," he requested politely. He motioned for them to follow him. Kingsley heeded the instruction with a distinctive nod of his head. He and the others fell into step behind the man assigned to greet them.
They passed skillfully built houses, and children played with wooden renditions of Muggle toys such as trains and cars. Amelia felt her heart clench at the happy sight. They appeared normal and nothing whatsoever out of the ordinary.
A large house of sorts loomed over them ominously, blocking the shattered rays of sun that managed to penetrate the thick canopy of trees. The solid stone structure appeared to be ancient, and without a single word, the man nodded at the burly sour-looking wolf standing guard and entered through the door.
Kingsley hesitated at the entrance. Harry moved swiftly to his side and asked in hushed tones, "Should we go in?" It would be an insult to the Alphas if they did not accept their hospitality, but they had to consider their safety.
The Minister nodded unsurely and addressed his loyal group of Aurors, "No matter what happens. I'm proud to have served with you all." They were horribly outnumbered; he knew this, and if the wolves decided to attack, the chances of walking out alive were slim. He had led them on a possible suicide mission.
Michael paled but gathered his inner strength and stepped through the threshold without fear.
They entered a brightly lit room with candles and fine furnishings. A small gathering of well-dressed werewolves occupied the sizable space, and all turned towards the wizards and witches in their midst. It was not every day they entertained the so-called Minister of Magic.
A long wooden table was covered with a crimson table runner decorated with golden embroidery. The three mature werewolves who sat behind it rose to their feet to greet the incoming group of people. Each was a formidable opponent dressed in shades of black and grey, with white shirts and long flowing robes that fell to their feet.
Except for one who opted for robes with a bit more flare. They were a remarkable sight and nothing whatsoever like Fenrir Greyback, who they knew and loathed.
Though they appeared young in appearance due to their heightened powers of rejuvenation, in reality, they were nearly eighty years of age except for Edward, who was in his late forties. In his earlier life, he had been an owner of a profitable boutique that dealt exclusively in rare herbs that dwelled deep in the forests under moss-covered rocks and were about to be married when calamity struck on a poorly planned excursion on a full moon night.
Now, he hardly remembered being marked, but once he was able, he had hunted down the beast that changed his life and ripped the creature’s heart right out of its body and claimed his place in the pack before becoming their Alpha. He left behind his beloved. There was not much choice in the matter. She was an upcoming Auror with a bright future ahead of her, and despite her pleas, he left her in the dead of night and never returned.
Harry looked around and was astonished by the clean surroundings inside the house. He had never been inside a werewolf's dwelling before, even when Kingsley and Hermione worked tirelessly to negotiate peace treaties. It was certainly not as he had anticipated. He had expected vermin to run rampant and filth to occupy the small living areas, but what shockingly greeted him was an organised way of life with proper systems and hygiene standards that mirrored their own.
Amelia's heart rate hastened as her gaze fell upon the tall, good-looking, broad-shouldered Alpha standing to the left. His eyes found hers and hungrily devoured her where she stood. His heat encompassed her, and a groan left her slightly parted lips. She moved closer to Harry and stood behind him to shield herself from the Alpha's penetrative glare.
The largest among the trio of Alphas raised his gold goblet of wine in toast and enthused, "Shacklebolt!" The sheer arrogance of the werewolf in tacky sequined robes suffocated them.
Kingsley forced a smile, stood by the chair meant for him to sit down and said solemnly, "Ezra, it's been a while. I had hoped to meet under better circumstances."
The blonde Alpha tore his gaze away from Amelia and gave the Minister his undivided attention. His voice was rough and grated. "We expected you sooner, Kingsley, but since you have arrived, we can speak freely." He sat down before the others and almost lazily pointed to the empty chairs, "Please be seated. We will begin shortly."
Kingsley pushed his heavy robe back and sat down on the chair he assumed was allocated for him, and the others followed his lead. Michael lowered himself down into the chair but kept his eyes solely on the three imposing men studying their every movement.
"Edward, you are most kind," Amelia found herself saying while sitting down and crossing her legs at the ankles in the most ladylike manner. A satisfied and wolfish grin curved Edward's lips upwards, displaying his sharpened canines, but that did not dampen that he was still a gorgeous man.
He replied earnestly, "I am at your disposal, witch." A deep warning snarl from a she-wolf among the crowd pierced the peace. Amelia’s astute eyes searched the crowd for the source but came up empty. Her heart pounded relentlessly in her ears.
Ezra continued to drink heavily, but he offered none to their guests. The last Alpha ignored the rest, addressed Kingsley directly and spoke in a loud authoritative tone, "Why have you called this meeting, wizard?"
“I need your help, old friend,” Kingsley stated boldly.
Cyrus regarded the Minister and mocked, “How can we be of service to the great Minister of Magic?”
Kingsley brushed off the attempt to rile him up and proceeded, “A brutal attack took place in Muggle London. Two Muggles were ripped apart, and a woman was marked.”
“And you are absolutely certain it was the handy work of a werewolf?” Ezra quipped and ordered more wine. A servant standing behind him snapped to attention and rushed off to do his master’s bidding.
Harry cleared his throat and answered, “We looked through the woman’s memories. There is no doubt that it was a werewolf. Have you heard of a rogue in the area?”
“Ah, Mr Potter, welcome,” Ezra raised his goblet in greeting. Even among other beings, he was well-known and somewhat respected.
Cyrus leaned back, got comfortable and smirked. He elucidated, “It was no mere rogue. However, it is the beginning of something glorious.”
Michael stiffened at the meaning. The meeting had most definitely taken a turn for the worst. His fingers itched to wrap around his wand, but, given the circumstances, he thought against it and rightly so.
Her palms beaded sweat and Amelia stared unblinkingly yet accusingly at Edward. However, he studiously avoided her gaze and concentrated on the others. Kingsley paled but kept his wits about him enough to inquire, “I don’t quite follow. Would you care to elaborate?” There was a distinctive edge to his tone of voice.
“You are not a simple-minded fool, Kingsley!” Ezra snapped. His breath reeked heavily of wine.
Kingsley ignored the drunken wretch, leaned forward, and came straight to the point. He implored, "Cyrus, you are the oldest one here. If you were unhappy with my terms, why didn't you come to me and express your concerns? There is no need for all this."
Cyrus sneered, "We've been offered something better. The chance to take our rightful place at the top." His wolf demanded to be released and teach these insolent human beings a valuable lesson, but that wasn't the way.
"Who has offered? You owe me a proper explanation," Kingsley demanded impatiently. This was an alarming revelation.
“I owe you nothing, wizard,” Cyrus fired without remorse. He would tear this disrespectful human limb from limb if he did not mind his manners. Regardless of who he was. It was of little consequence.
Ezra slammed his cup down hard on the table, causing its contents to spill over. He demanded a refill before stating in perverse pleasure, "He was one of you, but now he willingly walks among us, fights for us and will lead us into a glorious new brotherhood."
Amelia gasped, and Thomas bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. Harry listened intently to the conversation, growing more concerned with each passing word. His fingers unconsciously edged towards the wand resting within his Auror robes.
Thomas studied the Alphas and could no longer hold his silence. He gritted out, "Voldemort promised you similar things, and he didn't deliver. You are making a significant mistake by listening to another power-hungry clown." There was an inimitable hiss of disapproval from the group monitoring the proceedings. They did not take kindly to being referred to as incompetent fools.
Cyrus injected with purpose, "The Dark Lord was a wizard. He cared for nothing but himself. He was a deluded maniac with no vision." A low growl of agreement hummed through the crowd.
Harry offered with a heavy heart, "There must be something we can do to reach a compromise." Ezra swallowed a gulp of wine and mused, "Yes! Surrender the Ministry and embrace a magnificent new future."
Kingsley pounded the table hard with his fist without fear of retribution, "Never!" Did they genuinely believe it was that simple? That they would yield without a fight? The Auror in him sprang forth.
Edward, who had remained silent, raised with dripping sarcasm, "Why? Do you not think us competent to run a nation?" A child dressed in blue overalls ran across the room and jumped into his mother’s waiting arms. He looked in the direction and said with a triumphant smile, "We look after our own, tend to the sickly and nurture our young. We have built communities more effective and loyal than yours."
Unable to keep his thoughts shielded for longer, Michael blurted out, "You have no control over your actions."
Cyrus glared sternly, "There are ways around the full moon. Besides, we have the right to embrace who we truly are."
Pushing long hair strands out of his face, Ezra spat viciously, "What gives you the right to control us, young wizard?" The boy was clearly in his twenties, and he could see he lacked the wisdom of his peers.
A deep, menacing growl echoed off the walls, and a few werewolves closed in on them. Edward held them at bay with a dominating growl of his own and warned, "This conversation is over. Leave whilst you still can."
Kingsley sprang to his feet, narrowed his eyes, and charged, "Do you dare to threaten the Minister of Magic openly?"
Edward looked to keep the peace. His eyes moved over Amelia's anxious form, "You have no authority here. I am doing you a kindness by allowing you to leave." He cared nothing for the others but the woman in their group.
"How's your thirst, Thomas?" Ezra leered, dragging out his words to emphasise his point.
Thomas was already on his feet. He took a defensive stance, and his eyes darkened, "Fuck you!"
Ezra remained seated and seemingly unfazed by the Aurors' insulting retort. Instead, he enlightened haughtily, "The hunger for blood always wins in the end, my friend. Let us complete your transformation at the next full moon."
Thomas pulled out his wand so fast it was a blur and pointed the eleven-inch wand made of birch and dragon heartstring squarely at Ezra's chest, wiping the laughter right off his face, "Over my dead body."
Ezra shot to his feet, and his heavyset frame almost knocked back the table. He crouched down low and snarled, "That can be easily arranged, old man."
Harry stepped in between the man and tried to diffuse the situation. He hissed out of the corner of his mouth, "Stand down, Spencer."
Kingsley placed his hands on the table and leaned forward so he was face to face with Cyrus and sneered, "It's war then."
Cyrus did not flinch. He simply brought his hands together until the fingertips touched and said with a resounding firmness, "By the time the master is through, there won't be a need for needless bloodshed. We have united across countries and borders putting aside our many differences and instincts to fight for the greater good of our species that you see fit to eradicate."
"I have never…." Kingsley countered, but he was interrupted by an erupting cheer from the bystanders, "We are the future!"
Ezra gritted out, "You have no control over us anymore."
Harry reminded them of what was at stake. He appealed, "You will break the Statute of Secrecy and expose our world to Muggles."
Cyrus smiled sinisterly, "Your little laws mean nothing to us. We have our orders, and we've been hiding in the shadows for too long."
He added with a certain level of disgust, "Muggles have used their barbaric ways far worse than ours to rule and plague this earth with their filth."
"This isn't the way…." Kingsley sighed. He knew it was a lost cause. They had already lost the argument before arrival. The pack leaders accepted his invitation to bask in his failure and goad him into action. If he made one wrong move, it would be their end.
Ezra said sternly. His voice was deep and rough like a wolf's bark, "There is no other way, Shacklebolt." Edward slowly rose to his feet and held his arms as if to include everyone and said, "Brother, sisters, let them pass. We are not the mindless beasts they think we are." He needed to ensure their safe passage so she would survive. His one true love was taken cruelly away when fate intervened twenty years ago.
Kingsley tried one last time, "Edward, Ezra, Cyrus, we agreed…."
Cyrus raised a hand to stop him from progressing with what he assumed was a well-rehearsed speech, "We did regretfully, and you have been far more gracious than your predecessors, but though it was a valiant effort by you and Miss Granger, it was futile just the same. We have chosen the way forward. It is time for you to do the same."
Edward, however, was in two minds about the whole thing. His eyes never left Amelia, and the gold band glistened around her finger that she absentmindedly toyed with. Harry advised with a hint of desperation, "I implore you to rethink your actions. This is not a war you can win."
"We will take that chance," Ezra fired back without hesitation.
Cyrus intervened, “Our fight is not just with your kind, but with Muggles as well. We will strike down all who stand in our way.”
Ezra sneered, “Toppling of the Ministry of Magic will pave an easier path to wage war on Muggles. Besides, Wizards and witches must be held accountable for the centuries of abuse and neglect we have suffered at the mercy of the all-mighty wand.” He despised the lot of them for the unlawful murder of his mother. He thirsted for their blood and vengeance.
Having held her tongue after her first comment, Amelia made her presence avidly known. Her eyes shined bright with rising anger, "Your overconfidence will prove perilous to your health."
Edward nodded curtly in acknowledgement, "Always good to see you, Amelia." He was the only Alpha without a mate. She blushed deeply and averted her gaze.
Cyrus dismissed them with a wave of his hand, "Good day to you all."
Michael backed away cautiously, but Kingsley, Harry and Thomas turned their backs on the pack leaders and walked out of the house without a backwards glance. Amelia lingered and threw Edward one final look of anguish before joining her fellow Aurors, who were almost halfway out of the clearing.
"Kingsley…" Michael said slowly while willing his rapidly beating heart to still, but the seething Minister kept his eyes on the trail and hissed, "Quiet. I must think." He stepped on a dead branch, and the deafening crunch sounded bleakly foreboding.
Their feet took them out of the forest, leaving behind the shadows, howling winds and darkness behind.
The sun shone brightly upon them, and Kingsley abruptly grabbed Harry by the shoulders and shook him, "You were right, Potter. Granger’s letter is connected."
Thomas glanced over their shoulder to ensure they were not followed, held his wand at the ready and said seriously, "Hermione could be in grave danger."
"She will never agree to Auror protection," Harry sighed and pushed his glasses further up his nose and informed. He had served as her bodyguard years ago, and she had fought him every step of the way. Sometimes her independence was tiresome.
Kingsley glared, "Tell her it's a direct order from me and assign Abbott and Malfoy to her protection detail. I have little time or patience for any childish outbursts." He needed to think straight and govern a nation and not worry about his stubborn Undersecretary.
Michael injected after a moment's thought, "Malfoy has promising skills. He performed remarkably well on his first mission to apprehend the potion smuggler." He thought it was the right thing to do by giving credit where it was due. Besides, it soothed his guilty consciousness. The ex-Slytherin had moved with such ease it was easy to picture how he broke Terry's nose in the altercation at the Leaky Cauldron.
Terry, he thought sadly. They desperately needed him back on his feet.
Kingsley disregarded the comment and instead assigned Michael a task, "Speak to the smuggler. I'm curious to know why he's reluctant to lower his Polyjuice potion supplies.”
"I'll bet my left nut that there's more to this than meets the eye," Michael pounded his palm with his fist in frustration.
Kingsley rounded on Harry and instructed strictly, "I want Malfoy, Abbott, Creevy and two others to handle other matters while everyone else does all they can to find out who this mysterious leader is." He heaved an exasperated sigh, "The situation is far worse than originally thought. A werewolf uprising is deadlier than Death Eaters and a serial killer."
Amelia said slowly, dragging out her words, "There are no Death Eaters, Kingsley. It's werewolves." Her voice cracked painfully on the last word.
"I disagree, Amelia. I think it's both. My gut tells me it's both." Thomas weighed in. His gut feeling had not let him down since losing a valuable limb.
Kingsley could barely contain his anger. He paced around creating foot sized craters in the mud and said solemnly, "I have dedicated my career as Minister of Magic to ensuring equality. All my efforts and Granger’s hard work has been flushed down the toilet by another power-hungry tyrannical bastard."
An uncomfortable silence engulfed them as each individual slipped into their deep thoughts on the matter.
Harry glanced at his watch and groaned, "I need to get going. I'm supposed to accompany Branson to break the news to the Muggle woman's family." Without hesitation, Thomas pulled him back roughly and warned, "Do not get emotionally involved, Potter. It will not work in your favour."
Harry brushed aside Thomas's hand and his advice and instead demanded, "Bring Dorian in. His half-baked responses are not good enough. I'll have his head if he fails to provide any valuable answers." He had no intention of being a heartless bastard who was a slave to his job like Thomas Spencer was. There was a certain amount of compassion they could spare for the victims.
He sought the Minister's approval to leave, which came in the form of a forced nod. Harry took out his wand and disapparated with one location in mind.
Thomas looked over to where Amelia was staring into the forest in a daze. She seemed less like herself and under some spell. He snapped her out of it and questioned in concern, "Amelia? Are you alright?"
She blinked rapidly and answered in a dreamlike tone while rubbing her arms to generate heat to warm herself, "Hmm, yes, just shaken up by the events today." Thomas regarded her curiously but did not pursue and disapparated right after Michael and Kingsley.
"Edward," Amelia almost whispered in agony before disappearing. Edward stared at the ceiling in his lavishly furnished room, and an unmistakable pain ripped through his once-human heart.
Attaching her new Cartier watch to her delicate wrist, Daphne walked into her bedroom to find her husband sprawled across the bed seductively with no shirt, his impressive body on display and a long-stemmed rose firmly lodged between his teeth.
Daphne giggled and inquired innocently, "Blaise, aren't you running late for work?"
He sat up, spat the rose out and shrugged, "I thought I'd take the day off and spend it with you."
She closed the gap between them, kissed him lightly, and pouted, "I'm certainly not complaining, but I have high tea with Tori and Tracey."
Astoria was head over heels in love with Draco, and Tracey wanted to throttle her husband. Both women bore a grudge against Hermione even though she was not consciously involved in either predicament.
Blaise grinned and kissed his wife passionately. They broke apart, and he said, "Ah, well, don't cancel on my account. I will spend time together with the children. Maybe take them out for ice cream."
Daphne frowned. She would rather know her husband’s whereabouts. "I hope you have no further run-ins with ex-girlfriends in Diagon Alley." She mused. It was a poor attempt at a joke by an insecure woman.
Blaise moved away and frowned, "Are you still on that? Darling, it was a long time ago. There is absolutely nothing for you to feel anxious over."
"I know. It's just that I've always been a little jealous of Ginny," Daphne reluctantly confided her secret of many years. It was hard not to be envious of Ginny Weasley. The woman could do no wrong in Blaise's eyes, which infuriated her at times.
"Still?" Blaise questioned while holding her by the shoulders and looking deep into her beautiful blue eyes. Daphne brushed it aside and laughed almost convincingly, "Don't be silly. I meant back at Hogwarts."
Blaise was not fooled by her attempt to throw him off. His wife was an appalling liar, but he nodded in agreement and smiled to appease her, "Of course, darling. Have fun. I'll see you later."
By the time Harry arrived at the Ministry, Alice was dressed in a new summer dress and Branson was seated by her side, talking to her in hushed reassuring tones. Doris stood on the side and watched the exchange with a glum expression.
They looked up in surprise as Harry barged into the room and doubled over, trying to catch his breath. "Sorry, I'm late." He gasped.
Branson got to his feet, helped Alice up and replied, "Not at all, Potter."
He requested from Alice, "Shall we?" She nodded and held back her reservations. It was hardly prudent to hide away and hope her predicament would disappear when she had an understanding family who depended on her.
Alice supplied the address, and Branson politely offered his arm for her to take. She took it reluctantly, and they disapparated at once. They arrived on the steps of a rundown home with peeling paint and a rusty gate that opened to a cobbled pathway that led to the door. The sudden jolt of apparation was new to Alice, and she bent over the thriving Hosta bushes upon arrival and vomited.
Her heaving caused a stir, and before long, the door opened, and a man of average height, dressed in a woolly jumper and corduroy trousers, came out in time to catch Branson rubbing Alice's back while she coated the plants with her bile.
He threw Branson and Harry looks of pure suspicion and said softly in a carrying voice, "Alice?"
The wizards stepped away from the woman who had somewhat recovered and wiped her mouth with the silk handkerchief Branson had graciously provided.
Alice smiled sheepishly at her tawny-haired husband, who pulled her towards him, wrapped his arms around her and embraced her, "Alice! Thank goodness. We've been worried sick." A child of no more than eight ran outside and hugged Alice around the middle with a bright smile.
Harry felt his heart clench with overwhelming sadness. Thomas's words of warning came back to haunt him—do not get emotionally involved, but how could he not? He had failed this family by not protecting her.
The man barrelled into multiple explanations, "I went down to the police station. The bloody sods were no help at all. I've been a frantic wreck without you, darling."
Alice shuddered but kept still and quiet. They entered the house and were greeted by a neat household with yellow painted walls, multiple framed pictures of children, secondhand furniture and many statues and paintings of Jesus Christ. It was abundantly clear that Alice and her family were religious and not well off but made do with what they had.
A small girl of five came running down the stairs with a yellowish teddy bear that bore a striking resemblance to Winnie the Pooh clutched tightly in her hand and hurled herself at Alice with a loud, "Mummy!" Alice winced yet hugged the child and smothered her youngest child with kisses despite the excruciating pain in her shoulder and fought the tears that threatened to spill over at any minute.
At that moment, Alice's husband realised something was wrong with his wife. His eyes roved over her, and they took in the deep gashes down her arms, the scratches littered across her face and the bandaged part of her neck and shoulder.
He gasped and demanded an explanation, "My God, what's happened to you?"
It was clear from his pained tone that he loved his wife dearly, but Harry wondered if was it enough to withstand the alarming new development that she was turning into a bloodthirsty Werewolf.
Since their arrival, Alice had remained quiet but chose at that moment to vocalise her thoughts. She spoke to her husband calmly, "Mark, please, let's sit down, and I'll explain everything."
Mark regarded the strange men standing in the middle of his living room with distrust and rightly questioned, "Who are these people?" They were oddly dressed and bore a seal of authority that was not familiar to him.
Alice sat down, patted the area next to her eagerly and implored, "Mark, please, calm down." He heeded her request and bemused, "What's going on?"
"Is that blood?" He asked in growing concern and shock as the crimson liquid seeped through the bandage and trickled down her arm. Alice mustered a smile and said to the elder child in a warm motherly tone, "Phoebe, take your sister and go to your room, darling."
Phoebe was a capable child with golden locks and a beautiful smile. She nodded meekly, "Okay, mummy." She gently took her younger sister by the hand and led the reluctant toddler, who was keen on staying firmly with her mother, upstairs.
Once the children were out of earshot, Harry made his presence known and introduced himself and Branson to the thoroughly dishevelled and confused man, "Mr Hartley, my name is Harry Potter, and this is Norris Branson. We are from the Ministry of Magic. Your wife was attacked by a werewolf last night, and she has been in our care since then."
Mark widened his eyes and almost laughed aloud. Instead, he bombarded them with question after question, "You're from where? Attacked by what? Are you having me on? Is this some kind of sick joke?"
Branson reached out in an effort to calm him down, "Mr Hartley, please let us explain."
Mark looked about wildly for any hidden cameras and quipped, "Am I going to appear on the telly?"
Alice reached over and squeezed her husband's hand. Her fingernails dug into the sensitive skin of his palm. She pleaded desperately, "Darling, listen to me. It's all true."
She choked back a sob, "I'm so sorry."
Mark stared into her face trying hard to comprehend the words that left her lips, "A werewolf? Are you trying to say you will turn into some beast once a month at the full moon like in a horror film?”
Harry injected soberly while Alice struggled to string coherent words, "Yes, I’m afraid that’s exactly what we are trying to say.
Mark wasn’t a complete idiot. He was not easily convinced and scoffed, “I don’t believe this nonsense. There is no such thing as real magic except the type magicians use in shows, pulling a fucking rabbit out of a hat or deck of cards out of his arse."
He argued frankly, "Do you honestly expect me to sit here and believe that my wife of over ten years is now a bloody werewolf?"
"Well, not yet," Branson added glumly with a shrug.
Alice declared solemnly but fiercely, "Mark, look at me! This is where it bit me, but it's me. I'm still your wife."
Mark bit his lip and shook his head in disbelief, "This is too much even to understand. How am I expected to believe any of this?"
Branson had heard and witnessed enough of the man's denial. He exhaled, pulled out his wand from his suit's breast pocket, and waved it fluidly over the coffee table.
A steaming pot of tea, hand-painted cups, saucers and a delectable chocolate cake with thick frosting appeared out of thin air and landed gingerly on top of the table. His choice of magic was adept since he had skipped lunch and was feeling somewhat peckish.
Mark bolted straight up and backed away in reasonable panic, "No! It's impossible. This is some bloody illusion."
He pointed a quivering finger at Branson, glanced at Harry and Alice with an unhinged glare in his eyes and thundered, "You're crazy! The lot of you. Get out of my fucking house, you nutters!"
Branson poured himself a cup of tea, moved closer to Alice if Mark sought to take out his frustrations on her and pleaded, "Calm yourself, Mr Hartley." He sounded like a bleeding tape recorder.
Mark backed himself into a corner, slid to the ground and fought hard with his inner self to control his emotions. Harry crouched down next to the distraught husband and father and argued, "Your wife needs you."
Mark locked anguished eyes with Harry, and much was said between them in one look. He nodded after a brief moment, rose on shaky legs and fell into the nearest chair. Dejected with his head in his hands, he whispered in unmasked pain, "I, erm, I need some time to wrap my head around all this."
Branson held out a cup of steaming hot tea and offered with a smile, “Would you like some tea?” Mark gave him a lopsided grin and took the beverage with trembling fingers, “Thank you.”
A distinctive sound of giggling from upstairs made everyone look in its direction and caused Mark to question in alarm, "Is it safe for her to be around the children?"
"I would never hurt them," Alice defended fiercely. She would sooner die than harm her children.
Mark argued with good reason, "Not intentionally, but you wouldn't be able to control yourself, right?" Harry paled. He distinctively recalled how Remus Lupin turned on them without a second thought after turning into a werewolf.
Branson countered with renewed determination, "Yes, of course, it is. It is perfectly fine for her to be around the children. Alice only needs to visit us each month without fail, and I promise she can live a normal life." Earlier, he had handed over the necessary documents and had every intention of dropping by for a quick check as the days rolled close to her transformation date.
Mark stifled a laugh and retorted sarcastically, "A normal life? You've walked in here and told me that my wife's turning into a werewolf and magic exists. Normal isn't the word I'd use, mate."
Harry insisted, "She's still the same woman who loves you."
Mark moved closer to Alice and reached for her hand. He held on firmly and replied, "And I love her." He took a deep breath and reassured his sobbing wife, "We will get through this, Alice."
Alice said through the veil of tears that streamed down her face, "We can't tell anyone about their world or my situation. They will obliviate our memories and relocate us to an undisclosed location if we do."
Mark cupped her face, gazed upon her lovingly and mused, "Who in their right bloody mind would believe us, love?"
Brenda caught sight of Kingsley Shacklebolt's swishing robes as he swiftly appeared and retreated behind closed doors. She had strict instructions from Hermione that she was to be informed the second he arrived.
Leaping from her seat, Brenda hurriedly walked into her boss's room. Finding Hermione deep in thought, hunched over a long parchment with quill in hand, she announced, "The Minister has returned from the meeting with the Alphas, Hermione."
Hermione snapped to attention, "Good. Take any messages." She got to her feet, slipped her feet into the heels she left discarded by the chair and smoothed her skirt.
She strode with intent and purpose towards the Minister's office, knocked on the door to announce her presence and walked in when Kingsley's deep voice granted her entry.
"How did you go?" Hermione asked with bubbling curiosity. Judging by the minister's furrowed brow and overall sour disposition, it was safe to assume that the meeting had not gone as planned.
"Epping Forest? Why such a sinister location?" Hermione questioned with a deep frown etched onto her face. It was a dark and dreary place that Muggles and magical folk alike avoided unless necessary.
Kingsley narrowed his eyes and hissed, "Their sole purpose was to intimidate us, Granger, but they could not be more wrong in their assumption." He was a proud man and would not fall at their feet and grovel. He would not bend to their will in a thousand years, even if it meant his resignation and premature death.
He nursed a hefty drink, took a sip and sighed, "We arrived a while ago. I was consulting with Thomas and Amelia."
Hermione could not hold back her eagerness to know what had transpired, "What happened?"
"There isn't a word to describe it," Kingsley answered, his usually deep voice subdued and laced with immense regret.
He summarized the events at the meeting and emphasised the shuddering conclusion that they were again fighting to preserve their way of life.
"We helped them, Kingsley. Does that count for nothing?" Hermione implored, feeling sick to her stomach and a sudden ache in her heart. They had worked tirelessly to support a certain standard of living for werewolves, even securing employment within the Ministry for deserving individuals. Still, now it seemed like a waste of time.
Kingsley sighed, "Apparently not. We tried our best, Granger. Let us find some peace in that and figure out the way forward."
Hermione nodded in agreement, straightened to show no weakness, and inquired in concern, "I see. Are we at a point where we must alert the public?" That fell under her domain.
Kingsley shook his head and explained his reason, "Not yet. I still have hope that we can neutralise the situation. Leaders of the Magical realm worldwide are arriving at seven pm to discuss this imminent threat."
Hermione gathered the gist of where the conversation was headed and nodded in understanding, "I'll update the Prime Minister while you look after things here." She had to be back from her meeting in time to greet their distinguished guests.
Kingsley opened his mouth to warn her about the potential threat to her life, but a stunning eagle Patronus from the President of the Magical Congress in America distracted him.
Closing the door behind her, Hermione hastened her steps towards her office with her mind in turmoil.
Neville carefully picked up a skimpy black piece of clothing Pansy had left out on the bed and raised a curious brow, "Umm, Pansy, where is the other half of this bathing suit?" He dangled the borderline indecent suit in front of her face.
Pansy chuckled, "That's the whole suit, silly." She took it from his hands and explained, "See? These are the strings that hold it together." The frown on Neville's face deepened.
She turned her back to him, exposing creamy white flesh and declared, "I want a glorious natural tan."
Neville grabbed the garment, tossed it aside and crossed his arms over his chest. "You are not wearing this, Parkinson. It barely covers your breasts." He said firmly.
Pansy dismissed his concerns as ridiculous and argued, "It's very fashionable. It's what everyone is wearing in Milan, darling."
"Everyone in Milan is not my wife. I said no, Pansy, and I fucking mean it," Neville countered with an out-of-character fierceness.
Pansy was pleasantly surprised by her husband's controlling tone of voice and his ability to wet her knickers with a few well-thought-out commanding words.
She trailed her fingers up his torso and whispered seductively, "I love it when you boss me around."
Neville smirked, picked up the scanty garment and demanded, "Wear it for me."
Pansy did not need to tell twice. She unbuttoned her top and pushed it off her shoulders, proceeding to put on the bikini top that hardly contained her sizable bosom. She secured the strings at the back, closed the gap between them and rasped, "I'm so hot for you right now."
Neville palmed her supple tits and felt their weight in each hand. He rolled the pebbled nipples between his fingers and squeezed, garnering a satisfying low moan from his beloved wife.
Pansy worked his belt and undid the stubborn button of his trousers. She snaked down his body, pulled down his underpants, went on her knees and progressed to suck him off while he grunted, rocked back and forth, and fucked her mouth with perverse pleasure.
A miserable hour passed. Hermione thought of Draco and their heated exchange in the cottage, but there were more pressing issues that demanded her attention. Still, she couldn’t shake his beautiful face and enduring strands of platinum blonde that fell over his forehead from her consciousness.
Brenda had taken a late lunch break and disappeared with Michael. After his ordeal at the packhouse, he needed his girlfriend's touch, feel and comfort. There was a knock on the door, and a second later, it opened. With his unkempt hair, Harry popped his head in and requested, "Can I come in?"
Hermione smiled fondly, "Of course, Harry! I was just about to come to meet you." That was a lie, and while she had meant to see him and put his mind at ease, the task had completely slipped her mind.
Closing the door behind him, Harry walked in, laid down on the comfortable brown leather sofa and closed his eyes.
"How are you handling everything? It’s a lot to take in on such short notice, " Hermione queried while intently watching her best friend's behaviour. He was undoubtedly disturbed by the events that were unfolding.
Harry responded grimly, "I've been better. I just returned from the home of the woman who was attacked."
Hermione sighed, "That could not have been easy." She could not begin to imagine what state the woman's mentality was.
"The husband is a wreck. Their happy family has been torn apart," Harry gritted out. He felt like a completely useless sod.
There was no point in tiptoeing around the main topic at hand. Still, Hermione maintained a level of professionalism and calmness, "Kingsley told me the meeting with the Alphas went against us."
Harry affirmed, "We were lucky to leave with our heads intact."
His eyes snapped open, and he declared with uncertainty, "We have a Werewolf rebellion on our hands, Hermione. A potential war if we cannot reach a compromise."
Hermione nervously chewed on her bottom lip and nodded, "I gathered as much from Kingsley's hurried explanation."
Throwing his legs off the sofa, Harry sat up and looked thoroughly defeated, "I thought, I hoped all this would end with Voldemort. This is not the future I wanted for my son or any child."
Hermione reached over and took his hand in hers and applied pressure, "I know, Harry, and you've done your best. You cannot control the actions of others." He held onto her hand, stared into her face, and delivered the unfavourable news, "Hermione, you're in danger."
"What do you mean?" She posed with a quizzical raise of her brow. It was not her life but Kingsley's they needed to worry about. Harry grew impatient as he reminded, "That letter you received after the publication in Witch Weekly Magazine."
Hermione scoffed, "That was by some fool pretending to be a Death Eater."
Harry vigorously shook his head, "No, it's all connected, don't you see?"
Hermione was not convinced, "Enlighten me, please."
Harry pointed out the facts that they knew so far, "Whoever is behind this used to be a Death Eater, and now he's a werewolf. He has the support of both sides, possibly."
Hermione brushed aside their ludicrous theory. Wizards would never knowingly bend to the will of a werewolf. She firmly voiced her opinion, "Impossible! Once the wizards and witches that serve him figure out that he's a werewolf, they will drop him and their allegiance to his shoddy cause."
With his head in his hands, Harry grabbed tufts of his hair and pulled hard, "Still, that does not stop the more dangerous threat of the wolves." He took her hands in his and pleaded, Lay low, please!" He further included the part she loathed, "I'm assigning Hannah and Malfoy as your bodyguards,"
Harry saw her features contort, but before she could speak, he concluded with a firm, "And before you say anything, please know it's a direct order from the Minister."
"You can't be serious, Harry," Hermione admonished.
Harry was beginning to lose his patience, "Hermione, they see your arrangement with Malfoy as a slap in the face, especially considering how flattering he was in his replies about you in the article."
Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but Harry cut her short before any words left her dry lips, "If it's their skills you are worried about, then don't. Malfoy passed his first field assignment with flying colours, and Abbott has more guts and balls than half the men on my team. Besides, Hannah will take the lead on your protection detail."
She crossed her arms across her chest and pouted, "I do not doubt their skills. I'm saying that I'm quite capable of fending for myself and that it's a waste of resources when they could be doing something more with their time."
Harry smiled and looked upon her fondly, "You are far too valuable for us to jeopardise."
"But, I…," Hermione tried to make him see reason, but he interrupted with a heartfelt request that made her insides ache, "Please, love! Do this for me."
Hermione conceded defeat, hugged her best friend, and said, "I would do anything for you, Harry."
She assured though she did not wholly believe it, "We will get through this."
Auror training was over for the day, and Draco and Hannah spoke in great detail about the potion Smuggler, Smith, and how daunting and lifeless Azkaban was.
Draco knew he had to visit Smith and figure out what his words meant. Try as he might, he could not shake the feeling of dread that consumed him. Most of all, he was curious about the warning and the meaning behind them.
Harry walked into the DMLE after his conversation with Hermione came to an end and caught sight of Hannah and Malfoy sitting at their desks. He beckoned them without explanation, "Malfoy, Abbott, my room. Now!"
Hannah caught the look of bewilderment Draco threw her way and shrugged. She did not have a sodding clue as to what was going on, and most of the other more senior Aurors remained mum when she asked.
Hannah swallowed the last bite of her sandwich as she entered Harry's office and raised curiously, "What's up, boss? What's going on?"
Draco trailed behind her and stood at the back with his arms folded over his well-defined chest, and waited for Potter to start speaking. Harry sat down, took a few pictures out of a thick file and arranged them across his table so Hannah and Draco could get a firsthand view of the brutal attack.
Hannah peered at the pictures and gasped. She covered her mouth with her hand and shuddered. The images were disturbing and disgusting, with guts and gore spewed across the hard floor and human remains of a gruesome attack.
Taken back by Hannah's reaction to the pictures, Draco moved closer to get a better look and truly wished he had not. Several pictures of the severed remains of a man jumped right at him, and he was reminded of Fenrir Greyback and the night he tore apart one of Manor's prized albino peacocks. His father had been inconsolable but refrained from teaching Voldemort’s dog a lesson.
Harry heaved a sigh and summarised, "Last night, a rogue werewolf killed two Muggle men and marked a Muggle woman. It was not random. It was a clear message. There is a potential werewolf uprising, and we suspect the involvement of Death Eater sympathisers."
Hannah fell into an empty chair and pressed her lips down hard. After a while, she asked, "How is this possible? They signed treaties, and we agreed to their terms. What changed?"
"There are heeding the instructions of a new master. One who is stronger and far more competent than Voldemort," Harry fumed.
Draco listened to each word Potter uttered with interest and concern. He could not fathom the thought of another pointless tussle for power that would uproot everyone's lives and throw them into anarchy.
Harry addressed him directly, "Hermione received a cryptic letter after the article's publication, Malfoy.”
He stressed, “The letter bore the Dark Mark."
Draco took a step back at the revelation and stumbled. He paled, "That's impossible." The faded snake on his left arm twitched.
"What?" Hannah chimed in alarm.
Harry fetched the letter out of his drawer, pushed it forward and instructed, "Go on, have a read. You need to know what you are up against."
Draco grabbed the black paper and hurriedly read the words. His fingers clutched the parchment with more force than necessary at specific points, and he fought hard to subdue the anger rising in him. His eyes darkened with unmistakable rage, "If they touch her, they'll answer directly to me." The words describing the sexual exploits made him want to vomit in disgust.
Hannah watched from her seat as Draco slowly balled his hands into fists making the prominent chords of muscle on his forearm bulge and a resplendent glow emit from within the closed fist. She had never seen such a spectacular occurrence without the aid of a wand.
Harry frowned, "The DMLE isn't some fucking vigilante unit. If you want to continue working for us, you best abide by our rules and regulations."
"Why wasn't I informed?" Draco demanded without thought and wondered why Granger had not seen it fit to inform him. They had spent an enjoyable time together just that morning. Surely, it was worth mentioning.
Harry leaned back, regarded his ex-rival intently and hissed, "I wasn't aware that we were supposed to run things by you, Malfoy." The bloody nerve of him. Had he forgotten that he was still a trainee?
Draco was not swayed and stated frankly with a hint of defiance, "If it concerns Granger, then yes, I deserve to know since my interview caused her to receive such threats."
Harry fired back and argued, "It is wholly her decision to divulge such information, and for whatever reason, she decided to keep it from you. If you have a bloody problem, I suggest you take it up with your fiancé."
A stillness surrounded them and spread to the corners of the room.
Draco bitterly realised he had let his emotions fuel his behaviour. He had stepped out of place and expressed regret profusely, "I apologise for my outburst. It was uncalled for, but it is because I’m worried about her, Potter."
Harry eyed him sceptically, "Duly noted." He explained further, "We have reason to believe her life might be in danger and that the smuggler you two apprehended is involved in all this somehow. The both of you will work on the Dollhouse Strangler case and double as her bodyguard. Malfoy, you are still in training, so your involvement will be minimal, but I expect you to give Hannah your full support."
Draco nodded in agreement and offered a tad bit too eagerly, "You have my word that I will protect Granger with my life if necessary." He wished he could take the words back the second they left his lips.
Harry grew uncomfortable at the declaration and hesitated, "Well, err, let's hope it doesn't come to that."
Hannah rolled her eyes and mused, "That's so bloody dramatic. Besides, you won't be doing much protecting because you need to finish the course first."
Harry was grateful for Hannah's prompt interference and spoke directly with her, "Abbott, take over the pictures and notes of the Dollhouse Strangler from Thomas. He's going to have his hands full in the coming days."
"Sure. I'll go meet him now, Potter," Hannah replied enthusiastically.
Harry pushed his glasses further up his nose and waved his hand casually, "Dismissed."
The second they stepped out of Harry's office, Hannah was taking the piss. She adopted a sugary sweet voice and teased, "I'll protect Granger with my life. You are so pathetic."
Draco frowned at his partner, "It slipped out. But I owe her, Abbott." He knew he sounded like some lovesick puppy, but that wasn't the case.
He walked away, leaving her to meet with Thomas. She raised a quizzical brow, "Where are you going?"
Draco was already halfway across the department and on his way out. He glanced over his shoulder and responded with a lop-sided grin, "To pay my beloved a visit."
Hannah found Thomas shuffling through some old parchments while deep in thought.
She cleared her throat and waited for him to look up, and once he did, Hannah smiled, "Potter asked me to take over the Dollhouse case."
Thomas returned the smile, "Did he now? Well, you are the best bet to crack this case wide open. Unfortunately, I won't be much help due to the current situation."
Hannah frowned, "Is it bad, Spencer?"
Thomas was not one to lie or mislead people. He usually went ahead with what he believed, "Yes, it’s bad, Abbott, but all is not lost. We have more than a few tricks up our sleeve."
He pushed forward two lumpy files and a couple of vials of memories, "Good luck."
"Thank you," Hannah replied politely, gathered the files, and returned to her desk.
Hermione was busy preparing a brief to hand over to the Muggle Prime Minister. She meticulously went over every detail, worried needlessly and remained oblivious to the happenings outside her room.
Draco walked through the already open glass doors and caught sight of Brenda drinking coffee looking glum and miserable. He spoke kindly, hoping not to upset her further. "Hi, Brenda. Is she busy?"
She had arrived not twenty minutes ago from her late lunch with Michael. He had, of course, told her what was going on, and she constantly worried about his safety.
Brenda inconspicuously wiped away the tears, smiled and quipped to hopefully lighten the mood, "When is she never not busy? Her schedule would kill a lesser person."
Draco wondered why Brenda was upset and then remembered her boyfriend was an Auror. Perhaps the two were connected.
He looked towards the closed door and requested, "I need to speak with her urgently. Can you please check with her whether she will tolerate my presence?"
"Of course, Draco. Have a seat," Brenda graciously offered and got to her feet. Unlike Terry Boot and Ronald Weasley, who did not give any thought to Hermione’s needs and barged into her office as they saw fit, Draco Malfoy went about it in a decent fashion as a proper gentleman should and that was a most satisfying character trait.
Hermione heard the door open, but she did not dare to look up. Instead, she barked out an instruction whilst writing lengthy sentences on an already crammed parchment, "Brenda, can you bring me last year's Thompson file and ask Nancy for the rest of Kingsley’s brief. There's an important bit of information I need from that."
Brenda agreed but informed with a smirk, "Sure, but first, you have a visitor."
Hermione could not be bothered to entertain guests. There were more critical issues at hand, and she spoke her mind, "I barely have time to breathe rather than entertain unsolicited visits."
Still, her curiosity got the better of her. She looked up and inquired, "Who is it?"
"It's Draco Malfoy," Brenda replied with an amused expression and smug grin.
Hermione grew flustered at the mere mention of his name but attempted to appear casual, "Oh, what does he want?" She knew precisely why he was here. He would come in through the door and accuse her of keeping vital information to herself.
Malfoy, along with Hannah, were to be her bodyguards. The very thought made her lightheaded and caused her insides to knot unpleasantly.
Brenda chuckled, "Well, he'd hardly tell me, now, would he?"
Hermione scoffed, "There's no reason to be a prat. Send him in."
"Right away, Madam Undersecretary," Brenda quipped and curtsied before leaving to get Draco. He walked in alone and stared at Hermione with her hair let loose it tangled and wound its way down her back. Her sultry mewls of want from earlier penetrated his troubled mind causing it to go blank of all pertained thought.
She was barefoot and did not bother to doll herself up in his presence. It was hardly necessary and not one of those days where one could afford to get sidetracked, yet he stood rooted to his spot by the entrance watching her every movement intently.
Hermione made the first move, "Good evening, Malfoy. What can I do for you?"
Draco snapped clear out of the trance he had fallen prey to and gritted out in annoyance, "Why didn't you tell me about the letter you received?" She had plenty of opportunities to inform him but intentionally chose to keep it from him, and he would not tolerate such conduct.
She grew uncomfortable, even though his presence radiated warmth. She gravitated towards him without thought.
His tone was far from pleased, but serious concern laced each word, "Did you not think that I deserved to know that you were being threatened? That my little interview put your life in danger?"
Hermione giggled; it was a highly inappropriate reaction. His behaviour was causing some startling emotions to stir within, and the best she could do was laugh at him for portraying such alarming protectiveness. Having him as a bodyguard was bound to be disastrous.
Her conduct aggravated him further. Was she laughing at him?
Draco snapped, wiping the smile off her face, "This is no laughing matter, Granger."
Hermione shrugged nonchalantly, "Oh well, I've received plenty of threats in the past. It's not a big deal."
Draco argued indefinitely, "It is undoubtedly a big deal. How could you keep this from me?"
She teased smugly, "Calm yourself, Malfoy. My sudden death won't dampen your spirits. It might help your cause of finding a bride more suitable to your needs. Besides, it's not your place to save me."
There was the matter of Narcissa’s dinner and Sunday brunch at her parents’ place to discuss with him, but it hardly seemed like the ideal time to chat about personal agendas.
"It's Potter's job to look after you, isn't it? That's why you told him about the letter and left me in the dark," Draco irritably stated the obvious.
Hermione replied with a roll of her eyes, "I didn't. He came across it quite by chance when he stopped by my office."
This need to protect her as if she were a delicate flower was annoying.
Draco closed the gap between them while Hermione watched with slightly parted lips anticipating his next move, and he did not disappoint. The sound of his purposeful steps grew louder as he came close. She could smell the overpowering fragrance of his aftershave, causing her to inhale the masculine scent deeply.
He cupped her face with one hand, fisted her hair with the other and gazed into her face.
His eyes roved over the contours of her delectable mouth, "Your death will be a tragic loss to the wizarding world." Stubborn strands of her curls wound themselves possessively around his long fingers. He crushed her lips with his and sought the inner sweetness she offered so ardently. She surrendered to his feverish ministrations. There was such an intensity about him that caused her to resolve to crumble.
“I need you to be safe, Hermione,” Draco breathed between soft kisses. She was taken aback by the sincerity and longing behind his words.
Hermione lost her footing, but he caught her around the waist and held her close to his body as his tongue pushed against hers in a dominant race against time. He would emerge victorious as he always did, but she would fight him every step of the way, which was most exhilarating. He could feel her fingernails scraping over his scalp and strands of hair slip through her fingers as she responded eagerly to his demanding nature.
They reluctantly broke apart but held onto each other. Draco glanced over his shoulder at the door and said with a frown, "Hannah will be by shortly. If you need anything, give me your word that you will contact me." He realised he sounded utterly desperate, but he did not care. Her safety was of paramount importance to him.
Hermione kissed him lightly and gently stroked his face while he closed his eyes and leaned into her soothing touch. She whispered so only he could hear, "You have my word."
Draco said thoughtfully, "Perhaps it would be prudent for me to spend the night at your flat."
"That's quite alright. I can manage," Hermione leaned back against the edge of her desk and mused. He was not used to taking no for an answer and insisted, "I'm fully aware you can, but it would put my mind at ease."
"I will sleep on the sofa," Draco added with an amused expression. They were past sleeping on sofas even though he suggested it. He knew if he spent the night at her flat, they would sleep in the same bed and engage in coitus. There were worse ways to spend one's time, he supposed.
Hermione was not amused and made her thoughts quite vocal, "Harry was quite clear that Hannah would be doing the needful. You need to focus on passing the upcoming Auror trials, Malfoy." She scolded as if they were about to sit for N.E.W.T.S and realised that Malfoy had not completed his education at Hogwarts.
Draco swore loudly and tossed his wand onto the sofa in frustration, "Fuck!"
"What?" Hermione questioned irritably. His abrupt cussing caused her to jump a foot in the air for no reason.
He sighed in exasperation, "This is all my bloody fault. That fucking interview."
Hermione came close again, placed her hand palm down on his chest, and assured, "Relax! It's not the first time I've received these poorly thought-out letters, and it most certainly won't be the last."
She smiled slightly, "I'm used to it."
He kept his forehead against hers and promised, "I swear, I won't let you fall."
Hermione could not bring herself to move away from the circle of warmth he projected but gathered the strength to ask, "Do you think going away is wise?"
Draco replied thoughtfully, "Hmm, it is rather horrid timing, but will two days make much difference?"
Hermione wasn’t too sure, "I don't know, Malfoy. I just feel like it's in poor taste to leave Kingsley and Harry at a time like this."
He moved the pad of his thumb over her swollen bottom lip and rasped, "I understand. If you choose not to go, I will support your decision and stay behind myself."
Hermione refuted, "You shouldn’t have to miss out because of my work obligations." Ron would have pitched a fit and accused her of always putting her job first.
Draco was adamant, "Your work obligations tally with mine. I'm supposed to be watching you, and I can hardly do that from Hawaii."
He made a valid point, "Besides, it would be prudent to whisk you away from this madness for a while."
"I will not run away and hide from these bigoted arseholes," she stomped her foot and replied harshly, fire burning in her amber eyes.
Draco sighed, "It would be abundantly clear that you are not running away, Granger. Just think about it. I know Potter and Shacklebolt will wholeheartedly welcome it. You mean a great deal to them."
It was hard to refuse him when he was so flattering and practical, "Mmm, let me think about it."
Draco towered over her, placed a finger under her chin and tipped it, forcing her to look directly into his smoky swirls of penetrating grey. His lips curved upwards to form a smile, "Take your time."
Hermione bit her bottom lip and drawled huskily, "I have to meet the Muggle Prime Minister. You should leave."
"Yes, I should," Draco whispered and captured her lips again in a heated embrace. Her lips moulded perfectly to his, and they moved in unison, relishing in the feel of each other and drowning in the forbidden emotions of their forced union.
They heard Hannah's voice outside and broke apart before being interrupted yet again. Draco ran his fingers over his kiss-swollen lips, exited the room and ran right into Abbott.
Hannah grinned, "Are you about done? Get your arse to the library and brush up on the theoretical part of training, Malfoy and stop canoodling with our Undersecretary."
Brenda laughed aloud, and Draco frowned and pulled at his collar to hide his discomfort and mortification at Hannah’s declaration.
Hermione came rushing out and blushed crimson, "Oh, Hannah! Did you just arrive?”
Through hooded eyelids, she glanced at Draco and hesitated, “Umm, Malfoy, you forgot this." She held out his wand. He took it from her petite hand, taking care and time to brush his fingers along hers and causing her to bestow him with a look of pure lust.
He regarded the women with a respectful nod, turned on his heel and fled the area with his black robes billowing behind him before Abbott could embarrass him further.
Hannah rocked on the balls of her feet and inquired, snapping Hermione out of staring at Draco’s retreating figure, "So, Potter's told you all about it?"
Hermione looked her way and grimaced, "Unfortunately. Sorry to be a bother."
Hannah grinned, "Not at all. I'll try not to get in the way."
Hermione sighed in exhaustion. It wasn't worth the fight, "It's honestly fine, Hannah. Just go about it how you usually would."
Hannah nodded and awaited further instruction, to which Hermione retorted with a slight smile, "I'll be ready to leave shortly."
"Oh, where are we off to then?" Hannah requested curiously.
Hermione appeased her curiosity with a brief answer, "Muggle London. We have a meeting with the Prime Minister and head of MI5."
Chapter 50
Notes:
I truly hope everyone is well! We are hanging on despite my country's dire situation.
My heartfelt gratitude to each of you who took the time to leave such fantastic comments. They honestly make my day :)
Leaders from around the world gather to discuss the uprising. Michael helps out Draco in Azkaban, and Hermione secures the Muggle Prime Minister's help. I hope you like the leaders I have introduced. I am pretty partial to Akari Sato. She's the Japanese representative.
Astoria has an odd fascination with snakes. This is a crucial point to remember.
Sarah suffers a fate worse than death. She meets his mother, and it isn't what she expected - Trigger warning - Violence/Non-consensual.
Darkness, love, tragedy and protectiveness run rampant in this chapter. Enjoy! :)
Oh, I've stepped out of the Harry Potter books regarding Werewolves and adapted a more general overlook.
Enjoy Chapter fifty.
Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Astoria moved the heavy glass that trapped her beloved pet and laid it gingerly down on the floor using her wand. She peered into the enchanted tank with a lush forest-like setting and smiled as the beautiful, reticulated python uncoiled from its place in the corner and poked its head out from under the foliage.
It sensed its freedom was within grasp and sought to make the most use of the minutes it was free of its cage, but a hand descended into the pit. As a smooth hand wearing tasteful rings wrapped around thin fingers came closer, its neck and head formed an S shape and readied itself to strike, displaying a black forked tongue in warning.
Astoria was unfazed, she reached further, and the second her fingers closed around the middle part of the patterned python's body, it instinctively wound itself around her arm and tightened its grip. The reptile's valiant effort didn't help its cause.
After a while, the python conceded defeat and gave itself over to its owner. Astoria brought the snake up to eye level, gazed into one emerald, green eye and smiled, "I wish you would trust me, darling. I mean you no harm." She boldly stroked the scaly body with her free hand, and the reptile seemed to enjoy the attention it received.
Years ago, she learned of her fate and stumbling upon a wounded rat snake in the estate's many luscious gardens had transformed her into an avid snake enthusiast. Over the years, she built herself a snake nursery, as she called it. She acquired exotic yet deadly specimens from around the world and had the more poisonous ones defanged to safeguard herself, except for a few precious babies that she handled with extreme care.
One bite would kill her faster than any old blood curse. At times, when depression encompassed her, she thought of letting one of her beloved pets do the job. Still, lately after Draco’s promising words about her in the article, all she seemed to do was daydream about countless possibilities of a romance between them and the sheer magnitude of feelings he evoked in her.
The python flattened its head and body and appeared calm as it slithered over her palm and forearm, incessantly darting its tongue in and out to get a better bearing of its surroundings.
"So precious," Astoria gushed over the snake that grew to an impressive length of ten feet or more, but she had long since desired a King Cobra. Even with the right connections and funds to purchase the magnificent King of snakes, it still proved difficult.
Victoria Greengrass wasn't keen on her daughter's obsession with the untamable and dangerous reptiles. Still, at her husband's insistence that they provide Astoria with her heart desires, she had reluctantly agreed with one condition—the snakes, no matter their level of toxicity, would not be allowed out of their glass prisons or anywhere else near the Manor. Carrie and Adam, her beloved grandchildren, visited often, and it wasn't a risk she was willing to take.
She heard footsteps and the caretaker of her little snake serpentarium came rushing around the corner. Astoria smiled as the slightly built Indian man came closer. They employed the kind-tempered South Asian man in a white turban and loose-fitting tunic because of his extensive knowledge of snake handling and reptiles. He spoke to the creatures as if they were children and looked after them as his offspring.
"Miss Astoria. Your sisters have arrived and anxiously await your presence," Ramesh announced with a slight nod and heavily accented English.
Astoria carefully handed the python resting on her arm to Ramesh and smiled, displaying a dazzling set of white teeth, "Thank you so much for rushing to tell me. You shouldn't have."
Ramesh blushed and returned the sizeable reptile to its makeshift home made of impenetrable glass before wiping his hands on the back of his black trousers. Taking out her wand, Astoria blew her precious pets a kiss, muttered a single destination and waved her wand fluidly.
Daphne hugged her mother before she and Tracey exchanged air kisses. They sat down on a newly purchased sofa, and a house-elf appeared with a solid silver tray burdened with a large pot of tea and an assortment of biscuits, sandwiches, and pieces of cake. The elf poured tea and politely held a cup for Tracey to take. She took it graciously and asked her stepmother, "Where is father?"
Victoria smiled, "At the office. You know him. He's a certified workaholic, my dear." Tracey smiled and said nothing further.
Daphne interrupted, "Mother, I'll bring the children by on Sunday." It was a day before they were to leave for Hawaii. She was still in two minds about leaving her precious babies.
Victoria's smile widened, "Yes, darling. I've had the elves tend to the room. I thought it would be prudent for them to share your old room for the duration of their stay." She loved nothing more than spending time with her grandchildren, especially listening to the many humorous anecdotes told by her precious granddaughter Carrie.
"That's an excellent idea," Daphne beamed. Still, her heart ached at the thought of being away from her child for nearly a week. She asked unsurely, "Are you sure you can look after them?" They could be a handful, and she was doubtful her mother could manage the hyperactive pair.
Victoria reassured, "Of course, I am. Besides, I have plenty of help. Tori will be around mostly, and you know how much she loves the children."
"Yes, I do, and they love her to the moon and back," Daphne agreed and stated in the same sentence. Her sister was remarkable with children, and a twisted fate of circumstances robbed her of the chance to become a loving mother. Having listened silently to the conversation, Tracey raised a curious brow and inquired, "What's going on? Have I missed something?"
Daphne regarded her stepsister and answered, "Oh, I never got around to telling you or did I? I don’t recall. Blaise and I are heading to Hawaii on Monday for a well-earned vacation. I cannot remember the last time we went anywhere alone."
"Can I tag along?" Tracey perked up and suggested a tad bit desperately. It would be such a relief to get away from the obligations of her tiresome marriage. Ron was persistent; she would have to give him that. He sent her flowers, chocolates and small gifts, but what good were material things when he wasn't willing to give their marriage a chance and instead spent the majority of his time lusting over an ex-girlfriend?
Daphne hesitated and pointed out with valid reason, "Umm, the whole gang is going, including Draco, and I doubt Ron would have a good time without the company of his best friends even if Luna and Neville were there."
Tracey scoffed and hissed her displeasure, "Who said I'm bringing the blubbering lout? If I'm coming, then I'm coming alone. Maybe I'll meet someone utterly irresistible. Hawaii is truly breathtaking. I've been there once after I fled to America."
Daphne couldn’t help but chuckle at Tracey’s choice of words. She was the sister with a sense of humour.
Victoria massaged the bridge of her nose and injected with poise and wisdom, "I do not think it is wise for you to have a holiday without your husband."
Tracey scowled, "He's more like an absent roommate than a husband." She was falling in love with Ron, which made the betrayal all the more painful, but she wouldn't dare admit her feelings. She had far too much pride for that.
Victoria sympathised, "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, darling." Tracey was, for all intents and purposes, her daughter. Even though her conception resulted from her husband's infidelity, she never held it against the child and showered her with affection.
Tracey fought the tears that rose to rim her eyes and muttered, "He is obsessed with Hermione." It wasn’t her being paranoid. She knew it to be true from his behaviour and actions.
Daphne pursed her lips and advised sternly, "I told you it was a memory he was holding onto."
Tracey argued, "Does that matter, Daph? He still loves her, and I'm the third sodding wheel in this relationship."
Victoria questioned urgently, "And Miss Granger returns his affections?
"No, she does not!" Daphne countered firmly before Tracey could reply.
Astoria's timely arrival was the perfect excuse to divert the conversation towards more positive things. She breezed in and smiled at the gathered small group, "I am so sorry I'm late. Time got away from me."
"Where were you?" Tracey interrogated rather suspiciously. Astoria was known to be tastefully promiscuous. However, Victoria frowned, "Playing with your pet snakes again?" Her youngest daughter's fascination with the reptiles baffled her.
Tracey shuddered as a shiver went down her spine, "Ugh, I don't understand how you can stand to be around them." She distinctively recalled an unfortunate incident where one of Astoria’s nontoxic pets had escaped its glass bowl and slithered into her bathroom. She had spotted the tiny snake on the tiled floor and screamed loud enough to raise the dead.
Daphne concurred, "Tracey is right, little sister. Don't they make your skin crawl?"
They were sorted into Slytherin based on their character traits, but that didn't mean they were required to embrace the reptiles. She had observed her sister handling the snakes and was astonished to find the level of control Astoria had over them. She wondered if Astoria was gifted in Parseltongue.
Astoria sat down, crossed her legs ever so elegantly and tossed her hair back before answering, "Snakes are horribly misunderstood creatures. We above all others should embrace them and defend their fearsome reputation."
"Well, you do that while I grab a drink," Tracey said with dripping sarcasm.
The women laughed. Their peals of laughter rang through the Manor before they settled down to discuss more serious matters.
In a secluded part of London.
The monster entered the dimly lit room and smiled almost angelically, "Are you ready, my love?"
Sarah nodded timidly, "Yes."
He uncuffed her and helped her wash by sensually running a loofah over her body. She feared he would force her to take him in her mouth and make her swallow his semen. The very thought brought bile rushing to the surface, but she swallowed it with great difficulty and appeared frail to throw him off. He applied ointment to the bruised areas where the handcuffs had dug into her skin with an affectionate promise, "Once we are married, I swear, to take these off if you behave." She would rather die in the small room chained to the bed than marry him.
He watched her greedily as she stepped into the dress he had bought her. It was blood red and far too big for her, but that did not disappoint him. He gazed upon her fondly, inspected her in the new dress, and motioned her to turn around with his finger.
Sarah turned slowly while tugging at the dress nervously. Why did he have to scrutinise her in this way? The sleeves fell off her gaunt frame and hung low on her spindly arms. The weight loss was significant, but she supposed he kept her that way to ensure control. He wore a dark blue suit for the occasion and pulled his hair back into a short ponytail so the scarred side of his face was visible in the dim light. Sarah fought the urge not to stare at the monstrosity before her but had little choice but to do just that when he spoke to her gently, "Beautiful. Mother will adore you."
He added bitterly, "She never thought a witch would love me and want to be with me, but I proved her wrong, didn't I, pet?" Sarah panicked. What would be an acceptable answer? She thought it best not to anger him and kept her reply short and simple, "Yes."
Taking her by the hand, he slowly led her out, and Sarah followed along much like a robot. They passed the old-fashioned furnishings and odd wall hangings and came to a halt near a white-painted door.
The man stood outside and gathered his strength. He was almost giddy and felt the need to explain his actions to Sarah, who continued to stare at her bare feet. He had failed to provide her with adequate footwear to match the dress, "I'm so nervous. I've never introduced a woman to my mother before."
He didn't bother to knock before entering. The room was dark primarily and smelled mouldy. The air was thick with unrest, suffocating Sarah. She coughed to dislodge the discomfort in her throat, but the man seemed entirely at ease with the surroundings. The only source of light came from an ornate lampshade in the corner. A rocking chair was visible, and it was abundantly clear an elderly woman occupied it. It was an almost cliche setting, but the hairs on the back of Sarah's neck stood up in warning. The whole situation seemed off.
"Mother," the flustered man let Sarah go while he spoke to his mother in a quiet voice as if not to disturb the dead. His voice cracked, and it trembled with unmistakable fear. Finally free of her restraints, Sarah's eyes darted to the open door. Would she be able to escape, or should she die trying? But why weren't her legs cooperating? Why weren't they moving when she willed it?
His voice invaded her mind and bore into her despairing thoughts, "I would like you to meet Sarah. She is the woman I told you about, mother. We are in love, and we want your blessing to get married." Sarah stood rooted to the spot, and when she did not move, he roughly grabbed her hand and pulled her forward.
A well-preserved mummified body of an older woman with high cheekbones, a greyish wig and carefully applied makeup greeted her at first glance. The figure sat up straight with skeletal hands folded neatly on her lap. Numerous rings adorned her abnormally bent fingers. In particular, one heavy set ring with a coat of arms grabbed her attention.
Still, Sarah stared in shock, unable to comprehend the situation or tear her gaze away from the oddity before her. The woman wore an elegant emerald green dress with an exquisite diamond brooch pinned to her breast. The eye sockets were empty, and gruesome black holes stood in their place. It was a horrific yet pitiful sight.
Sarah screamed at first, but a hard slap across her face sent her spinning across the room. She fell to the ground in pain and slowly crawled towards the entrance hoping against hope for some miracle to save her. There was no escape as he came towards her, stood over her with a murderous expression and overpowered her quickly. He dragged her by the hair down the corridor to her makeshift prison while she kicked, hollered and pleaded to be released.
She heard his voice through a daze, "You will not disrespect my mother." He effortlessly picked her up, dumped her unceremoniously on the bed and tore off the dress, exposing her malnourished frame. What followed was a brutal taking of her body without consent.
Sarah's mouth fell open as he repeatedly violated her, and a trickle of blood wove its way down from the corner of her mouth, staining the bedsheets under them.
"That wasn't nice, Sarah," The man rasped between powerful thrusts. He was completely naked and bathed in sweat. His ponytail was loose, and hair strands stuck haphazardly to his face as he continued his assault on the unwilling woman underneath him.
She repeatedly begged, "I'm sorry, please, stop." The pain of being ripped apart was unbearable. Her insides burned, and she pushed at his chest with all her might. Yet, he ignored her pleas and continued his relentless assault. His fingers closed around her throat, and he thought of taking her life for a fleeting moment. It would be so easy, like snapping a toothpick, but the sudden ache in his heart prompted him to stop. He hissed darkly, "You ungrateful bitch. Mother was looking forward to meeting you."
Sarah wanted to spit in his face and scream, "She's a fucking doll, you sick motherfucker," but instead, what came out was, "Stop! It hurts so much," she mumbled while fluttering between consciousness.
He beat her frail body ruthlessly but was careful not to break any bones that would need a visit to the hospital. "You're going to give me a child. A magical baby," He stated with a satisfied groan as he spilt his seed into her broken and bruised body.
Sarah blacked out then and lay unconscious in a pool of blood.
Muggle Prime Minister's office - London
Hermione and Hannah stepped out of the massive fireplace in the Muggle Prime Minister's office that served as the Floo network between their worlds and greeted with a pleasant smile, "Good evening, Prime Minister." She instructed Hannah to monitor the proceedings but not intervene in the discussions. Hermione found the middle-aged man seated at his desk, going through some papers deep in thought. He looked up when she stepped onto the black and white patterned, woven carpet and smoothed and dusted her outfit free of any rogue particles.
Muggle Prime Minister Owen Tony Dunbar was a competent man but also one that buckled significantly under pressure. He took off his spectacles and regarded the women who appeared in his room with a solemn expression, "I was not expecting you, Hermione."
Hermione answered confidently, "Kingsley sent me in his stead. I hope that won't be a problem." She was capable of handling matters just as well as Kingsley.
Owen smiled warmly, got to his feet and adjusted his blazer before responding, "Not at all. Given our last meeting, I can understand his hesitation to meet." His eyes fell on the blonde-haired woman in pitch black robes hovering in the background, and he wondered who she was. He had dealt with Hermione in the past. Unlike her temperamental boss, he was satisfied by her intelligence, quick problem-solving techniques, and ability to keep her temper well under control.
Hermione did not take kindly to what Owen was insinuating. Was he indirectly calling Kingsley a coward for sending her instead? She said diplomatically, "On the contrary, I volunteered to come. He has his hands full at the moment, and I am duty-bound to do all I can to help him."
The door to the office opened abruptly, and a tall man in a black suit and tie walked in with a boyish yet roguish smile and gushed, "Hermione! I thought I heard your voice."
"Evans, I didn't know you would be present," Hermione said with a blush creeping up her cheeks. Bollocks. She had completely forgotten about him and their short-lived romance.
Evans smirked, "If my presence makes you uncomfortable, I can leave." He kept one hand on the door handle and offered an amused expression.
Hermione waved her hand dismissively and argued, "Not at all. By all means, stay. Actually, I value your input." He was intelligent and offered crucial advice. Evan closed the door and came towards the seating area designated for meetings. Owen threw them sceptical glances and wondered when they had gotten comfortable enough with each other to speak freely. Pushing aside such crude thoughts, he pointed to the sofa and invited, "So, please have a seat and enlighten us on the latest, Miss Granger."
Hermione sat down, crossed her legs at the ankles and came straight to the point, "I'm afraid it's not good news, Prime Minister."
She continued grimly, "We have a Werewolf uprising on our hands, and Magical leaders worldwide are expected to discuss this grave situation later today. This situation is not isolated to England. The pack leaders spoke of a worldwide movement, and we must proceed with extreme caution."
Owen wiped his profusely sweating brow with his handkerchief and grilled, "How could this happen? I thought Kingsley had laws in place to prevent such a calamity."
Hannah snorted loudly and injected, "That's an arrogant statement. Kingsley is not to be blamed for these dire circumstances." Hermione wiped around and shot Hannah a look of deep disapproval. While her declaration held merit, they had to deal with the situation tactfully.
Evan and Owen turned toward Hannah and frowned. The MI5 agent sized her up and inquired shrewdly with a raised brow, "And you are?" Hermione glanced at Hannah over her shoulder and barrelled into introduction, "Pardon my manners. This is Hannah Abbott. She is a dear friend and Auror assigned to protect me."
Hannah gave a lop-sided grin and nodded in acknowledgement but said nothing further to aggravate the state of affairs. Instead, she looked around the tastefully decorated office and took in the many bits of Muggle history and culture that adorned the walls and decorated the many shelves.
Evan ignored Hannah completely, leaned forward and pressed impatiently, "Are you in danger?"
Hermione tried to laugh it off, "I received a few threats. It's nothing to take seriously, but Kingsley thought otherwise, though that's a story for another time."
She inclined and said calmly, "With all due respect, Prime Minister Dunbar, they are after Muggles, not witches and wizards. Non-magical folk have majority control over the planet, which is precisely what they are after. We are doing you a kindness by forming the last line of defence and alliance before they come for you in plain sight."
Her features hardened as she included without skipping a beat, "Once they are done with you, they will turn on us and won't stop until they have full control of the world. We cannot at all costs let that happen."
"What do you propose?" Evan asked. He had been listening intently up until that moment.
Hermione urged with determination, "Your assistance in all matters pertaining to this issue and, with your permission, Kingsley would like to appoint an Auror to your personal security."
Kingsley had not suggested such a thing. It had come to her attention that the Prime Minister's life could be in danger, and his untimely death would put a severe dampener on things. She made the split-second authoritative decision to assign an Auror to his security team as a show of goodwill. She knew Kingsley would grudgingly agree with her decision.
Evan scowled quite unpleasantly, "My team is quite capable of protecting the Prime Minister from a measly wolf, Miss Granger." Did she think he was incapable? Her lack of confidence in him was disappointing.
His statement caught Hermione off guard and made Hannah glare sternly. It wasn't in Evan's character to make such foolish comments. He had no proper indication of what they were up against.
She exhaustedly regarded him and sighed, "I do not doubt that you are, Evan, but this is not about ego. Your revolver will do nothing to stop a fully grown werewolf unless you arm yourself with bullets coated with silver nitrate."
That bit of information piqued his interest, "Silver nitrate?" He inquired curiously.
Hermione fetched an average-sized bullet from her branded handbag and placed it standing up on the table. The surrounding areas and images reflected off the bullet's shiny surface.
She took in the perplexed looks of the men and started to elucidate, “This is a solid silver bullet. It will penetrate the tough outer skin of a wolf and explode upon contact causing the silver nitrate to enter directly into the bloodstream and spread throughout the body, clogging it with poison. They are unable to dig it out once it's in."
She included further clarification, "We found a shotgun is most effective at delivering a lethal dose. We have a range of ammunition to suit all types of firearms." The weapons specialists at the Ministry were exceptionally gifted. This particular invention had been the brainchild of Theodore Nott, who had developed it in the unlikely event they needed an edge over werewolves with the firm promise that they would resort to it only if necessary.
Evan carefully picked up the two-inch bullet for closer examination, "So basically, it will fry them from within." The whole idea was fascinating. Hermione stiffened but nodded in agreement and warned, "Exactly, but it is to be used only under due stress. We do not want to give them any further reasons to justify their cause."
Owen eyed the bullet in both interest and disgust and snapped, "This problem is because of the horrendous treatment you people inflicted upon the beasts, and now, we must all pay the price for it." His face fell in despair, "Innocent children will be ripped apart and bleed dry to achieve their goal."
Hannah could not hold back her retort, “Our people are not the only ones to be blamed, Minister. Werewolves are simply tired of hiding their existence and having their hunting grounds limited.”
Hermione flinched at the declaration, but Hannah spoke the harsh truth. She argued with renewed determination, "That might be, Prime Minister, but it's far too late to travel back centuries and right a very crucial wrong."
Evan exhaled and concurred, "Hermione is right, Owen. This is not the time to be pointing fingers and bickering. We are in this together, and only together can we beat this formidable threat." He made air quotes and requested, with a deep frown forming on his face, "Who is this Auror?
She replied without much thought, "Michael Corner. He is a highly trained Auror and has extensive knowledge about werewolves." Hannah coughed and stared at the back of Hermione’s head in disbelief. Though Michael was the ideal candidate for such an assignment, they needed him on the field and not playing protector to a politician. Hermione hoped Kingsley would not be too peeved by her bold decision.
Owens stared at Hermione intently and said firmly, "Dark times lie ahead, and we best be prepared in all aspects. We will increase surveillance, and special operative teams will monitor areas of interest and keep a watchful eye over unscrupulous activities."
Hermione breathed a sigh of immense relief and vocalised her thoughts, "Thank you, Prime Minister. I am glad to see that we are finally on the same page." Mission accomplished, she thought with a slight smile.
Evan toyed with the bullet in the palm of his hand and studied it closely before inquiring, "Where can we get these beauties?"
His interest in the unique bullet did not sit well with Hermione. It made her increasingly uncomfortable, but she answered with a no-nonsense attitude, "We will be providing you with the necessary ammunition, and Evan, I must stress the fact that there will be no reproduction of this to be used in Muggle warfare."
Evan reeled back from the warning but kept his reaction hidden and fired back with more spite than initially intended, "You have my word, Hermione. I am not an evil bastard."
Hermione nodded curtly in acknowledgement, "Good to know." After a moment's silence, she added, "We will provide a few other additions such as Peruvian instant darkness powder to aid a quick getaway." The darkness powder designed by the Weasley twins created darkness when used, allowing the user to escape unnoticed and unscathed in most instances.
Evan replied with a quick and decisive, "Thank you." He knew she was giving them a much-needed advantage to even the playing field.
Seeing that she had said all she came prepared with, Hermione gracefully rose to signify the end of the meeting, "I must take your leave, but we will be in touch." She handed over a sizable coin and instructed, "In case of an emergency, turn it over and press the button. We will be alerted immediately." In the fifth year, she used a similar gimmick to pass messages to Dumbledore's army.
The Prime Minister inspected the coin and bid her a fond farewell and left the room. Once the door closed behind him, Evan moved closer and muttered, "It's good to see you."
Hermione glanced over her shoulder to see if Hannah was out of earshot and replied, "Likewise. It's, umm, been a while."
Evan sighed, "Yes, if I recall, we went out to dinner, and you never called me back." Her rejection surprised him at first since they had an enjoyable time, but he blamed it on the difference in backgrounds. She was a witch, and he was a Muggle. It wasn’t the most probable match.
"I've been busy," Hermione replied weakly with a certain amount of guilt. They had a pleasant evening. He was a kind, intelligent man, and she’d had no plausible cause not to see him again, but for some reason, she had not pursued a relationship with him. She had handled the situation tactlessly. The least she could have done was tell him she wasn’t interested.
Evan teased, "It was over a year ago."
Hermione refuted, "I wasn't brushing you off, Evan." She was, but she had no immediate desire to dent the man’s ego.
Evan was not convinced, but still, he grinned, "That's quite alright, Hermione. I'm not everyone's cup of tea." His gaze shifted to the impressive ring wrapped around her finger. It was hard to miss. He had spotted it the second he walked into the room and muttered a halfhearted, "Congratulations."
Hermione hadn't the faintest clue what he was on about, and she cocked her head to the side and probed, "For what?"
"That," he said, pointing boldly to the glistening engagement ring that shifted colour. She unconsciously shielded her hand from prying eyes and mumbled, "Thank you."
Hannah coughed to make her presence known, and Owen had long since left the room, leaving Evan in charge of seeing Hermione off.
He took her hand in his, brushed his thumb over her fingers soothingly and said, "He's a lucky bloke." Hermione gently took her hand out of his grasp and smiled slightly, "Well, good night. I guess I will see you soon."
Evan bent to kiss her lightly on the cheek, and Hannah rolled her eyes. Granger was full of surprises.
They stepped into the Floo network, and Hermione hissed out of the corner of her mouth, “Not a fucking word.” Hannah chuckled and whispered, “My lips are sealed.” They disappeared in a puff of dark green smoke while Evan watched intently.
Ministry of Magic
Kingsley worked fast. Time was of the essence. Nora, his assistant, and Nancy, the competent receptionist, who oversaw the front, contacted Ministers, Leaders and Presidents of Magic worldwide. They were due to arrive via Portkey at any moment.
By the time Hermione arrived from the Prime Minister's office, washed the tiredness of her face, applied a fresh layer of makeup and stepped out of the bathroom, the necessary arrangements were already made and in place. She snuck into the enormous meeting room and came to stand behind Harry, who looked over the proceedings with a shrewd eye and nodded at Thomas standing by the entrance.
An extended table made of solid deep brown mahogany sat proudly in the centre of the room, surrounded by classic French-style regal chairs to seat the many dignitaries. The substantial Ministry of Magic embossed emblem in solid gold watched over them and threw shimmering light over the proceedings.
The walls were adorned with priceless art pieces and tasteful portraits of past Ministers of Magic who spoke to each other and humbly greeted the many witches and wizards present. There were a few paintings of remarkable witches and wizards such as Albus Dumbledore and famed alchemist Nicolas Flamel hung on the white-painted partitions to signify their importance and immense contribution to the wizarding world. Lastly, a sizable pole bearing the Union Jack stood unmoving by the side, garnering the least attention.
Aurors were positioned at crucial entry points and were vigilant of their surroundings. An unprovoked attack at a gathering of this many world leaders would prove disastrous. They had placed protective charms and wards over the space that the slightest infringement would trigger.
Hermione smiled and squeezed Harry's arm to make her presence known. He looked tired and drawn, but he smiled at her and sighed. Thomas moved into the shadows and stood patiently at the back, expecting the influential notables' arrival.
Kingsley glanced at his watch. It was five minutes to seven pm. He filled the glass at his disposal with water using his wand to quench his thirst. His throat was parched and in much need of liquid. He stared straight ahead at the tall solid oak doors and impatiently waited for his distinguished guests to arrive. He hoped they would listen to reason and side with him once he presented the evidence. His eyes caught Hermione's and wordlessly beckoned her to his side. She left Harry and went to stand by Kingsley.
He asked out of the corner of his mouth once she came closer, "Is everything with the Muggle Prime Minister under control?" Hermione nodded without hesitation and gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up, "Yes, although I might have offered something we hadn't previously discussed." Kingsley raised a brow, "And what might that be?" Hermione held her head high and answered, "I volunteered Michael to watch over Owen. His life is at risk, and if he succumbs to an assassination attempt, it will reflect on us poorly."
She added sheepishly, "I hope I haven't angered you further." Kingsley smiled, "You are brilliant. You know that?" He patted her heartily on the back, "Good thinking, Granger. I wish I had thought of it." He returned his gaze to the gigantic closed doors with solid gold-plated handles in anticipation.
This was not a war he could win alone. He desperately needed the help of the international community. It was their fight as much as his. Loud thuds of landing from several Portkeys came from outside the room, causing everyone to tense and stare at the source unblinkingly. They could not see who had arrived, but the prominent leaders of the Wizarding world were led through the doors and into the hall. Most offered polite greetings and exchanged small talk with Kingsley and Hermione, who graciously came forward to speak and receive them.
Stacy from Logistics, along with half of her team, navigated and showed the many guests to their designated seats. They stood back with arms folded neatly behind their backs and waited for the crowd to settle. Once everyone was comfortably seated, Kingsley rose, and his imposing frame towered over most. He threw his arms wide open and said in a magically magnified voice that echoed off the walls, "Welcome!"
He sat back down and said in his deep voice laced with concern, "I wish the circumstances for this meeting were better, but alas, it is not." There was a collective uproar of different languages and questions directed at him. There were translators working overtime to make sure everyone understood the proceedings. Everyone in the meeting was sworn to secrecy. They could not afford the press getting their grubby hands on the situation and running a poorly thought-out article causing public unrest.
The Australian Minister spoke first and inquired thoughtfully, "Whatever is the matter, Shacklebolt?" Peter Williams was a tall, slightly built gentleman with startling blue eyes and dirty blonde hair. An irritated voice from down the table rudely interjected, "Why have you summoned us on such short notice?" The crude Romanian Minister, Darius Constantine, was not well-liked due to his brazen comments and superior attitude. He was an average-sized, light-skinned man with astute dark brown eyes, black wavy hair he combed to the side, and a permanent scowl. One could say he was good-looking in an unconventional way.
An elegantly dressed, tall, graceful woman in a stunning long flowing midnight blue robe embroidered at the hem and sleeves spoke softly, "Speak freely, Kingsley." The Japanese representative of the Royal family, Akari Sato, was a highly respected member of the International community due to her intelligence, humility and calm voice of reason.
The French Minister spoke over the chatter and flashed a dazzling smile at Hermione, "I am quite eager to hear what you have to say, Shacklebolt." Laurent Jean Pascal was a balding, stout man with large hands, a brilliant set of white teeth and a charismatic personality. Even though he claimed to be happily married, he had a reputation for being a womaniser, and he had long since harboured a hidden desire for the unattainable British Undersecretary.
Darius gritted out, "Get on with it." He had better things to do than swap words with these leaders living in ignorant bliss.
The President of the Magical Congress of America made his presence avidly known. He was a bear of a man who stood more than a foot taller than the rest at an impressive height of six feet four inches. Travis Colson Jackson was not a man to be trifled with. His demanding tone of voice cut through the others' useless rabble like a double-edged blade, "Silence! Let the man speak for Morgana's sake. Can we please maintain some professionalism? Obviously, this is an important matter; otherwise, I don't see why Kingsley would gather us all here on such short notice."
He addressed Kingsley directly, "Tell us what caused you to call this meeting."
Kingsley spoke to the room in general and came straight to the point of the congregation, "I have gathered everyone here to speak about a werewolf uprising. It has become clear that a group of like-minded individuals plan to overthrow Magical Ministries worldwide while attacking random Muggles at large until we yield to their demands."
Darius snorted. This was considered an emergency? Back home, it was a daily occurrence. These British and Americans always made a mountain out of a molehill.
"Preposterous," Pascal added his poorly thought-out input. He detested confrontation of any sort and preferred to indulge in a glass of red wine, fine food and company. Preferably with a slim brunette with wild curls and smooth skin.
Darius said arrogantly in a thick accent that made him hard to understand, "This is not the first time they've waged war on us, and I daresay it will not be the last. What makes this time any different? We have stopped them before, and we can do it again."
Kingsley's patience snapped. He distributed the photographs of the fallen victims around the large table. There were collective murmurs and gasps. Some even gagged at the gruesome nature of the pictures.
In frustration, he brought his hand down hard on the table, "This isn't a small group of desperate individuals trying out their luck. Their Alpha King, whoever it is, has one single purpose. The annihilation of Muggles. He has planned this attack for ten years and rallied werewolves across the world under one banner."
Hermione concurred from her position next to Kingsley, "They pose a far greater threat than dark wizards ever could."
"Alpha King? That is impossible. That title hasn't been bestowed upon a werewolf since the vampire elders eradicated the Lycans in ancient times," Akari Sato exclaimed in calculated shock. Her soft silky tones demanded answers.
Darius interrupted arrogantly, "Lycans no longer exist, and vampires dwell in darkness and hardly ever make their presence known. They are a dying breed."
Akari Sato made her annoyance unmistakably clear. Her eyes narrowed, and she hissed in displeasure, "Know your facts before you speak so foolishly.” Darius reeled back at the insult and opened his mouth to hurl a retort, but Akari threw him a look of pure loathing that shut him up momentarily.
She ignored the fuming man and continued, “Vampires do indeed keep to themselves but do not make the mistake of thinking they are afraid or that their numbers have lessened.
They choose to live in the mountains away from the chaos because it suits them. We work closely with them when the need arises." She intentionally ran her long fingers along the Samurai sword she kept by her side at all times. It was more valuable to her than her wand.
Kingsley grew thoughtful and shrewdly requested, "Can we rely on them to fight alongside us if needed?" Having supernatural beings on their side would amount to an incomprehensible advantage, and it seemed as if Sato was in their good graces. Vampires were scarce in Britain. They existed but refused to show themselves, and since they caused no trouble, they were left alone.
At first, Sato smiled slightly, she understood Kingsley’s eagerness, but after a moment, she answered gravely, "They have a centuries-old blood feud with werewolves. They should be fairly easy to convince, but their involvement will require blood sacrifices. They would need a steady supply of blood at their disposal if they were to go to war for us." There was a disappointing reaction from the leaders. They did not see aligning themselves with vampires to be the answer.
Travis lent a voice of reason, "Let's first discuss the matter at hand and decide on a way forward. The vampires and blood sacrifices can be discussed later."
Kingsley nodded in agreement and generally asked, "Have there been any werewolf related Muggle deaths in your countries recently?"
There was an uncomfortable silence, and most heads of nations shook their heads, but Pascal spoke out first, "Oui, six Muggles over four months. We captured the culprit we thought was responsible but released him three days later because there was no solid evidence to hold him.”
He became thoughtful, “There was a message written on the wall in blood. If I recall, it simply read ‘A New World Order.’ Of course, we did not pay it any mind thinking it was the work of some juvenile delinquents because it seemed trivial at the time."
Travis glared sternly, "Trivial?? People have died, Pascal!" He was astonished as to how the man was still in office. How could this dumbass possibly be held responsible for running a nation and keeping its citizens safe?
"Do not take that tone of voice with me, Jackson," Pascal fired back. Stupid Americans always thought they were superior to everyone else—uncultured swine.
Hermione heard enough. She was immensely disappointed by the words uttered by either group and sought to be the mediating party, "Gentlemen, please! This is not the time to bicker amongst ourselves."
The Romania Minister squirmed uncomfortably. They had always clashed with werewolves, and unlike their neighbouring nations, they used deadly force to subdue the vicious beasts that ran rampant across their lands. He spat viciously, "We cannot negotiate with mindless creatures. They must be stopped from spreading their disease." Shockingly, there was an uproar of applause for the callous comment, and Hermione swapped a sad look with Harry.
Armed with reasonable confidence, Darius pressed forward, "You’re deluded if you believe that mindless creatures are capable of working together and coordinating attacks. This effort will be unsuccessful. Their campaign will fail." Though his Slovak accent was heavy, his English was grammatically flawless.
"That might be, but we must investigate. We cannot sit by and hope for this threat to disappear," Kingsley argued indefinitely.
Darius sneered, "We fought their kind for over six hundred years. I think I know more than anyone here what we are up against." He had a valid point. Romania had a thriving werewolf population that often clashed with authorities.
Kingsley kept his composure intact and clarified, "With all due respect, Constantine, you have not faced an Alpha like this one. We must proceed with extreme caution." This Minister was beginning to get on his bloody nerve. He had half a mind to hex the stubborn fool, but he needed the arrogant fuckers valuable input.
Deciding it was perhaps in Romania's best interests to divulge sensitive information, Darius exclaimed, "Over a year ago, we received intel of a werewolf promoting propaganda through the underground network. We tried many times to infiltrate the meetings, but it was impossible. Until six months ago when we somehow managed to plant one of our men within the group."
His tone of voice turned hostile and brittle, "A month ago, the information stopped coming, and we received the severed head of our agent via rogue owl post. His tongue had been cut out, and his eyes gouged, leaving empty hollow sockets. The symbol of an entwined snake was seared into his flesh." Pin-drop silence followed. It was a gesture of respect for the fallen agent.
After an appropriate time had passed, Travis thundered, “What? Why is this the first we are hearing of it?”
Darius regarded the American with caution and frustration. He did not need to explain his actions and made his thoughts clear, “We did not think it was necessary to share our problems with the world because, at one time or another, we have all received warnings of an uprising.” Kingsley and the rest had no choice but to agree. There was always a power-hungry being trying to claim ownership.
First, it had been Grindelwald with his pureblood dominance and the fight for the greater good. Although he had some strong selling points and garnered a mass following, it took Albus Dumbledore to shatter his dreams in all aspects. Then came Voldemort, a brilliant student with a bright future had he chosen a path other than darkness and mayhem. But the bigger picture remains that though these random individuals rose with intent and determination to fuel their actions, they were also defeated, and good triumphed over evil.
Travis said nothing further to antagonise the Romanian Minister. Instead, he cleared his throat and announced, "We had three reported cases. The werewolf responsible was caught in the act, and we have him in custody. It would prove useful to question him. There were no messages on the walls like in France, but the attack was similar." He pointed to a photograph Kingsley had distributed earlier.
Kingsley included seriously, “Furthermore, it has come to our attention that the Alpha used to be a wizard. We have reason to believe he is a fallen Death Eater that evaded capture and for those of you who do not know what a Death Eater is, let me enlighten you. A Death Eater is a loyal supporter of Voldemort.”
There was a collective hiss from the gathered world leaders, and a bombardment of comments followed. Not surprisingly but indirectly, Voldemort was yet again the root cause of an uprising against the Ministry of Magic. Kingsley felt a deep sense of responsibility for all that transpired.
In sheer disbelief, the Australian minister questioned, “This madman was once a wizard?”
Kingsley took a deep breath and briefly explained their meeting with the pack leaders. He summarised the conversation by leaving out the more inconsequential parts.
Darius sneered, “Why did you not arrest these leaders?”
It wasn't Kingsley that answered, even though the accusation was directed at him. Harry made his presence known and highlighted, “We were outnumbered and lucky to leave with our heads attached. They have moved on since then without a trace. Werewolves have a knack for hiding in plain sight. They could be among us as we speak.”
The leaders looked at one another and grew exceedingly uncomfortable. They had persons of interest that they felt played a vital role in this new uprising, and each nation promised to dig deeper into the sources and monitor such persons. Initially, Kingsley had hoped to contain the situation in England, but he knew this was a worldwide rallying of Werewolves under one leader, and it was a near-impossible task.
Akari Sato acknowledged Harry with a slight nod and smile.
Travis announced with unflattering resolve, “This situation is dire. We agree with Kingsley that immediate action must be taken, and we will do whatever is required to neutralise the situation.”
Kingsley nodded curtly in acknowledgement, “Thank you for your unwavering support, Colson.”
Pascal got to his feet, puffed out his chest and announced dramatically, “France will do its duty.”
Darius watched the situation unravel intently. Of course, he would do his utmost to fight the werewolves. He had a personal debt to settle with the beasts. The leaders of many other nations gave their approval, but only a few voiced their opinion.
Akari Sato bowed to show respect and said with determination, “Japan agrees. We will uphold the honour of our ancestors.”
The Australian Minister played absentmindedly with the large ring around his pinky finger and silently bobbed his along with the others in agreement.
Kingsley included fiercely, "My priority is to unmask this so-called self-proclaimed Alpha King and speak with him. Perhaps we can come to an understanding and avoid needless bloodshed."
Travis concurred, "I second Shacklebolt's course of action." The others gave their approval. After the meeting concluded, many dignitaries took their leave except for a handful who lingered to have a prolonged discussion. One such person was the French Minister.
Kingsley saw the man approach and warned Hermione, "Careful. The old toad fancies you." Hermione chuckled and brushed it off as no more than the amorous affections from a vicarious man.
The American President called Kingsley over, leaving Hermione alone to deal with Pascal. He strolled over and smiled. Hermione grudgingly returned the gesture but couldn't ignore him. Focusing on her hand, Pascal kissed it gently, brushing his lips across her knuckles and drawling in his thick French accent, "Such a beauty. In dark times, we only have a few luxuries left."
Hermione took her hand out of his lecherous grasp, and before she could reply, Pascal boldly demanded, "Why do you not visit me, mademoiselle? You are always welcome in France."
Hannah sensed Hermione’s distress. She moved closer and couldn't help but stifle a giggle at the brazen behaviour of the French politician. She was enjoying her assignment enormously.
Malfoy Manor
Before dawn, Draco rose from his cross-legged position after an intense bout of meditation and took a deep, cleansing breath. Sleep had not come easily, and he had spent half the night tossing and turning while Smith's words haunted him.
He had decided to visit Smith in Azkaban without informing Hannah and coax some much-needed answers from the potion smuggling shop owner before heading to work. Draco decided this course of action would not interfere with his training.
It was early, and no creature stirred. Even Max was fast asleep inside his mother’s suite. Using the silence to his advantage, Draco hurriedly pulled on his Auror uniform, pinned the badge to his chest and stole out of the Manor. Unfortunately, there was a being he had not accounted for, and Dotty crossed his path on the way to the peacock shed.
She regarded him curiously, “Master Draco is up early today.” Even though he was a habitual early riser, this hour was ungodly by even his standards.
"Oh, I have to rush into work because of an emergency," He lied convincingly and wondered why he was lying in the first place and sneaking off like he was doing something suspicious.
Dotty beamed, "Would Master like some breakfast before he leaves?"
Draco politely declined, "No, thank you. I will grab something at work." The tiny elf scrunched up her nose and looked adequately insulted.
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place
Ginny woke up to find her husband missing from their marital bed. It wasn't unusual since Harry had barely slept a wink all night. She knew exactly where she would find him.
Gathering the night robe from where she had left it the previous night, she pulled it on, secured it tightly around her waist and left the sanctuary of their bedroom. The stairs of Grimmauld Place creaked under her footsteps, but they were not loud enough to wake James, who slumbered peacefully in the adjoining room.
The light was on in the small study Harry maintained at home. The antique cuckoo clock in the living made its existence well-known, and Ginny glanced at the time. Five am. She pushed the door open and found her husband bent over parchments with a crystal tumbler clutched in his hand. From the nearly empty bottle close by, Harry had indulged far more in the amber liquid than he was accustomed to.
Ginny leaned against the doorframe and asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Harry looked up, caught his wife’s worried expression, and answered, “I'm fine.” He knew the second the words left his mouth that Ginny would not believe a word.
Ginny let her hair loose, sending the straight reddish strands cascading down her back and strode into the room uninvited and questioned, “Have you slept?”
Harry sighed, leaned back in his chair and slowly shook his head, “No.” How could he sleep when all he saw when he closed his eyes was a mountain of corpses? Men, women and children piled cruelly on top of each other. They stared at him accusingly for not saving them from their gruesome demise.
Ginny closed the distance between them, took the tumbler out of his hands and drained the rest before setting it down on the desk.
She saw her husband watch her movements intently, and she gently brushed back his hair off his forehead and kissed him full on the mouth. Harry unleashed his pent-up frustration and aggression and held on tight to the sweetness that was Ginny. He deepened the embrace, and before long, they were naked and breathing heavily over each other.
Azkaban
Draco arrived at the infamous fortress. Heavy sordid winds beat around him, and he pulled up the thick layered collar of his coat to weather the harshness. High tidal waves from all sides clashed noisily with the high stone walls surrounding the ominous island that housed Wizarding Britain's criminals.
The blonde wizard stared at the narrow pathway ahead and took a deep breath to calm his rapidly beating heart and the tumultuous thoughts that ravaged his mind. He dreaded hearing his father’s voice again, but far more critical matters needed to be addressed. His guilty conscience fuelled and gave strength to the callous voices in his head.
A large beefy Auror put out a gorilla arm, stopped Draco at the entrance and requested sternly, “Name and identification.” Evidently, good manners were lost on the individuals standing guard at Azkaban. Perhaps being constantly surrounded by such bleakness caused them to refrain from showing any emotion or kindness.
“Draco Lucius Malfoy. Identification pin, 70269,” Draco recited effortlessly and waited patiently to be let in as the Auror stared directly into his face and scowled.
Draco stood his ground and refused to back down. Still, the Auror pressed the tip of his wand into the neatly pinned badge on the front of his freshly laundered Auror robes and said in a deep grated voice enough to make a lesser man squirm, “A permanent Auror must accompany trainees.” He lost interest and turned his back on Draco and almost moved away before he could plead his case, but then a familiar voice cut through the eerie silence, “He's with me, Jones.”
Jones held his wand at the ready, but the person walking toward them did not slow down his steps, nor did he seem bothered by Jones’s hostile behaviour. The sound of heavy boots squelching over puddles made it to the sensitive shell of his ear, Draco turned on his heel to catch a glimpse of who it was, and Michael Corner breezed past him, patted Jones on the chest with a smirk and reassured, “Relax, big guy.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Michael acknowledged Draco and said firmly, “Come on, Malfoy.” Jones eyed them suspiciously but refrained from saying anything. Engaging in meaningless conversations was not one of his strengths. Michael came by often, and if he vouched for the newbie, there wouldn’t be a problem, and he would not get in trouble for breaking protocol.
Draco nodded curtly and, without a further word, followed Michael inside. The massive wooden doors closed behind with an audible thud, and they were bathed in dim light and surrounded by the whisperings of the inmates still among the living.
They rubbed their hands to generate heat and passed a few Aurors who greeted Michael and bestowed sceptical looks upon Draco, but he brushed them off and walked quietly in step with Michael. They came to a halt outside a room, and Michael threw him a knowing glance and questioned, “I presume you're here to meet Smith.”
Draco held his gaze and answered, “Yes, I am,” he added after a second’s thought, “And err, thank you for what you did back there.” He pondered on the man’s questionable actions.
Michael raised a quizzical brow and shrugged, “Hmm, no problem, I owe you for what Terry did to you. I’m just wondering where the fuck Hannah is.” It wasn’t like Abbott to let her trainee lose to wander about Azkaban. He came to the crushing realisation that she probably had no idea what Malfoy was up to but saved his judgment for later.
Draco replied without a moment's hesitation, “She’s guarding, Granger.” The last thing he wanted was for others to think he was sneaking around without Hannah’s permission. Granted, Abbott knew nothing of his visit, mainly because he had simply not told her, but he didn't want word getting out and Hannah getting into trouble over his irrational actions.
Michael bobbed his head in agreement, “Ah, of course. I had forgotten all about that.” He pointed to the closed door and instructed, “Let me do the talking. Understood?” Draco looked bemused but didn't bother to argue. He pursed his lips and stood silently in the back.
The door opened before they could enter, and an elderly witch with a sour expression and grim demeanour came out and scowled, “Corner! What can we do for you this fine morning?” Her eyes drifted over to where Draco was standing. He was inches taller than Michael and towered over the slightly hunchbacked witch.
“Beatrice! Just the witch I was looking for. Might I add how lovely you look this gloomy morning,” Michael exclaimed with faux politeness, turning on the charm. The older witch was not amused and scoffed, “Get to the point. I’ve got work to do.”
“Has the potions smuggler finished being processed?” He cagily asked. Beatrice frowned and replied in an icy tone that mirrored her true feelings about the new inmate, “Bloody ages ago. He was a difficult one. Nearly took the eye of one of the men holding him,”
She added for good measure, “Nasty piece of work, that bastard.”
Michael glared sternly and gritted out, “We will be sure to teach him some manners.”
He fought to regain his composure and requested, “I need to speak with him.” Draco listened intently and wholeheartedly agreed with Michael’s sentiment. It contradicted his Kung Fu teachings, but he couldn’t help but feel anger for all that had transpired.
The words in the letter Granger received played obsessively in his mind. Against his wishes, he pictured her helpless in a dark room devoid of light, writhing in pain on a hard floor as a masked figure repeatedly violated her. She reached out to him with tears streaming down her face and called out his name to save her.
She breathed, “Draco.” It was more than he could bear. He had failed to protect her once; he would not forsake her again.
Beatrice pointed out the way and shrugged, “You know the way, lad.”
Michael turned on his heel and motioned for Draco to follow him. They strode further into the bowels of Azkaban. It got darker, and the flickering light was barely enough to illuminate the way, but with the aid of their wands and Michael’s guidance, they arrived at a cell block guarded by a wizard and an average-sized Dementor.
It seemed to look past Michael and stared at Draco while hovering in the background. One by one, the voices he had kept at bay rose to the surface with a vengeance causing his breathing to hasten and his head to pound relentlessly.
He saw Corner yelling, but it seemed to come from a distance. The room began to spin dangerously, but the haziness cleared as the luminous figure of a dolphin Patronus watched over his crumpled form. An angry voice made its way to his ear, “Keep your fucking pet under control.”
Michael grabbed Draco by the shoulders and peered into his face, “Malfoy! Can you hear me?”
Shit. The man looked ready to collapse, but surprisingly, Draco nodded his head, gathered his bearings and said slowly, “Yes, I can hear you, Corner.”
He vividly recalled how he had continuously made fun of Potter because of how Dementors affected him in their third year. Now his conduct sickened him to the core. He understood why the cloaked figures affected Potter worse than others. His breathing returned to normal, and the loud voices pounding on the walls of his mind with their bare fists vanished into nothingness. He had to condition his mind better to deal with the horrors of Azkaban.
“Eat this,” Michael shoved a chocolate bar into his hands and instructed. Draco tore off a piece and popped it into his mouth like he had done the first time he visited with Hannah. Instant relief followed, and his nostrils flared as he took deep breaths and exhaled. They leaned against the prison's stone wall, and Michael hesitantly asked, “Are you sure you can handle this today, mate?”
Draco pulled himself together, moved his shoulders and neck in small circles to get the proper circulation going and confirmed, "Undoubtedly."
Michael had to give it to Malfoy. He was made of some tough stuff. When he and Terry first became Aurors, they had thrown up and blacked out for weeks every time they visited Azkaban. The nightmarish prison brought a person’s worst fears to life.
Michael gestured silently to the Azkaban guard standing watch, and both strode towards a heavily warded, locked door made of solid iron. The door opened with an audible clunk, and a cloud of dust escaped. Draco approached the room with caution, but Michael held him back and warned, "You have fifteen minutes to speak to him, Malfoy. Do me a favour and try not to bloody him up too bad."
Draco said, perplexed, "I only wish to speak to him. I'm not looking for any physical altercations.” He meant his words and hoped nothing would happen to alter them.
The lights in the room came on, and Draco was surprised to find a makeshift bed that looked far from comfortable and a table that seemed more suited for interrogation than anything else.
Out of the minimal bits of furniture in the windowless room, the chair situated in the corner stood out like a sore thumb. It resembled an electric chair Muggles used for executions. Manacles dangling from an ages-old chain were attached to the armrests in this particular rendition. The chair had seen its fair share of hardened criminals and brutal interrogations.
A man in a prison-assigned shirt and trousers lounged on the bed as if he were on holiday. He casually disregarded the wizards entering his room and only showed some emotion when he caught sight of the Dementor hovering outside his room, eager and willing to feed on his wicked soul.
The guard hissed in irritation, "On your feet, scum." This precious gem was a real treat. It took all his strength not to break the arsehole's neck. He dragged the heavy chair and placed it in front of the prisoner.
Smith obliged with a snide comment, "What's got your knickers in a twist?" He got to his feet and sat on the chair but kept his hands on his lap for the time being.
Draco pointed to the rusted restraints and questioned, "Are those necessary?" He was undoubtedly sure of overpowering and subduing Smith if the need arose.
The guard frowned at the unwarranted question and snapped, "It's bloody protocol. Fucking deal with it, princess."
Michael snorted, "You’re in a foul fucking mood."
"You try doing double shifts in this hell hole and then tell me whether I should be blowing sunshine out of my arse," The guard gritted out and pushed past Draco on his way out.
Smith took a deep breath as if he anticipated the discomfort he was about to feel. The manacles sensed its captive. They could smell the fear and desperation. Azkaban reeked of it.
They sprang to life as Smith grudgingly placed his wrists within the macabre device's grasp and watched in horror as they clamped around his wrists and dug into his flesh. Seconds were all it took them to close and tighten uncomfortably.
Smith winced as a bolt of electricity shot through his weakened body. He glared at Draco and sneered, "Took you long enough, boy. Curious about the Master, are we?"
Michael handed over a personal file of the prisoner and reminded Draco before stepping out of the cell, "Fifteen minutes, Malfoy. Nothing more or less. Do I make myself clear?"
Draco kept his deep gaze on Smith but responded, "Crystal clear, Corner." The sheer confidence in his tone had Michael second-guessing himself. Could Malfoy be trusted with possibly the only witness they had to unmask the mastermind behind the mayhem?
The door closed shut, and Malfoy and Smith disappeared from his sight. He turned to the guard with a smile and offered, "Come on, mate. Let's get a cup of tea." The Dementor watched over the cells until they returned, but it stared ceaselessly at where Draco stood. It hungered for such powerful emotions.
Pulling the file towards him, Draco flipped it open and grinned, "Griffin Charles Montague. Any relation to Graham Montague?"
Griffin, a.k.a Smith, struggled against his shackles and leered, "The fucking Queen is my mother." He spat onto the floor in disgust, "Graham. The little shit is my nephew. Lily-livered bitch living the high life and forgetting the old ways. I have no relationship with the lot of them."
Draco leaned forward and came straight to the point, "Explain your words to me."
Griffin regarded him curiously and mused, "You don't look stupid…but I could be wrong." He insisted and rejoiced, "You know exactly what I meant. It's the second coming, Malfoy. He's already shown a keen interest in you."
Draco clenched his teeth and spat out, "I will never blindly serve another monster again." He would sooner die and be done with this miserable existence than be used as a pawn to cause others grief and pain.
Griffin scowled, "You might not have a choice, traitor." He could not understand why Malfoy was reluctant. It was the highest honour to be chosen to serve the cause. It was their birthright to rule above others. Their lineages could be traced back to the very conception of magic.
Draco shot back with every fibre of his being, "You will find that I'm not easily intimidated." His fingers curled to make hardened fists, and the magic that flowed within his veins hummed in agreement.
Griffin was undeterred and determined to change the young wizard's mind, "He will bestow the greatest award upon you, Malfoy." The brat before him was different from his father. Any simple-minded fool could see that at first glance. In looks, they were similar but as different as night and day in all other aspects.
Draco was adamant about finding out who this mysterious leader was. It would be the key to unravelling the situation. He pointedly urged, "Who is he? Do I know him?"
A devious grin curved Griffin's lips, and he plainly stated, "In a manner of speaking, I suppose you do know him, but that's the golden question, isn't it? The one that everyone is after, but you needn't bother. He will reveal himself in the grandest of ways."
“You consider murder the grandest of ways?” Draco felt his resolve begin to slip. There was so much he would be willing to tolerate.
Griffin tossed his head back in mock laughter, “Muggles! The bastards need to be ruled. They crave chaos and carnage. They destroy all they touch. The Master will tame the barbarians.”
"He will not succeed," Draco argued with considerable force, but Griffin licked his lips and smiled condescendingly, "You've found yourself a little wife, haven’t you? She's a stunner, that one, even if her blood isn't pure." The pretty little young Undersecretary. She was every able-bodied, hot-blooded wizard’s fantasy and a breath of fresh air after that Dolores Umbridge broad. The nasty bitch.
Draco did not quite know what possessed him, but he could not control the rage that spread through him with such intensity that it made his insides burn. He lunged forward and grabbed the stunned prisoner by the grubby collar of his regulation prison uniform with the intent of causing bodily harm. Their faces were inches apart, and once Griffin got over the initial shock, he laughed in a deranged way. His breath reeked, causing Draco to grimace but not slacken his hold.
“Tell your Death Eater buddies to stay the fuck away from her,” Draco narrowed his startling clear grey eyes and openly threatened.
“My Death Eater buddies? Why, you filthy fucking hypocrite,” Griffin hurled accusingly, but his confidence waned. His gaze slowly shifted to Draco’s left arm, where the Dark Mark was concealed under layers of clothing.
Draco disregarded the attempt to rile him further and followed up with a clear, precise warning, "I will kill every last one of you if she is hurt." That last statement struck a distinctive chord with Griffin wiping the smug look of superiority off his face. Malfoy's eyes shone with intent and purpose. The man meant the words he uttered. Griffin flinched and grew exceedingly nervous at being alone with this formidable man who would follow through on his promise.
The door opened briskly, and Michael walked in with a cup of hot tea. His eyes widened in shock at the sight before him. Griffin was leaning far back in the chair, and Malfoy's fingers were grasping Griffin's collar with such force his knuckles had whitened. He appeared ready to headbutt the man square in the face. Michael was well aware of Malfoy's astounding recent abilities, after seeing them with his own eyes.
Finally, Michael found his voice and bellowed, "What the hell is going on!?" Draco reluctantly released Griffin, who coughed repeatedly and looked beyond relieved to see Michael. The lesser of two evils as far as he was concerned.
Draco pushed back his chair with such force it skidded back and toppled over. He straightened to his full height, threw Griffin a final look of disgust and informed a stunned unmoving Michael, "I was just leaving, Corner. He's all yours."
Griffin found his voice and hissed bitterly, "He will come for me." His confidence was staggering, considering his current predicament. The Master would not forsake him to an early demise.
Draco stopped dead in his tracks, glanced over his shoulder and promised, "And we will be waiting for him." He would do all within his power to thwart this madman who thought himself above everyone else.
Michael laughed aloud and goaded, "Do you think he will risk his identity and throw it all away to break free a lowly pathetic criminal like you?" They exited the prison cell leaving behind the seething glaring man still handcuffed to the chair. The interrogation was far from being over.
"Did you learn anything?" Michael questioned once they were alone. He craved a cigarette, but smoking within Azkaban was highly prohibited. Draco sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, "Nothing I didn't already know. Although he did mention that the leader is known to me, but that's a needle in a fucking haystack. It could be anyone I met in passing. Hundreds came by to pay their respects to Voldemort."
Michael frowned and groaned in frustration, "Fuck! Hopefully, Potter can crack him." He glanced at his watch and recommended with growing concern, "You best get going, Malfoy."
Draco nodded curtly, "Thanks again, Corner."
Michael smiled slightly, "Not a problem."
Draco’s mind was in turmoil. Granger. His insides twisted unpleasantly, and he began to formulate a plan to ensure her safety despite Hannah watching over her. He was so caught up in his thoughts he didn't notice Harry coming his way.
The head of the DMLE caught sight of the blonde, who seemed lost and raised a sceptical brow. Draco snapped out of his internally raging thoughts as Harry's stern voice sliced through them, "Malfoy! What brings you here?"
Shit. Draco was caught red-handed but saw little reason in lying. Gathering the right words, he stated the true intention of his visit, "I needed to speak with Griffin Montague."
Harry crossed his arms over his chest and inquired, "Regarding?" He was curious about what business Malfoy had with a lowly potion smuggler.
Draco answered without much explanation, "A warning." He knew his half-baked reply would infuriate Potter. It offered no explanation whatsoever.
Harry's patience snapped, and he scolded, "Stop talking in riddles, Malfoy, and get to the fucking point."
Draco frowned but mentioned the root of the problem, "When we arrested him, he mentioned something about their leader wanting to recruit me, and I wanted to get to the bottom of what he meant."
Harry grew exceedingly curious, "Interesting." Thomas had mentioned something similar after his last meeting with Dorian. It made perfect sense that whoever it was, was trying to collect Malfoy.
Draco said solemnly, "No, Potter. There is nothing remotely interesting about any of this."
Harry peeked a look at the time and cursed, "Shit. Let's talk more about this later, Malfoy. Get your arse to training before Audrey has your head."
"On my way, Potter," Draco replied with a curt nod and quickened his step as he hurried off towards the exit. Harry stared after the tall man in deep thought. Malfoy had undoubtedly chosen the opportune time to return. He wondered whether Draco would have returned if he knew what awaited him.
Michael sent Brenda the text message he had been typing, pocketed the phone and grinned as Harry came into view, "Morning, boss. Right on time." That was a blatant lie. His superior was over an hour late and looked utterly miserable.
Harry pulled out a sizable gold Galleon from his pocket and smirked devilishly, "Good cop, bad cop?"
Michael rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation, "Fine. Toss the bloody thing."
Harry tossed the coin high in the air and yelled before it came crashing down, "Call it, Corner."
"Tails," Michael said without hesitation and frowned seconds later after the coin landed on the dingy floor facing heads up. The embossed dragon seemed to mock him, and Harry grinned broadly and pocketed the coin.
Michael groaned and cursed aloud, "Fuck! Every single time." He looked to his side, cracked his knuckles, and asked Harry, "Are you ready?” Harry smiled slightly, stepped aside and gestured politely, "After you."
Corner hyped himself up by taking deep breaths, burst into the cell unannounced and thundered, "Who the fuck is this Master you keep referring to?"
Griffin flattened himself against the back of the chair. He stiffened and paled at being addressed in such an aggressive manner. Beads of sweat coated his upper lip and forehead.
Harry followed Michael into the room with a casual yet uncaring attitude, "We want to help you, Montague, unless you rather spend your miserable existence here. I hear the food is spectacular, and the company is rather charming, isn’t it?” Griffin paled further, and Harry homed in for the kill, “But to help you, we need answers. Procedure and rot. I’m sure a smart man like you can understand."
Griffin gathered some bravado and spat, "Fuck you! The Master will free us all."
Michael kept his hand's palm down on the table, leaned forward and hissed, "I want a fucking name." He enunciated each word enough to intimidate, but Griffin grinned triumphantly and snarled, "I would rather die than betray him." Michael believed him. The man was unquestionably loyal. He would take the secret to the grave.
"That can be easily arranged, you twisted fuck," Michael warned ominously. This waste of a human being did not deserve to live.
"Do you know what he is?" Harry leaned against the wall and questioned. He hoped to sow seeds of doubt into Griffin's mind, but the corrupt man surprised him, "You aren't listening to me. He's not a person. He's a God, walking amongst mortals to free us from our burdens." He stared directly into Harry's eyes and said slowly, dragging out his words, "I know exactly what he is. He has promised to complete my transformation soon."
Merlin! This fool was beyond salvation.
Harry glared sternly but said nothing. Instead, he wordlessly instructed Michael, who complied and pulled a sealed vial from inside his coat pocket. The blood drained from Griffin's face. He was an experienced Potion Master and knew precisely what the clear, odourless liquid that deceptively resembled water sloshing about within the glass bottle was.
Veritaserum. It was a powerful truth serum that effectively enabled the drinker to answer any question truthfully. It was a tricky potion to brew and disastrously toxic if done incorrectly. Its use was strictly monitored and regulated by the Ministry of Magic.
Griffin repeatedly objected, "No! It's against the law. You cannot force me to drink it."
Michael threw his head back and laughed, "We are the law, you pitiful fool." They had tried every technique in the book to get him to confess, but none proved effective, leaving them to resort to drastic measures.
Harry took the vial from Michael's hand, held it close to Griffin's chapped lips, and demanded, "Drink it." The man’s lips were pale, cracked, and bloodless. Only a few drops were required for him to divulge his deepest darkest secrets. The man stubbornly pressed his lips together, vigorously shook his head and moved his face away to the best of his ability. "You will have to force it down my throat." He spat viciously.
Michael smirked. He cracked his knuckles and moved closer with a sadistic leer, "With pleasure."
Harry warned, "Be careful, Corner. You remember what happened to Boris?" There was no Boris. He was a character they had invented to frighten the prisoners.
"Ah, I never meant to take it that far, Potter. I swear I will be gentle this time," Michael reassured with a slightly perverse smile.
Griffin stiffened, "Who the fuck is Boris? What did you do to him?" When he received no answers, he screamed in panic, "Help me! Someone save me. These fuckers are trying to murder me."
Michael grabbed his face with one hand, “Scream all you want. Nobody can hear you.” His thumb and rest of the fingers dug into Griffin's either cheek right below the cheekbones, causing him to widen his mouth involuntarily. Even though the pain was excruciating, he struggled and pulled against the restraints, but it was useless.
Harry dropped no more than three drops of Veritaserum onto Griffin's tongue and instructed Michael to let go. He reluctantly did as ordered and moved to one of the room's corners before he pounded the creep before him into dust.
The minutes ticked by, and Harry asked his first question, "Who are you?"
Griffin answered like a well-trained parrot, "Griffin Sandar Montague."
Harry tried a more direct question since they were not there to find out the man's favourite colour or food, "What is the true identity of the Alpha King?"
Griffin laughed aloud and shrugged, "I do not know. I have seen him wear many faces. Mostly faces of Muggles he has slaughtered. My job is to brew him large batches of Polyjuice potion, so he can take any form he requires. The Master is the King. He is my saviour."
Despite the man's boasting, he had no idea who the veiled leader was but enjoyed stringing them along. They had hit another dead-end, but Griffin seemed close to this self-proclaimed King. They asked a line of questions that centred around the character they were after and came to a few valuable conclusions regarding mannerisms and habits.
The potion’s effects began to wear off, and Griffin fought harder against what compelled him to answer. He challenged his inner strength and growled much like a wolf in defiance. Michael lost his cool, grabbed Griffin by the neck and slammed him headfirst down onto the table. Harry watched, horrified as the subtle sound of bones breaking filled the void. The crack pierced the stillness macabrely.
"Where the fuck is your precious butcher now?" Michael’s voice cracked, mirroring the anger and frustration that embodied him.
Harry pulled Michael back, pushed him up against the wall and reprimanded, "Corner! Stand down!" Michael brought up his hands in surrender and averted his gaze. Next, Harry approached Griffin with his wand drawn and tried to assess the damage.
Breathing hard, Griffin straightened, spat out a mouthful of blood and threatened, "You will regret that, you little bastard."
Chapter 51
Notes:
I truly hope everyone is well! We were under curfew following a few unfavourable instances in the country, but we stand firm against corruption.
My country, Sri Lanka 🇱🇰 will arise from this conflict unscathed and more beautiful than ever.
My heartfelt gratitude to each of you who took the time to leave such fantastic comments. They honestly make my day :)
Hermione challenges Draco to a duel. Yikes!
Hannah is fast becoming one of my absolute favourite characters to write. She's just incredible.
More insight into the inner workings of the fight club
Enjoy Chapter fifty-one.
Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
An audible knock on the door interrupted the heated discussion between Kingsley and Hermione. The Minister looked towards the door and said in his deep, forceful voice, "Come in." Hermione pushed her glasses further up her nose and regarded the documents laid out in frustration.
Harry walked into the spacious room with Michael lagging behind him. Their eyes fell on Hermione as she mumbled incoherently and ignored their presence. Harry smiled slightly and spoke first, "Good morning, Kingsley, Hermione. You wanted to have a word."
Hermione snapped out of the work-related daze she had slipped into and greeted with a welcoming yet tired smile of her own, "Good morning, Harry. Hope you are well, Michael."
Michael concealed a yawn, rocked on the balls of his feet, and replied with less enthusiasm than usual, "Can't complain, Hermione. Thanks for asking." There was plenty to complain about and much more to uncover, and it was annoying to have limited answers. Fuck. He desperately needed a cigarette.
Hermione pointed to many papers scattered across Kingsley's table and said, "We were going over subject profiles submitted by other nations." The countries that answered Kingsley's plight for assistance worked fast in getting across what they deemed helpful information.
Despite his arrogant disposition, the Romanian Minister Constantine had been the most helpful, supplying pictures and information on vital persons. Pascal, the lecherous French Minister, had been the least useful while hinting that he would be more cooperative should Hermione visit France. A notion Kingsley shut down right out of the gate.
She pulled a thick battered file crammed with papers towards her. It looked like it had seen better days, "There's one Death Eater who escaped after the battle, but could it be? I am almost certain he is dead." She didn't want to be the bearer of bad news and utter his repulsive name.
"Antonin Dolohov," Harry's normally pleasant features twisted macabrely, and he hissed the name in disgust. Kingsley frowned and made his displeasure abundantly clear, "He was a formidable wizard. I shudder to think how deadly he has become with his newfound skills. If it is indeed him, I still have my doubts." Harry argued with good reason, "Dolohov fits the bill, Kingsley. A fallen Death Eater who escaped persecution and fled England. It makes perfect sense."
"Agreed, but let's wait for some hard evidence to present itself," The Minister recommended. It wouldn't bode well if they made the wrong assumptions and got everything backwards. Kingsley inquired, curious and eager, "I trust you spoke with Griffin Montague." The appalling man was key to unmasking the monster behind the attacks and rebellion.
Harry nodded but looked grim and highly disappointed, "We just returned from Azkaban, but unfortunately, it was of no use since he doesn't know the real face of the leader, only Polyjuiced versions he was permitted to see."
"Fuck," Kingsley swore in irritation. Could they not catch a bloody break?
Harry cracked his knuckles one by one and included solemnly, "Kingsley, Griffin knew the man is a werewolf. He looked forward to being transformed. If wizards even as lowly as Griffin Montague are volunteering to be bitten and converted, that provides a serious problem." It could lead to world dominance by Werewolves with no force alive to stop them. Wizards turning into wolves would be equipped with wands, making them a dangerous and nearly unbeatable threat.
Hermione grew wide-eyed and slightly nauseous at the alarming declaration but offered her profound input, "The others following this madman might disagree. I don't see them living as Werewolves. They have grown accustomed to certain luxuries. Amenities, I am certain they will not forgo to live in the woods."
Harry threw Hermione a disgruntled look and disputed, "You would be surprised by how Werewolves nowadays live, Hermione. They have proper housing equipped with all necessary requirements and properly functioning systems." He recalled how meticulous and well-adjusted the packhouse had been when they visited.
However, Kingsley insisted, "Still, there are plenty of luxuries the pureblood families indulge in that cannot be replaced."
Michael coughed to make his presence known, and when all eyes fell on him, he politely inquired, "You wanted to see me, Minister."
Hermione swapped an uncomfortable look with Kingsley and took a deep breath. She started to slowly explain, "The Muggle Prime Minister is doing all he can to his ability. We will assist however we can, which brings me to the real reason for calling this brief meeting."
Harry crossed his arms over his chest and urged, "Go on. We are listening intently, Madam Undersecretary." He couldn't wait to hear this. Sometimes the liberties Hermione took without speaking about them beforehand peeved him off. He detested being blindsided by her actions.
Hermione brought her face up, looked directly at Harry with confidence and expressed, "As you know, the Prime Minister's life could be in grave danger. It is in our best interest to protect him at all costs by working alongside his capable security team led by MI5 agent Evan."
Michael peered at Harry, who seemed deep in thought. He wasn't keen on the direction of the conversation and wondered if his boss shaded his sentiment.
Hermione sat up straight and proclaimed openly, "I propose assigning Michael to his security detail until we can ensure his safety and bring this situation under control."
Michael was startled and visibly taken back. He purposely ignored Hermione, addressed Kingsley directly and fired back with reasonable justification, "What? No! With all due respect, Minister, I'm needed here." Taken back by the untimely request, Harry concurred, "I agree with Michael, Minister. He is far too valuable for us to spare at the moment. I need my most experienced men on this case."
Hermione injected before the Minister responded and asserted, "Kingsley had nothing to do with his appointment. If you have a problem with my judgment, I suggest you speak to me about it and not him."
Michael glared sternly, and Kingsley sighed in exasperation, "I understand your plight, Potter, but I agree one hundred per cent with Hermione's decision. Do you have any indication of how the Prime Minister's death would reflect on us?" He directed the question toward both men and waited for a plausible answer.
Harry pursed his lips and fumed. He fought hard against giving Hermione a piece of his mind. How dare she volunteer his Aurors without consulting him?
Hermione argued, "We must play nice with others." Their survival depended on it.
Harry retorted with a definite roll of his eyes, "I am not a politician, Hermione." He followed it fiercely, "My sole concern is to catch these arseholes before the bodies pile up."
Kingsley stepped in before the argument escalated and played mediator between the best friends, "Hermione has a valid point, Potter. If Owen succumbs to a magical assassination attempt, it will reflect poorly on us."
Michael spoke in a strained voice, "I did not become an Auror to look after an insufferable Muggle politician." He regarded the group before him with renewed purpose and claimed, "I knew what I wanted to do the second I rescued that petrified first year the Carrows’ had chained up to torture." His tone turned forlorn but angry, "As punishment for releasing the boy, I was tortured daily for it with the Cruciatus Curse but still, I regretted nothing and swore to myself to uphold honour and fight for those who couldn't by serving justice."
He gritted out, "How exactly am I supposed to do that by babysitting the Muggle Prime Minister?"
Hermione kept her composure and spoke calmly, "We know how much you did to thwart the Carrows back at Hogwarts and how fearless you were in defying them. That is precisely why we need one of our best men to stand guard over the Prime Minister." She had heard from Neville how heroic Michael's actions had been, considering he joined Dumbledore's Army because Ginny insisted. They had been a couple, of sorts, and the Ravenclaw was quite smitten with his Gryffindor girlfriend.
Kingsley interrupted with a firmness to his tone that wasn't to be taken lightly, "Corner, you needn't follow him constantly. It is a temporary assignment. You can report to the DMLE each day and follow up on missions Potter assigns you, but your primary will be the protection of the Muggle Prime Minister."
Michael frowned and looked to his boss for confirmation and guidance, "What do you think, Potter?" Harry was his immediate boss, and the decision lay primarily with him. If Potter agreed, he would have little choice in the matter but to agree. They took a vow after completion of the training program to uphold justice and adhere to the commands of the current Minister of Magic.
Harry slipped off his glasses, massaged the bridge of his nose and sighed, "I am not thrilled, but it makes sense, I suppose." He hated it when Hermione was right. Of course, she was rarely wrong, but he loathed that her points were valid and carried merit in this instance. The Muggle Prime Minister needed to be protected to the best of their ability.
"Hermione, will you accompany us to the briefing?" Harry grudgingly invited while Michael shot metaphorical daggers at the person he believed was responsible for his current assignment.
Hermione ignored the seething man who disrespected her earlier. She smiled warmly and agreed wholeheartedly, "Of course, I will. Let me know whenever you are ready to leave. I will inform Owen and, um, Evan of our arrival." She hesitated when mentioning Evan and hoped Hannah wouldn't spill the beans on what transpired between them.
Kingsley grinned broadly, "It's settled then." It was a rare occurrence that they came to a compromise without much fuss. Still, he was grateful for his team's extended level of professionalism.
Michael gave a curt nod, "I will honour the Ministry of Magic's wishes." They left Hermione and Kingsley behind and legged it purposely out of the office. Though muffled by the thick carpet, the stomping of their heavy boots still made a superior sound. The second the door closed, Michael was at it. He gnashed out, causing his breathing to hasten and his palms to bead sweat, "This is bullshit, Harry."
Harry nodded in agreement but looked to alleviate the annoyed man before him, "I know, mate, but we have to keep him safe. We need him alive and well until all this blows over."
Michael thought long and hard before answering, "I will do as you ask to the best of my ability even though I'm not happy about it."
"How's Terry?" Harry neatly diverted the conversation with a raised brow. With all that had been happening, he hadn't the time to pay Boot a mandatory visit.
Michael sighed, "Good. Recovering. We could really use him at a time like this." Terry was coming along but slowly. He seemed agitated and grilled Michael for hours about any pending investigations.
Harry exhaled and said seriously, "Indeed, but his health is far more important. I need him with his mind intact before going after these lunatics." He pushed his slipping glasses further up his nose and requested, "Anything on the Dollhouse Strangler?"
Michael shook his head despairingly, "Nothing. He's disappeared and gone completely off the radar, but Hannah hasn't given up on the last victim. She's pushing herself and Malfoy to crack the case."
Harry smiled slightly, "Good. None of us has given up on Sarah. I am confident we will find her." His confidence hung by a very fine thread.
Michael said thoughtfully, "Maybe Thomas was right in assuming that the killer has fallen in love with the victim. It would explain the lack of activity."
Harry frowned, and although he wasn't entirely convinced, he was forced to admit the theory made sense, "Maybe, but we cannot forsake Sarah to such a gruesome fate." They would not abandon her.
Michael nodded vigorously. He was determined, and his tone mirrored his exact feelings, "Definitely." He added with a disgusted leer, "All these mysterious nutters. Where the fuck do they crawl out from?"
Harry stifled a laugh and shrugged, "I wish I knew, Corner."
Michael stopped in front of the glass doors that led to Hermione's office and stared lovingly at Brenda. She was seated at her desk with her hair piled on top of her head and hunched over parchments with a sour expression etched on her otherwise pretty face. From where they stood, they could see she was muttering to herself in frustration.
"Where are you headed?" Harry followed Michael's gaze and queried with an amused expression. Young love, he thought fondly. Even though Corner was his age, the man was only now looking to settle down.
Michael scratched the back of his neck and answered sheepishly, "I need to speak to Brenda. I'll catch up with you later."
Hermione smiled slightly and stared at where Harry and Michael had stood earlier, "Well, that went better than expected." Kingsley leaned back in his chair and looked bemused, "Were you not at the same meeting, Granger?" He grumbled, "They loathe the idea, and we've forced it upon them. I honestly wish we could send someone else." That statement piqued her interest. Hermione sat up straight and offered wholeheartedly, "You can take Hannah off my security detail and assign her to Owen. I daresay she is better than Michael."
Kingsley laughed and wagged a warning finger. "Nice try, but no! I need you alive if we are to beat this threat." Granger was oblivious to how important her position at the Ministry was.
Hermione sank back into the chair and pouted. It was worth a suggestion. Kingsley sighed and confessed with a certain level of importance, "I'm leaving for New York shortly to interrogate the werewolf in their custody. Potter will remain to overlook operations here, and I expect you to watch over everything else."
Hermione grew worried, but she put on a brave face and nodded. She got to her feet and smoothed her new pleated skirt before responding, "Of course. Be safe, Kingsley. It would put my mind at ease if Harry accompanied you. Your life is at significant risk as well."
Kingsley threw his head back in sarcastic laughter. He composed himself when he saw Hermione glaring a sizable hole in his head and quickly responded, "I am more than capable of fending for myself." He plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out a shiny black pistol, kept it carefully on the table and grinned, "Besides, I always keep my gun right next to my wand." Kingsley was a master marksman. Still, it bothered Hermione that their Minister would be travelling without additional Auror protection.
Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Hannah breezed in, munching on a croissant and muttered cheerfully with her mouth full of the flaky, buttery treat, "Good morning, Malfoy."
Draco had returned from Azkaban with his head swirling with unsettling thoughts. Could Griffin's words be true? Would they come for him, and if they did, how would he go about rejecting the offer whilst keeping everyone he held dear safe from persecution? He paid Honeydukes a quick visit. It was a necessary detour.
The shop was closed when he arrived, but he leaned against the purple-painted wall and waited for it to open, which startled the witch tasked with unlocking the shop when he approached her with the intent of buying chocolate at such an early hour. She had eyed him suspiciously but then recognised him as Draco Malfoy from Rita Skeeter's Witch Weekly Magazine interview and grew even more flustered when he handed over a sizable bar of one of their finest blends to purchase.
He had then arrived at the Ministry and gone for a bout of training but excused himself to visit the men's room after an hour of warm-up exercises. His feet had consciously or unconsciously carried him to Hannah's cluttered desk. The guilt of withholding information tore at his insides, and he desperately needed to get it off his chest. He sat down on her chair with his head in his hands and waited for her to arrive.
Temporarily, he avoided eye contact, ran his long fingers through his hair and said solemnly, "I need to confess something."
Hannah raised a sceptical brow and regarded the disturbed man before her carefully, "Should I be sitting down for this?"
Draco didn't bother with an answer but blurted out the truth, "I met Smith this morning."
The severity of his actions dawned on her. Hannah frowned, and her ordinarily calm demeanour cracked, "Ah, and you saw the need to do this without informing me? Why?" She had been kind and welcoming towards him when none of the others hadn't bothered. They treated him worse than a pile of dog shite they had trudged in.
Draco hung his head in shame and responded, "I didn't want to worry you or concern you with my personal problems." He cared about her immensely and did not want to drag her into the seemingly complicated situation. She was one of the only people to treat and regard him as an equal, and if they used or hurt her to get him to bend to their will, he would never be able to forgive himself.
Hannah struggled to swallow the last bite of croissant since it had lost its appeal. She held up her hand to silence him and reprimanded, "First, I am your supervisor, not your sodding girlfriend, and second, I expect complete honesty from my partner." She expected very little, but trust was an absolute necessity. Draco looked away, ashamed of his actions and an awkward stillness surrounded them.
A few miserable seconds passed before he shot to his feet, grabbed Hannah by the shoulders and implored, "I know, and I'm sorry, Abbott. It won't happen again." Hannah could see he was remorseful of his actions. Malfoy had severe trust issues and protective instincts. Taking a deep breath to compose her raging thoughts, Hannah responded, "I will let this one time slide but make sure it doesn't happen again. I stuck my neck out for you, and I deserve some respect."
"Duly noted," Draco said with a curt nod and boyishly handsome smile. He relaxed, let Hannah go, stepped back and stared into her face. She was a genuinely good person. This whole thing had been a horrible misjudgement on his part, and it would be the last time he hid anything work-related from his partner.
Hannah leaned against her desk and quizzed, "Did you at least get some answers?" She wondered who helped him get into Azkaban. It was nearly impossible without a permanent Auror.
Draco gritted out in annoyance, "Not much. A few cryptic questions more than answers. The miscreant is known to me, so I guess I'm reduced to watching my back and looking after those around me." He would never be free of his past or the mistakes committed by his family.
Hannah pursed her lips for a fleeting moment and advised, "Well, make sure you do and report back if any shady business creeps up." She clamped him on the shoulder and reassured him, "You are my partner, Malfoy. I will always have your back." It was a touching moment between two unlikely individuals.
"Likewise," Draco replied without hesitation. Speaking of those around him, he averted his gaze, cleared his throat and raised a question offhandedly, "Erm, how is Granger? Where is she?"
Hannah punched his arm playfully and chuckled, "Hermione is fine. She's with the Minister at the moment." Her answer appeased him. He shot her a cheeky smile and turned on his heel to leave, "Good. I need to return to training before Audrey launches a search party."
Hannah doubled over with laughter and replied through the compelling giggles, "Yeah, go on! Get out of here before she has a bloody heart attack." Audrey was not a woman to be trifled with; even the arrogant and intimidating Thomas treated her with kid's gloves, but there was a whole other reason for that.
Draco jogged away but turned around mid-jog and yelled, "Abbott?" Half the DMLE turned his way and stared at him oddly. They couldn't fathom what the fuss was about but were curious enough to stop what they were doing to spy on the interaction between the young Aurors.
Hannah rolled her eyes and cried out in reply for all to hear, "What?"
"Catch!" Draco shouted and threw a gold paper-wrapped chocolate bar at her. She caught it with ease and grinned broadly, "Did you think you could bribe me with one of Honeydukes best chocolate bars?" He most certainly could.
Draco winked, "Undoubtedly!" His father would be appalled by his brazen behaviour.
Hannah shouted at the top of her voice, resulting in a few bystanders frowning at her word choice, "Arse!" And followed up with a loud, "Malfoy!?" Before he left the department entirely. Draco abruptly halted and raised an amused brow in question, "Yes?"
Hannah hurriedly tore the expensive wrapper, took a hearty bite and almost moaned. It was so bloody tasty. She waved the chocolate bar in the air and grinned, "I forgive you!" The other Aurors in the vicinity shot them truly perplexed looks and wondered about the level of intimacy behind their friendship.
Draco waved his hand dismissively and with a final, "See you later, partner." He exited the DMLE and headed straight to training.
Michael pushed open the door prompting Brenda to look up suddenly. He greeted her enthusiastically, " Hello, my darling."
Brenda leapt out of her seat, surrounded him with warmth, and gushed, "Michael, I've missed so much.”
Michael held on tight, never wanting to let go and breathed in her sweet, scented hair. It smelled faintly of coconuts, "Let me hold you. I love you so much."
"I love you too," Brenda returned his affections without a single second of hesitation. She cupped his face and kissed him fervently.
Michael muttered bitterly between heated kisses, "I've been reassigned."
Brenda broke free from the embrace, much to Michael's disappointment. She looked at him squarely and implored, "What's the matter? You don't seem too happy about your new assignment." That was putting it mildly. Michael sighed and explained resentfully, "I will be spending a considerable amount of time in Muggle London."
"I don't follow," Brenda furrowed her brows and cocked her head to the side in confusion.
Michael exhaled to compose himself and elucidated, "I have been assigned to the Muggle Prime Minister's security detail, thanks largely to your boss." The last words slipped out. He hadn't intended to sound nasty and miserable.
Brenda held Hermione in the highest regard and made her thoughts abundantly clear, "If Hermione was the one who suggested it, then it's obviously important." She grew thoughtful and concerned, "Will you be safe?" Brenda was all too aware of the risks and heartaches of being involved with an Auror. Whenever Michael was sent on a mission, she hardly slept a wink and was constantly on pins and needles awaiting his return.
Michael should have known better than to complain about Hermione. He answered his girlfriend's imploring question humorlessly, "I can never give you a straight answer for that question, darling, but don't worry, I'll be reporting to the DMLE each day."
Gathering her inner strength, Brenda stroked her boyfriend's cheek and reminded, "Do you remember when you first asked me out? You were so nervous because of the difference in our age."
Michael couldn't help but smile. He had been so worried about being ridiculed that he had almost given up on pursuing a relationship with Brenda. Thank Merlin he had the good sense to dismiss such absurd thoughts, "I vividly recall, but it doesn't matter anymore because I'm crazy about you."
Brenda nodded and smiled warmly, "Like the awkwardness in our early days, this too shall pass, and we can move on with our lives, Michael."
"You are far more mature than me, my darling," Michael muttered after gathering her in his arms. He was grateful that she had changed her hair colour from red to vibrant shades of blue. She resembled a beautiful nymph.
Brenda asked eagerly, "Can we have dinner together?" They hadn't shared a meal in a while and tonight seemed ideal to let the stress they were feeling just melt away.
Michael gently ran his fingers through her hair and promised, "I wouldn't miss it for the world. I'll try to make it home early." He would slip off unnoticed and take a well-deserved night off.
Brenda kissed him lightly, and he leaned into her tender caresses, "I'll be waiting for you."
Berlin, Germany
"How much is that vase?" Bernard inquired in admiration. The antique vase was exquisite and one that Narcissa would thoroughly appreciate. He loved to comb the streets when he visited foreign lands on business, and over the years, he had acquired some rather exclusive items for Narcissa to add to her vast collection. A collection Lucius started.
The antique store he frequented in Berlin, Germany, was a sight to behold. It wasn't well known among the wizarding populace because the proprietor catered to wizards and muggles alike, operating two different fronts to suit his mixed clientele. However, the man who ran the shop housed some rare gems that were considered priceless. Bernard's fascination with ancient artefacts was a newly obtained passion learnt from Narcissa.
An unusual armour of sorts covered in a thick layer of dust hung in the background and nearly out of sight. It offered adequate chest protection and came complete with a wand holder, and it was evident to the trained eye that it was crafted from the finest dragon skin.
Bernard narrowed his eyes in scrutiny and pointed to the back, "I would like to look at that armour."
"Yes, of course, sir. It is made out of the toughest dragon skin. A Hungarian Horntail that perished of old age. No blood was spilt to make this, and it is rumoured the magnificent beast lived to be over a hundred." He enlightened, hoping to impress and secure a sale. It was a common fact that the skin grew leathery and stronger with each passing year and, depending on the age, made the skin nearly impenetrable.
The dealer was thrilled that someone showed an interest in the remarkable piece. It had cost him a fortune to buy, and he hadn't hesitated, thinking it was a smart purchase that would turn a handsome profit but unfortunately, no one seemed interested in the protective wear. It hung in his store for years collecting dust and eating away at his profits.
He fetched it, blew the dust off and placed it gingerly on the glass-topped table. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" He raved.
Bernard was inclined to agree, "Indeed. How much? I hope you’re aware, I expect a hefty discount." The shiny scales that tightly overlapped were luminescent but rough to the touch. It was in immaculate condition, and Bernard knew Draco would genuinely appreciate and benefit from it, considering his career path.
The shop owner recited off the top of his head, "The vase is ten thousand Euros, and the armour is six thousand Euros. I will throw in a handsome pair of gloves to match free of charge."
Bernard studied the armour and smirked. He wouldn't pay the asking price and was known to be a keen bargainer, "I'll give you eight thousand Euros for the vase and five thousand Euros for the dragon skin armour."
The man shook his head vigorously, causing his double chin to wobble, "No! Herr Bernard, that is impossible."
Bernard sighed in faux disappointment, kept the gloves back on the table and smiled politely, "I see we won't come to an agreement today. Thank you for your time. I will see myself out." He purposely turned away from the stunned owner and almost walked out of the shop. It was a tactic that worked multiple times. A deep guttural voice made him stop, "You are a hard man to say no to, sir."
With a triumphant grin, Bernard counted a stack of bills he took out of the breast pocket of his jacket and neatly handed them over to the shopkeeper, who beamed and counted the crisp bills while his assistant packed the items with care. He said with a grateful smile, "Pleasure doing business with you, Herr Bernard."
"Likewise. I am most pleased with my purchases." Bernard answered back with a happy smile that emphasised his dimples.
The man bowed respectfully, "Good day, sir. We hope to see you again soon." Bernard walked out and got into the waiting car to take him back to the hotel before Portkeying back to London. His business matters were complete. They had weaselled out the unscrupulous employee who swindled a sizable fortune from the company and handed him over to the authorities. He hadn't been gone long, but he missed Narcissa terribly.
Two days later.
Over the next few days, Draco and Hermione hardly saw each other except in passing when they would stare at each other and be unable to look away for a few fleeting moments. She would at times see him during the odd instances he dropped by to have a quick word with Hannah about the Dollhouse Strangler. He had been tasked with going over the pictures and evidence with the hope of getting a new perspective on the case. They would exchange meaningful glances if Hermione happened across them, but generally, their respective jobs kept them constantly busy and apart.
Hermione came to the shuddering conclusion that she missed him and his impromptu visits to her office. Malfoy was still an enigma she struggled to understand. If you took away the unpleasantness of their youth, she could see herself with him. He offered her a challenge, disregarded her Golden girl status and treated her like an ordinary, flawed human being. Still, unfortunately, he was Draco Lucius Malfoy, although she craved his company among more pleasurable things.
On a particular instance across the crowded cafeteria, she witnessed the visiting French Auror Michelle doing her utmost to spark an interest in him by using whatever she had at her disposal. Still, shockingly Malfoy seemed immune to her charms. He smiled politely, grabbed his sandwich, neatly sidestepped her wandering hands and disappeared while Hannah scoffed and took a large bite off her sandwich, "That woman is a pill. She just won't take no for an answer." Michelle’s unashamed refusal to acknowledge Draco’s lack of interest in her was pitiful and quite frankly disturbing on some level.
Hermione delicately popped a crisp into her mouth and interrogated casually, "Oh, so Malfoy has no interest in Michelle? Not that it's any of my business."
Hannah regarded the semi-blushing Undersecretary and smirked, "You really are in denial over your feelings for him, aren't you?"
Snappishly, Hermione stuffed her mouth with crisps and scowled, "I was just curious. I have no such feelings for Malfoy."
Hannah dabbed the corners of her mouth with a serviette. She snorted, "I'll admit Michelle is an attractive, talented woman, but unlike the others, Malfoy is unattainable, but I daresay that makes him more desirable. You know, like forbidden fruit or whatever."
Hermione grimaced at the comparison but smiled and ate her lunch in silence. Her treacherous mind sang its delight at his blatant rejection of the desirable French woman. She also heard Hannah constantly on the phone with him. "Yes, Malfoy? Nothing has changed since the last time you called. We are fine, and Granger is completely safe." There was a distinguishable edge to Hannah’s tone of voice.
Hilarious circumstances happened when they visited the lady's room. While relieving herself, she heard running water and Hannah's unmistakable voice laced with annoyance, “Will you stop being a bloody pain in my arse? I'm going to block your number if you keep pestering me. She is alive and well, you bloody idiot. If she dies, I promise, you'll be the first to know." Hannah had hung up and followed it up with a slew of curses in frustration. Hermione pulled up her knickers and couldn't help but smile and ponder. Did he genuinely care about her well-being, or was he simply taking his job too seriously?
Their time apart wasn't due to her gruelling schedule but mostly his. The Auror trails were drawing close, and much was yet to be learned and fulfilled. Draco had little time to focus on anything else. He was sent more frequently on raids, patrols and field assignments after Harry read Hannah's detailed report and heard firsthand from Michael about his successful first attempt than the others in his batch. It was also imperative that he performed well under pressure and handled situations tactfully with minimum damage.
Emily missed him and his valuable input terribly. Still, she was busy preparing and mastering spells they had learned for the upcoming trials in less than three weeks.
It was Friday, and Hermione drummed her fingernails on the desk and let boredom settle in. Her meetings were done for the day, mountains of paperwork were signed and filed, and she had entertained a fair share of disgruntled wizards and witches with various problems, but it was far too early to head home. Kingsley was still in New York, and due back soon, Harry and his team were scouring the streets to find out more about the mysterious leader. They had tons of witnesses and snitches placed by the Ministry, but not a soul knew the so-called Alpha King's true identity.
She repeated in deep thought, "The man used to be a wizard but is now a werewolf." It was mind-boggling, to say the least. Hermione was confident it was a Death Eater who escaped imprisonment, and there was only one that came to mind. Antonin Dolohov was the man who ended Remus Lupin's life, but they had no hard evidence that he was this proclaimed king. It was long since speculated that the notorious man had died but could it be? Whoever it was had sowed the seeds of discord well.
Hermione heard Hannah and Brenda laughing and decided to check out the commotion. Merlin knew she needed a distraction. She got to her feet, slipped into her stylish new heels and strode out. The two women played a lively game of Exploding Snap, and Brenda was losing rather badly. She used colourful words to express her bitter disappointment and slammed the remaining cards on the table.
Hannah gathered the scattered cards and chuckled, "Lighten up, love. You can win the next round."
Brenda crossed her arms over her chest, sank into the chair and sulked, "I've lost the last four fucking games."
Hannah shuffled the deck of cards without the aid of magic and teased, "Language, Miss Moore. Soon to be Corner." That bit of news was new. Hermione raised a quizzical brow, "Has he popped the question yet?" She hoped that Brenda would confide in her before anyone else when he did.
Brenda shook her head and answered, "No, and I would rather wait another year until all this shit goes away to settle down." Sitting at home alone, wondering whether her husband would return in one or multiple pieces, gave her constant nightmares. Despite Michael calling her mature, she knew there was a lot more growing up she needed to do before walking down the aisle.
Hannah dealt the cards and requested meekly, "Has he been to see Terry?" Hermione stiffened at the mention of a man who declared his love the last time they met.
Brenda glanced at Hermione anxiously and responded, "Yeah, a couple of times. Michael said he's doing okay. Listening for once, and he’s taken to reading."
Hannah raised a sceptical brow, "Reading? I've never seen Boot read." She turned to her ex Hogwarts friend and consulted, "Have you, Hermione?" The woman would know if Terry was a closet bookworm considering she spent more time in the Hogwarts library than in the Gryffindor common room.
Hermione grew thoughtful and tried to recall an instance where she saw Terry in the library, but it evaded her completely. She shrugged in reply, "No, I can't say that I have. Michael was the more studious one, but both were quite good at potions." She cleared her throat and hesitated before adding, "I've been meaning to visit him."
"Umm, do you think that's wise?" Brenda asked in concern. She didn't think it was wise to poke the bear, and sometimes Hermione lacked subtly in handling delicate matters.
Undeterred by the looks she received, Hermione insisted, "Probably not, but I'm going to anyway. I care about him." She honestly did care about him. Her feelings for Terry Boot were strictly platonic, and she desperately wanted to salvage that part of their relationship.
Hannah weighed in, "He might not take the gesture kindly, Granger." Hermione brushed aside the advice, "Terry would never hurt me." However, Hannah wasn't easily discouraged, "I hope I won't be considered presumptuous if I offer some advice." She knew Terry better than Hermione and made her thoughts abundantly clear, "He won't hurt you in the right state of mind, but at present, he's struggling." She wasn't keen on Hermione adding her rejection of him to his suffering.
Eager to stir the conversation away from the current topic, Hermione directed her next question at Brenda, "By the way, how is Michael handling his new assignment?" The introduction had gone smoothly. Michael had been somewhat polite, Evan had been grudgingly welcoming, and the Prime Minister was immensely relieved.
Brenda faked a smile, kept Michael's true feelings on the matter to herself and answered, "Well enough, I suppose. Although, he feels like it's a monumental waste of his time." He had complained all night about how utterly useless the Muggle Prime Minister appeared to be with his unhealthy obsession with drinking coffee. She had shut him up by undressing him slowly and taking his cock in her inviting mouth.
Hannah chuckled and included on cue, "He thinks the Prime Minister's a certifiable idiot, but shockingly he likes Evan. I think they get along quite well. They were having lunch together the last time we spoke." Michael called her mostly when he wanted to vent. During Terry's absence, she had taken his place as the indispensable best mate.
Hermione said without much thought, "Well, to be fair, Evan is quite likeable. He's intelligent, charming and witty when he wants to be." Brenda looked utterly bemused by her boss's favourable words regarding the MI5 agent, and Hannah winked knowingly, "Of course he is."
"Oh, shut it, Hannah," Hermione scolded and walked past them with one specific destination in mind. At that exact moment, she impromptu decided to overlook a training session of the new set of Aurors. It would be a productive yet enjoyable way to pass the time. Hannah got to her feet, fixed her ponytail, adjusted her Auror robes and raised in interest, "So, umm, are we heading out?"
Hermione smiled innocently and offered no descriptive details for fear of ridicule, "Follow me." Soon enough, Hannah would figure out their destination and poke fun at her mercilessly. They exited the executive floor and waited patiently for the old lift to appear. It didn't take long for the rickety shaft to arrive and open its ancient doors. Stepping in first, Hermione reached over and pressed the button to a floor Hannah knew intimately. Instantly, Hannah stifled a laugh and probed with a raised brow and expressive smirk, "The DMLE?" She couldn't help but ask with a smug expression, "Missing a certain someone?" Malfoy had not been around much in the last two days, and clearly, his absence was affecting Hermione, though she would never openly admit it.
Hermione denied any accusation that she was even thinking about Malfoy, "Absolutely not! Perhaps I want to meet Harry." It was a poor attempt to divert the conversation and throw Hannah off.
They arrived at their desired floor. Hannah held the lift doors open for Hermione to walk through first and followed her out with a distinctive roll of her eyes, "Right. Potter is away, as you very well know." They walked down the narrow corridor, and with each step, her smile widened into a satisfied grin. She pointed ahead and bluntly declared, "And you’re heading towards the training hall."
Glancing over her shoulder, Hermione caught sight of Hannah’s amused expression. She shrugged casually and acknowledged innocently, "What? I drop in sometimes to have a chat with Audrey." She popped in from time to time to check on the proceedings even though it wasn't mandatory for her to sit in on the classes, but no one besides Audrey would dare question her actions.
Hannah walked alongside and smiled, "Your secrets are safe with me, love. As your good friend and bodyguard, I am duty-bound to take them to the grave." Hermione couldn't help but giggle at the honest statement.
They walked in companionable silence until Hannah thought it best to inform Hermione of Malfoy's hidden affections, "You know, he is quite taken with you and remarkably gifted. His abilities are far above an average wizard. I've hardly ever seen anything like it." From her tone, it was abundantly clear that she was impressed.
Hermione stiffened and quickened her step. She sighed in defeat and enlightened her companion, "I know he's talented, but I'm not happy about this match, Hannah. Even though we have the odd physical entanglement now and then, it does not erase the crude comments that spewed out of his mouth in Hogwarts."
Hannah bobbed her head in understanding, but she felt compelled to defend her partner, "I know, but he's changed, Granger."
Hermione scoffed, "I'm not wholly convinced that he has." It was the truth. A considerable, perhaps overly cautious part of her believed Malfoy to be acting.
Hannah nudged her with a devilish smirk, "Does he know about Evan? I know he's very aware of Terry."
Hermione became significantly cagey with her answer, "No! Besides, there's nothing to know. It was before him, and well, I owe Draco nothing. He is not my boyfriend!" If she honestly believed her bold words, why did an overwhelming sense of guilt wash over her?
Having accomplished what she set out to do, Hannah retorted smugly, "Don't bite my head off. It was just a question. Absolutely nothing to get so defensive over."
"I am not getting defensive," Hermione hissed with her hands on her hips. Unconsciously she had stopped right in front of the training hall. Hannah looked up, read the sign and cautioned, "Oh, look, we've arrived. I doubt Audrey will appreciate a grand entrance."
Hermione couldn't agree more. She nodded in and offered a more delicate approach, "Duly noted. Let's sneak in and observe the proceedings." They heard Audrey's carrying voice yelling at someone and calling them a muttonhead. Suddenly, Hermione had second thoughts about the whole thing. Judging by Audrey's tone, she seemed to be in a vile mood.
She looked to Hannah for guidance and said meekly, "Maybe we should come back at a more suitable time."
Hannah grabbed her by her arm and firmly pulled her towards the door, "Don't be a bloody wuss, Granger. We came all this way to see Malfoy, so come on."
Hermione tried to break free from Hannah's grasp and insisted, "We didn't come to see Malfoy. I'm keen about how the recruits are faring."
Hannah quipped, "Yeah, and pigs can fly. You're an appalling liar, Hermione. I'm sure you've heard that before."
She had, and more times than she could count. They snuck into the class thankfully undetected and watched the proceedings from the shadows of the last row of seats with an eager and critical eye. Most were promising, but some didn't match her standards, and then there was Malfoy. Despite herself, Hermione was incredibly impressed by Draco's performance. Initially, she had watched the others, but as the minutes ticked on, she gave her full attention to the six-foot-two, platinum blonde accomplishing each task with remarkable ease.
Audrey praised and then instructed, "Good job, everyone. Johnson, you need to move faster, Creevy, nice form. Let's move on to Patronuses." There was a distinct groan from the recruits, but a stern glare from Audrey was all it took to shut them up and snap to attention, "I know some of you have been struggling to produce a Corporeal Patronus, but I'm confident with more practice you will be ready to face the trials." She turned to Draco, beamed and invited, "If you would, Mr Malfoy." Hermione leaned forward and watched intently. She was on the edge of her seat in anticipation. Hannah enjoyed Hermione's reactions to Malfoy casting flawless spells. She doubted the headstrong woman noticed the ohs and ah's that unconsciously left her lips.
Draco strode forward with confidence, Emily gave him an encouraging thumbs-up, and Dennis glared and sarcastically commented about being the teacher's pet. Draco ignored the leering of the group of men and made his way to the middle of the training mat. His larger-than-life Patronus required space to breathe. He twirled his wand between his fingers and felt the magic that flowed through him come forth to answer his bidding.
Closing his eyes, he stood perfectly still, channelled his positive emotions and concentrated hard on the happiest memory. Not surprisingly, Granger's infectious laughter rang through his head. His lips curved to form a sly yet endearing smile as he settled on the day he slipped the engagement ring on her finger, and as the memory took precedence, the correct incantation rolled off his tongue, “Expecto Patronum.” A fully-fledged mighty dragon Patronus shot out of his wand and soared high and close to the ceiling before coming to his side. The class had seen it before, but it never ceased to amaze them. It was translucently beautiful and menacing at the same time. It hovered over Draco with its wings spread protectively and disappeared in a wisp of silvery mist.
Audrey gushed, "Well, clearly, you will have no problem with this area of the trial examination." Hermione couldn't contain herself. The stunning Patronus had a profound impact on her.
She vividly recalled doing extensive research into different meanings of Patronuses and why they differed from person to person after Harry produced the legendary stag Patronus that saved them from the Dementors in their third year. The dragon Patronus was considered rare and represented an inner element, one that was prominent. The element could vary, but often it was fire.
If Malfoy were skilled in elemental magic, he would be able to wield fire with remarkable ease. Now wouldn't that be a sight to behold? Hermione thought excitedly and remembered how he had glowed when Narcissa collapsed. Could it be that Malfoy possessed a power unknown to him?
Strong passion and ambition burned within such a person, and fury like no other rested within them. The description clawed its way to the surface from the archives of her memory and thoroughly excited her. Each word embodied him.
Hermione rose from her seat in the shadows and clapped loudly in admiration. She was curious about what happy thought he resorted to when producing a Patronus. It was widely known that branded Death Eaters could not perform a Corporeal Patronus charm since they had no happy memories to resort to, but that theory was inaccurate. Hannah sank lower into her seat and wished she could silently disappear, but unfortunately, she couldn't.
Curious eyes turned to face Hermione, but she was obscured by the dim light that fell at the back of the hall. Draco narrowed his eyes and tried to get a glimpse of the uninvited person among them. Most of the trainees muttered and gossiped among themselves.
Audrey felt her patience slip. She took out her wand and pointed it at the shadows, "We have little time for games. Show yourself." Hannah paled, pulled out her wand and readied herself for the unlikely instance she needed to deflect a spell. Hermione ignored the warning and descended the stairs gracefully. Her heels clicked against the wood floor purposely, and she continued to clap in slow motion as she came down. Once she was within earshot and visible to all these present, she marched up to Draco and complimented, "Impressive, Malfoy."
His palms turned sweaty. She was the last person he expected to see but gathering his hanging jaw off the floor, he maintained a high level of professionalism and bowed to show the respect she deserved and responded appropriately, "Thank you, Madam Undersecretary."
Audrey made her presence known, "Hermione, what brings you by? And why were Abbott and you spying on my class in the name of Merlin?" Hannah rushed into explanation and defended, "We were not spying. Hermione was curious about how the newbies were fairing."
"I was speaking to Hermione, Hannah. If I want your opinion, I'll ask for it," Audrey said in irritation. She didn't take lightly having her class disrupted. Hannah frowned and opened her mouth to hurl a nasty retort, but Hermione spoke diplomatically on their behalf, "I do apologise for the rude interruption, but Hannah is right. I was curious to see if everyone is ready to face their examinations."
She smiled sweetly at Audrey and hoped her following answer would appease the peeved-off woman, "I thought you could help me brush up on my defensive spells." Audrey almost laughed out loud at the attempt to get into her good graces. She replied swiftly, "If I recall, you were quite talented in that area, but you are welcome to observe, Hermione."
Draco watched the situation unravel with intense fascination. Granger had come to him. The second he withdrew, albeit not intentionally, she had sought him out, and something was unusually alluring about her actions. Hannah threw him an amused look and rolled her eyes for further effect.
Hermione closed the distance between Malfoy and her and circled him while he stood remarkably still with a perplexed look plastered onto his face. What in the name of Salazar Slytherin was she playing at? The dormant snake in him stirred, wanting to be let out to play. Still, she silently moved around him, sizing him up and contemplating her next course of action. Did he have to look so devastatingly attractive in the standard Auror uniform?
Draco watched her movements intently, as did the others gathered around him. Emily watched on curiously and was slightly afraid for him, but Dennis and his friends openly showed their delight at the scrutiny. Hermione twirled her wand, causing harmless sparks to fly out the end and abruptly fired question after question at Draco. The sound of her stiletto heels clicking against the polished floors entwined with her voice and filled the space.
She demanded, "How are you with deflecting spells?"
Draco crossed his arms over his chest and answered swiftly, "Quite adept, Madam Undersecretary."
Hermione bit her bottom lip and cross-examined, "What about protective spells?"
Draco smirked smugly, "Exemplary." He included in a sarcastic undertone, “I am capable of producing an adequate shield charm.”
Hermione stopped twirling her wand but continued to walk around him and regarded his form with amusement, "I see."
She stopped in front of him, held her head high and smiled devilishly. Draco raised a brow to wordlessly question her bizarre behaviour, but Hermione ignored him and challenged, "I, Hermione Jean Granger, challenge you, Draco Lucius Malfoy, to a one spell duel."
Pindrop silence ensued. Draco stared at his betrothed in a dazed state of utter shock that made him glance at Audrey for answers, much like a small boy looking to the strict teacher for guidance. The older woman was transfixed on Granger's form, oddly enough, with a slight smile. Hannah sighed at the unprecedented turn of events and massaged the bridge of her nose in exasperation while the recruits stood perfectly still and hungrily anticipated what would happen next.
Audrey found her voice first, and she stressed, "What?" She couldn’t help but wonder if Granger was intoxicated or what reason prompted such reckless conduct.
Hermione answered her question with a firm response, "What?" It wasn't unheard of. Their final trials included a duel with a fellow, more experienced Auror who wasn't their partner. If anything, she was giving Malfoy an unfair edge over the rest of the recruits.
"What the fuck?" Draco finally found his voice and shot back in his sultry voice of rugged steel. He seemed far from pleased. He had not banked on duelling his fiancé as part of the Auror curriculum.
Audrey berated most severely, "Language, Mr Malfoy. I will not have you disrespect our Undersecretary." She would tolerate the mild use of profanity but not directed at higher-ranking officials. After all, Malfoy was still nothing more than a trainee, a gifted recruit without a shadow of a doubt, but it would not do to cross that fine line despite their relationship off Ministry grounds.
Hermione leaned in closer, let the tip of her wand dig into the underside of his jaw and drawled huskily, "Do you accept?" His strong cologne encompassed her, and she felt herself lean into the masculine fragrance. Everyone, including Hannah and Audrey, was on pins and needles awaiting Draco’s answer. He was a proud man and could be counted on to accept such a frivolous request.
Draco ignored the many spectators and his supervisor's strict warning. His hand snaked around Hermione's waist letting his fingers dig into her skin over the material of her cotton blouse. He pulled her closer and whispered so only she could hear, "I accept. To the victor go the spoils." His husky tones caressed the shell of her ear, causing her eyes to close and resolve to crumble momentarily. God's, he smelt sinfully divine. He held her close to him and continued to speak, "You smell intoxicating. I meant to stop by and speak with you, but I've hardly seen my bed over the last two days. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Malfoy. You needn't worry yourself over my well-being," Hermione snapped back to reality. She pushed him away and shied away from his public displays of affection even though he held on tight and blatantly refused to let go. She had vastly misjudged the situation and wished she had gone home instead.
Appalled by the outrageous behaviour, Audrey yelled in utter disbelief, "Mr Malfoy, unhand her this instant. She might be your fiancé, but she is the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic in this room, and you will treat her with the utmost respect." Another murmur of scandalous comments travelled through the room. Most of the men among the trainees were taken aback by the simple yet earth-shattering revelation.
Draco reluctantly let Hermione go with a satisfied smirk and apologised profusely, "My apologies, Miss Audrey." His lips curved to form an almost indecent smile before addressing Hermione, "Please forgive my behaviour, Madam Undersecretary. Your enchanting presence causes my mind to go blank and unfavourable thoughts to cloud my judgement."
Audrey frowned at the brazen comment, and Hannah rolled her eyes and shook her head slowly, "For Merlin's sake."
Hermione smiled almost innocently, "Your apology is accepted, Mr Malfoy."
Draco cracked his knuckles, moved his neck in a circular motion to loosen the built-up tension and mused, "Are you sure about this, Granger?"
"Your overconfidence will be your downfall, Malfoy," she retorted calmly and proceeded to do a few light warmup exercises to loosen some rarely used muscles.
Draco pointed to the crowd staring at them intently and quipped, "I don't want to embarrass you in front of all these people." Hermione piled her hair into an unruly large bun on top of her head, letting a few roguish strands hug her face and grinned, "Do your worst, Malfoy. You forget Mad-Eye Moody taught us some valuable lessons before he passed." They turned their backs on each other and proceeded to take the customary ten steps before facing each other once again to start the duel. Audrey threw Hermione a look of caution as the young witch took measured steps away from Malfoy.
Malfoy was her most promising student. Still, Hermione didn't seem bothered by his skills. Instead, she brushed it off and stood at the other end on slightly parted high-heeled feet, watching Draco’s every move like a lioness stalking its prey. A fire was burning within her brown eyes, informing him that she wasn’t to be toyed with. It all happened in a split second.
Without prior warning, Draco wiped his trusty wand over his head and, for the sake of the many assembled observers, bellowed, "Expelliarmus!" It wasn't required, but he decided to make a spectacle out of the moment.
Hermione anticipated the spell he would use. She was undoubtedly sure; that he wouldn't use anything drastic for fear of harming her. This was a one-spell duel, and he had wasted his chance of gaining a significant advantage. With one poorly chosen incantation, he had already lost.
She saw the red streak of light coming towards her at lightspeed. Undeterred, she smiled. As the spell was inches from colliding with her body, she bent backwards gracefully, flattening herself entirely to the ground to avoid being hit, before raising the hand equipped with her wand and shooting a spell at an utterly flabbergasted, momentarily stunned Draco Malfoy.
"Incarcerous," Hermione whispered, and it was uttered so quietly that most would have thought she was adept at using wandless magic.
Her bun came loose, sending her wild mess of curls flying in every direction. The Incarcerous spell conjured thick ropes from seemingly thin air and tangled themselves around Draco, who hadn't had the time to move out of harm's way though he saw the ropes approach his person. He spun through the air, crashed into a row of chairs and landed a few feet away from the mat.
The spell packed quite a punch, and the ropes tightened around his torso, pinning his wand hand to his side, rendering him completely useless. He groaned and struggled in vain to escape the ropes' incessant grasp. Hannah's mouth fell agape. She was trying hard not to laugh and failing miserably. Malfoy's flabbergasted reaction to Hermione's flexibility was priceless.
There was a brief moment of awkward silence while everyone struggled to grasp what happened, but a round of thunderous applause followed. Draco attempted to stand, but his imposing frame toppled unceremoniously with an audible thud. He heard the distinct yet familiar sound of heels approaching and a figure with a smug expression looming over him with hands on her slender hips and hair falling over her face while he thrashed about like a fish out of water.
"To the victor go the spoils," Hermione reminded him triumphantly and rasped, "I will hold you to that, Malfoy. Make no mistake." There was no remorse or signs of regret in her tone or behaviour.
Audrey strode over and patted Hermione heartily on the back, "Nicely done, Granger. You haven't lost your touch."
She smirked at Draco, still tossing and twisting in discomfort on the cold hard floor, with a smidge of disappointment but did nothing to help him out of his dilemma.
Hermione smiled and smoothed her trousers, "I haven't had fun like that in a while." She eyed the man struggling on the floor for a few more measly seconds and expertly moved her wand over him, causing the ropes to disappear, allowing him space to move freely. A steady trickle of blood ran down his arm from where the cord had cut into his flesh.
Her eyes caught sight of the blood, and she flinched. Hermione hadn't meant for things to go far, but a duel was a duel, and she had drawn first blood and emerged victoriously. Draco would be lying to himself if he said his ego wasn't dented, but more importantly, when had Granger transformed from a graceless twat into a flexible Goddess? She was exceptionally… bendy.
He managed to get to his feet in time to catch a glimpse of Hermione walking out of the hall without a backwards glance with her head held high and sashaying those delectable hips. At the same time, Hannah dutifully trailed behind with an entertained expression.
An embarrassed blush crept up his pale cheeks, and he rubbed his neck where the rope cut into the sensitive expanse of his pale flesh, leaving an angry red mark for everyone to see—a mark of defeat from an incredibly capable witch.
Dennis Creevy leered, "Pathetic." Draco flinched but largely ignored the taunting remarks and went back to training. Their little jokes hardly affected him.
Audrey clapped her hands loudly to get everyone's attention, "Well, now that we've had our fair share of drama for the day, let's go back to more important things like conjuring a fully-fledged Patronus."
Club Sanguis
The shrouded man adorned his Chimera mask embedded with blood rubies and strode confidently into the club wearing a newly acquired grey suit and shorter haircut. It was not uncommon for patrons to wear masks while frequenting the club. It helped keep their identity a mystery from wagging tongues. Some individuals could not afford to be caught in a gambling den despite the high status of the establishment. Resting in his breast pocket was a new wand gifted to him by Julius Avery. It was the ultimate show of goodwill and loyalty, but he refrained from using it until he was ready to reveal his true self to the world.
He entered the bowels of the exclusive club flanked by Gregory Goyle and Graham Montague. More than a club, it was an elite organisation of the finest wizarding families and prominent, influential members of society. Luxuriously embroidered gold and red draperies hung from the ceiling down to the floor while tables to suit every gambler's fantasy were positioned strategically from each other.
The area was carpeted in the grandest Persian materials. Smartly dressed witches and wizards circled the guests catering to their every whim and serving complimentary champagne of the highest quality to their esteemed guests. Many lounged in their seats with piles of Galleons, Sickles and Knuts stacked before them. The stakes were always high at club Sanguis.
They passed the more refined surroundings of elegantly dressed socialites boasting finery and precious jewels. Most acknowledged Goyle and Montague but nearly all hurled sceptical and judgmental glances at the masked man standing among them with an arrogant air of confidence.
Dressed in the finest black dress robes, Julius came forward with a broad welcoming smile, slicked-back hair and authoritative demeanour, but he cowered in the Master's presence. Julius's companion for the night, a lovely well-groomed witch, smiled nervously and disappeared. She was known to all and joined a lively game of Blackjack at a table nearby.
"My Lord, please follow me," Julius bowed respectfully and gestured with his hand. The Master visited the club often and took an avid interest in the notoriously renowned underground fight club. A single word wasn't exchanged as Julius led the illustrious group of well-dressed men across the length of the massive hall and into the darkness of the more undesirable side of Sanguis. The club's name was a stroke of genius. The Latin word loosely translated into blood and carnage. Not everyone was privileged to witness the brutality that occurred in the shadows.
The sturdy protectors standing guard over the only entrance with their arms crossed over their defined pectoral muscles snapped to attention at the approaching group. Julius waved his hand wordlessly, dismissing them to the side, pulled out his wand and uttered a single entry word. Each day the password changed, and those who deserved to know were informed through a sealed letter that appeared on their doorstep each morning. It was enchanted, so only the member could see its true intent. To others, it seemed to be a Muggle leaflet spreading useless propaganda.
Pushing the heavy metal door open, Julius stepped aside and let his Master enter first, followed closely by Goyle and Montague. What greeted them was a steel cage large enough to accommodate a pair of giants, and the spacious arena was filled with what looked remarkably like soft pearls of sea sand. A loud uproar of cheers filled the air as the spectators cheered on their favourite combatants. Their dignity forgotten, they tossed Galleons in the air and thundered jubilantly as the contestants continued to attack each other with severe blows. It was predominantly male, but a few witches yelled at the fighters and relished in the brutal act of flesh colliding with flesh.
The use of cocaine was abundant and plain to see. Nearly every table had neat strips laid out for consumption, which caused the Alpha King to frown deeply. He did not encourage the use of drugs and had little patience for those who partook. He never indulged in illegal Muggle substances, even as a wizard. There was no predicting the aftereffects of such a potent drug. Julius sensed his Master's disapproval and made a serious mental note to restrict the use of drugs on his premises. He needed the Master's unwavering support to accomplish his ultimate goal and would do anything to achieve it.
Julius led the quiet but observant leader up a flight of stairs into a carpeted, glass-enclosed VIP section and offered the masked man the most prestigious seat in the house. They were served the finest scotch and treated like visiting royalty. The Alpha King was impressed by his surroundings but more so by the fighting taking place in the arena. The two massive beasts battled incessantly, snarling and throwing each other against the metal bars making it rattle and threaten to come loose. The deafening growls and groans of the competitors surrounded them, and his inner wolf ached to be let free to compete. It had been a while since he indulged in one-on-one, hand-to-hand combat without the aid of magic. It was exhilarating to take a life using one's bare hands.
Tonight's unlucky competitors were a dimwitted green-tinged troll and a half-giant with bulging biceps, a long beard, and a braided ponytail. The troll stumbled as a powerful uppercut from the half-giant caught him by surprise. He spat out a mouthful of blood and swung his hands maddeningly, hoping to make contact, but his opponent was quick on his feet and landed a devastating blow to the head, sending the troll straight to the floor.
There was a hiss of disapproval from the spectators that bid good money on him to win, but he paled in comparison to the sheer strength demonstrated by his opponent. He lay unconscious in a pool of his blood while the half-giant celebrated his victory by pounding his chest and yelling incoherent words that sounded distinctively Russian. He wasn't without injury, there were nasty deep gashes down his front and back, but he was in considerably better shape than the heavy-breathing, seemingly lifeless creature on the floor.
An elaborately dressed wizard in sequined robes stepped reluctantly into the ring, and his magnified voice reached the corners of the makeshift arena, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner! The still undefeated champion, The Wolf, Boris Volkov." Thunderous applause followed, and multiple wizards rushed in to tend to the fallen troll and clear the area for the next battle.
Goyle grabbed the rounded arse of a passing server girl and leered as she moved away from his touch in disgust and discomfort and scurried away from the large man, terrified. Julius would not tolerate such transparently obnoxious behaviour. He grabbed Goyles wrist, twisted it backwards and warned, "We must not touch what doesn't belong to us, Goyle. You will treat my staff with respect or risk having your privileges revoked and balls chopped off." He applied pressure and hissed menacingly, "Do I make myself clear?"
With some difficulty, Goyle broke free from the painful hold and snarled, "Abundantly.” He insisted crudely, “I like a woman to keep me company while I watch the festivities." He was double his size at Hogwarts, with thick hairy arms, broad shoulders and a thirst for causing others pain. He could undoubtedly hold his own if it came down to a fight, but Julius Avery was not a man to be bullied or taken lightly. It was rumoured the man practised with the fighters and was considered a tough opponent.
Julius made his displeasure evident by sneering, "Then I suggest you bring your wife the next time I extend an invitation. If there is a next time." Montague held his tongue. The handsome wizard laughed mockingly and sipped his scotch, savouring the smoky aftertaste. Next, two battle-worn bare-chested wizards wearing silk boxing shorts and hands wrapped in layers of tape and thin gauze strode into the ring of sorts and awaited further instruction. They enthusiastically acknowledged the crowd chanting their names, and did a few quick air punches. Still, it was abundantly clear that they lacked formal training and solely depended on their basic skills to stay alive. Each bore the serial mark of its owner.
A series of numbers were seared into the skin of their neck to signify ownership. Fighters were branded like cattle for slaughter, except the animals’ demise was much more humane. Human trafficking among the elite was well concealed but rampant. None escaped their bittersweet sentence, and though the DMLE had their suspicions long before Harry took up the position, they had no hard evidence to make the complaint stick. Most were petrified of speaking out since retribution would be swift and unjust.
The blood sport emerged a few years after Voldemorts well deserved demise. It had started small but expanded exponentially over the years to include proper tournaments, and the reigning champion Boris Volkov was of Russian descent and unbeatable. His half-giant blood made him a formidable eight-foot-two opponent with bulging muscular forearms and a passable IQ. Bouts featuring him hardly went two rounds, and he was known for viciously beating his opponents unconscious. The beast enjoyed the carnage he brought forth. Recruits were often orphans or unruly individuals with no purpose and a hunger for blood. There were plenty if you knew where to look.
The fights were not limited to England. Once Avery took over, he expanded the operation across continents and competitors from across the globe competed in the illegal sport. The winners were rewarded handsomely while the losers were put through vicarious training if there was still potential, sold to the highest bidder or discarded to fend for themselves in what was adequately named Death Match. The owners cared little and treated them as possessions to discard once they fulfilled their purpose, and untimely deaths happened often. It was unrefined Muggle street fighting at its very best, and the widely proclaimed Alpha King ignored the petty ramblings of his followers and stared intently at the men fighting for their lives and the spectators that thrived on it. He was reminded of the gladiators in the colosseum who risked their lives to entertain and satisfy the Roman Emperor and mob. The smell of fresh blood being spilt and bones breaking made it to his nose and fine hearing. He inhaled deeply and relished its pungent odour.
However, he took great interest in the fighters. If they showed such promising potential in human form, they would make powerful and formidable werewolves. He was always on the lookout for worthy recruits to add to his pack. It suited his plans for world dominance. His strength lay in numbers and, most importantly, skill.
A satisfied "Ahh" left his almost wolfish lips. His tongue moved over his teeth greedily in anxious anticipation.
"My Lord?" Avery questioned at once, sensing his Master's discomfort. On most days, he wished he had his father by his side. It was a minor miracle that Senior Avery’s mind was still intact, considering the monsters that lurked within Azkaban. Julius vowed to free his ageing father from his gruesome fate. It was that single thought that fuelled his determination.
The distinct sound of bones breaking made it to their sensitive hearing, and an uproar of cries filled the volatile space. A splatter of hot blood coated the cage walls, and some seeped through the cracks in the glass, but no one bothered to stop the bout. They watched in intense fascination as the fighters pounded each other into an unrecognisable mess of blood and gore.
Hermione sat up straight atop her duvet with one leg tucked under and stared at the sparkling ring on her finger. It shifted colour and turned turquoise to accommodate her faltering mood. She was tired and wore unflattering cotton knickers and a figure-hugging strappy top to suit the weather. It was a humid night, unlike the rest, and she dressed skimpily to allow her body to breathe and not drown in sweat.
It was half past two AM, and she had been woken from a seemingly peaceful slumber by the cackling cunt that took up permanent residence in her head.
Bellatrix chuckled, "We need to talk, Mudblood." Her voice was magnified and echoed.
Hermione held on to her head and gritted out in annoyance, "Fuck off, you mad bitch." She didn't need her mind playing games on her during these trying times.
The once-dark witch gushed, "I know you miss me. After all, I am your voice of reason."
Hermione refuted, "You are nothing but a dead nuisance. Leave me alone." Surprisingly Bellatrix's presence was oddly mellow and entirely out of character.
Bellatrix cackled. Her high-pitched deranged laughter was irritating, but it bounced off the walls of Hermione's fragile mind, "You know you're not worthy of him." This again? Would she not fucking let up?
Hermione quipped with dripping sarcasm, "These repetitive words of yours are getting rather tiresome." She felt like she was talking to the Muggle therapist who diagnosed her with acute PTSD.
Was there such a thing as acute PTSD? After much research, Hermione concluded it existed and that it could last for a period of six months or more in more drastic cases. It was nearly ten years since she first heard Bellatrix's tormenting voice in her head. It was safe to say that she was well past acute PTSD. Her alter ego was capable of overpowering and snuffing the life out of her on a whim.
Bellatrix sneered while dancing as a child would around the seemingly empty space Hermione imagined, "Nonetheless, it is the truth, you filthy whore." Hermione wondered if her fine upbringing did not involve dance lessons.
A dangerous thought planted itself deep in her mind. Hermione's features contorted unpleasantly, and the true sinister nature of her thoughts clouded her amber eyes. She leered, "Watch me make your darling nephew my bitch. I will make him love me before we are through. Consider it a payment for maiming me." She pointed to her arm where healed yet carved deep gashes were visible and snarled, "This word gives me strength. I'm proud to be a Mudblood."
Bellatrix grew wide-eyed and panicked, "Draco will see right through your antics. He's not a fool like Weasley or Potter."
Hermione threw her head back in maniacal laughter, and she sounded distinctively like the deceased witch who sliced the hated word into her arm, "Don't you see, Bellatrix? Malfoy deserves to be humiliated and belittled as he did me. I will make his nightmares a reality and remind him of how utterly useless he is."
Bellatrix laughed sinisterly, "You are quite devious to use love as a tool for humiliation. I almost wish you were pureblood. What a glorious Slytherin you would have been!"
Slytherin? What was happening? Hermione shook herself awake and found that she was sitting upright with no recollection of getting into that position. Her lips trembled, and she took deep breaths to calm herself and her rapidly beating heart. It was the dormant, more damaged part of her psyche speaking out.
The dangerous part she kept hidden from the world but never in a million years would she knowingly trick Malfoy into a loving relationship only to sever their connection once it fulfilled her purpose. Despite how utterly tempting it was to dole out a dose of his own medicine, she wouldn't sink to his previous level of horridness, or would she?
Her head fell into her hands in despair, and manicured nails scraped her scalp as they searched for an answer and ran through her knotted hair. The ring turned black, mirroring her mixed dark feelings and thoughts. The beautiful piece of jewellery Malfoy presented her with emitted a solid green light that encased her and washed over her soothingly, almost forbidding her thoughts of possibly hurting their rightful owner.
Chapter 52
Notes:
A HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who posted a review and everyone following! It means so much! :)
This is a fun chapter based on friendship, banter and fun—trigger warning for the bit about Sarah and The Dollhouse Strangler. Things have taken a drastic turn where their story is concerned.
I do love exploring the thoughts and situations of the side characters. In my opinion, it adds a certain value to the story, and it's always great to read about how everyone is dealing with each situation.
Please read and review. I love reading reviews because it helps motivate my writing, while other reviews help me become a better writer.
Enjoy Chapter Fifty-two!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Saturday - Shopping with Ginny and a much-needed girls' night out amidst the chaos.
Hermione bundled up and weathered the coldness that seeped through her many layers of clothing. The seasons were changing and heading towards a brutal winter.
Hannah moved behind a large potted plant Ginny kept on the side as a poor attempt at decoration. Leaning against the wall, she pulled out a box of matches, striking the longish red-tipped wooden stick twice before she succeeded in lighting the cigarette that nestled snugly between her lips.
"You know that's bad for you," Hermione peered at her friend puffing away without a care in the world through the gaps in the plant's leaves and scolded her with a frown forming on her face.
Deliberately, Hannah took a deep drag and skillfully blew smoke rings. She grinned and looked upon her nicotine buddy in fascination and fondness, "So I've been told."
Hermione knew a lost cause when she saw one. She scoffed, purposely ignored her bodyguard and knocked on the door, but it swung open, creaking as it did.
Taking out her wand, Hermione strode confidently yet cautiously, leaving the door open if she needed to make a quick exit. She hung up her coat before proceeding down the hallway. Harry would never leave the door open haphazardly.
It was unusually quiet, but without halting, she walked the length of the corridor that led to the sizable kitchen and sighed in immense relief as her beloved best friend’s unkempt black locks greeted her. Harry looked up from the paper he was reading and smiled warmly.
Throwing her arms open wide in a grand gesture, Hermione announced, “I'm here as commanded.” She glanced over her shoulder and questioned, “Why was the front door open?”
“Good morning. You look lovely," Harry put down the Quibbler and beckoned her in. He slapped his forehead, “Shit. I let the owl out and forgot to close it, I guess.”
He looked about and inquired with a raised brow, "Where's Abbott? You haven't dismissed her, have you?" Not that she had the authority to override Kingsley’s orders, but he wouldn't put it past Hermione to try.
Hermione frowned and grumbled, “Relax. She’s outside having a quick smoke. Does she have to be here? It's Saturday. Give her one day off at least, Potter.”
Taking a sip of his tea, Harry shook his head and countered, “No! Would you rather I send Malfoy instead?”
A look of mock contempt caused Hermione’s pleasant features to contort. She hissed in a menacing undertone, “I hate you.” Harry chuckled, “You love me, Granger. You know very well I’m doing this for your own good.”
Hermione waved her hand dismissively, Yeah, I know!”
She looked around the seemingly empty kitchen and inquired, “Where's your better half? She wanted to go shopping, and when I called earlier, she was getting ready.” They had planned this shopping excursion days ago. When she had called Ginny, it was clear from her tone that she was looking forward to spending a few hours away from the responsibilities of being a wife and mother, even though her tone held a well-concealed level of hesitancy.
Harry bit into a sizable piece of jam-smeared toast and managed to say between mouthfuls, “Ginny's upstairs. She's writing instructions on how I should look after my son.” He added the last part with obvious humorous resentment.
Hermione plopped herself down on the nearest chair and giggled, “Yeah, that makes perfect sense. You are about as useless as a garden gnome.”
Harry cried in outrage at the blatant accusation that he could not look after his son, “Steady on! I can look after James perfectly fine on my own.” That wasn't entirely true. Since he was old enough to communicate, he could handle Teddy on his own, but James wasn't quite there yet, and it terrified him to be left unsupervised with his son.
“What time is Molly coming over?” Hermione asked with a thoroughly amused expression.
Slamming the paper down on the table, Harry gave Hermione his undivided attention and quipped with dripping sarcasm, “I resent that you think I'm incapable.” He cleared his throat, averted his gaze and admitted sheepishly, "Ahem, she should be here shortly."
Hermione shook her head and laughed aloud. She helped herself to a piece of toast and smeared it generously with a helping of Ginny's homemade strawberry jam.
There was a loud thud and the sound of heavy boots echoing through the passageway. Hannah poked her head into the kitchen and grinned, “Good morning, boss.” She had visited Grimmauld Place once many years ago.
It had been Harry’s birthday if she recalled correctly. Her memories of that particular night were hazy, considering she had gotten horribly drunk, and Michael and Terry had seen her back to her place and tucked her into bed. Good blokes.
She stepped onto the wooden floor, looked around and took in the many framed family pictures and a large portrait with a gold-plated thick frame and curtain covering whoever was depicted. It piqued her interest.
Harry followed her glance and barrelled into explanation, “That's Sirius Black's darling mother. She's a nasty piece of work and loves to impart her wisdom on bloody purity on our guests.”
He threw the painting a pure look of loathing, “The permanent sticking charm is impenetrable. The old bag ensured she would remain on the wall for many years to come.” When they first moved in, they tried everything to have it removed or subdued, but unfortunately, nothing worked, and at odd moments, the stubborn woman would scream bloody murder and hurl insults at whoever was closest.
Hannah nearly tiptoed after hearing the explanation, soundlessly pulled a chair out and whispered before sitting down, “Ah, I'll be sure to keep it down, boss.” Hermione stifled a laugh, “You needn't walk around eggshells. If we’re lucky, she's fast asleep or visiting another portrait.”
Harry nodded in agreement, sat up straight and instructed candidly, “Hannah, you can drop the boss bit. We were friends before colleagues.” He gestured to the mountain of toast and many choices of spreads ranging from jam and marmalade to slightly melted butter and invited, “Do you want some breakfast?”
Hannah perked up and accepted wholeheartedly, “Aye. I could go for a cup of tea and a slice of buttered toast.” She pointed to Hermione and quipped, "This one's fridge is bare. Honestly, there's nothing in it except for ice."
Hermione was indignant. She defended fiercely, “That's a bloody lie. I have food.” She was lying through her teeth. Her fridge and cupboard were bare of any nutritious food and essentials. To be fair, she hadn't planned on entertaining a houseguest. That had been thrust upon her against her will.
“Ramen noodles do not count as food, Hermione.” Hannah countered with a distinctive snicker.
Hermione opened her mouth to stress her point further, but the old dormant hearth came to life, and Molly Weasley stepped out of the fireplace, dusted her floral orange print gown and beamed at them. She was red in the face, and instantly her motherly warmth spread to the corners of the room.
Molly wiped her sweat-coated brow and dropped her large, heavy tote handbag on the table. It landed with a loud clunk, sending specks of dust into the air and making the contents within rattle audibly.
She turned her attention to Hermione and gushed, “Hermione! How are you, darling?”
Hermione sprang to her feet, hugged Molly tightly, and replied enthusiastically, “Good thanks, Molly and yourself?” She realised that she missed the Weasley matriarch and her encouraging words and infectious smile.
Having Molly as a mother-in-law was possibly the one regret she⁷ harboured about her break-up with Ron. Not that Narcissa would be any less of a wonderful mother-in-law. The thought entered her mind without hesitation, and she couldn't help but smile at the recollection of Malfoy and his love for his mother.
Molly frowned at the nearly empty pot of tea and took it upon herself to fill it up. She pulled out her wand and waved it over the empty cups, and within mere seconds steady spirals of steam wound their way towards the ceiling.
She smiled fondly at Hermione and replied with a hand on her back, “Growing old, my dear. The aches and pains have become frequent.” She gave the neglected Quibbler on the table a nod of approval and said in contempt, “I'm glad to see you haven't let the vultures from The Prophet bring you down.”
She carried empty plates to the sink and informed with a smug expression, “I gave a piece of my mind to the Prophet’s newspaper seller. You know, the one stationed near that fancy Italian coffee place.” It was a pure coincidence that she and Andromeda had run into the stand, and it was pretty unfortunate for the young man handling it.
Molly let out a hearty chuckle, “Scared the poor boy out of his wits.” She was exceedingly pleased with her actions of publically voicing her opinion.
Hannah bobbed her head in agreement and bestowed a look of awe upon Molly. The words slipped out before she could stop them, “Good on you, Mrs Weasley. Bloody bastards at the Prophet have no moral or ethical values.” Hannah knew Molly Weasley as a legend. The fierce mother and housewife had single-handedly defeated one of the most dangerous witches to grace their generation, Bellatrix LeStrange.
Molly focused on the pretty blonde newcomer among them and said, “Oh, hello, dear. I don't believe we've met.” However, the young witch looked familiar, but Molly struggled to put a name to the face.
Hannah grew exceedingly nervous at being spoken to directly and choked on the gulp of tea she had taken. Molly patted her gently on the back, and Hannah surfaced, spluttering yet unscathed and embarrassed by her childlike behaviour.
“You've met Hannah, Molly, but years ago when we were just children,” Harry offered after Hannah gathered herself to resume breakfast. Molly grew thoughtful and smiled, “Perhaps. Welcome, dear. Would you like another cup of tea?”
“Yes, please,” Hannah replied with a warm smile. Hermione held the warm cup of tea with both hands, stared into the contents and said solemnly, “You shouldn't have bothered yourself with my nonsense, Molly.”
Molly argued pointedly, “Nonsense? I think not. You are every bit my daughter, Hermione and don't you forget it in a hurry. I will not tolerate such abuse against you.” She would always consider Hermione a vital part of the family and treated her very much as a second daughter.
Initially, the breakup had dented her fragile heart since she had long sheltered a desire to have Hermione as a beloved daughter-in-law. Still, she understood why they went their separate ways, and despite all that had transpired, she was forced to admit Tracey was a decent match for Ron even though he was yet to realise it himself. She hoped he would before it was too late.
Hermione choked back a sob and struggled to string coherent words together without sounding like a sap, but before she could, Molly smiled rather devilishly and teased, “Draco had some decent things to say about you.”
Hannah snorted and ignored the look of mortification that spread hastily across Hermione’s face.
She groaned, her head in her hands, "You read the interview too?" Harry pursed his lips and refrained from sharing his thoughts.
Amused by Hermione's reaction Molly chuckled and then became serious, “Of course, I did! He's grown into quite the lad. His answers were pleasing but also rather shocking.” She subscribed and read Witch Weekly magazine without fail and, in this particular instance, had read Draco’s answers twice before she proceeded to analyse them.
The last thing she wanted was for Hermione to be hoodwinked and heartbroken. She came to the shuddering conclusion that his answers seemed genuine.
Ginny emerged wearing a flattering pair of tight jeans and a purple silk shirt, a stark yet empowering contrast against her hair. She held onto James's hand as she led the toddler into the kitchen and mused, "That's because he's falling in love with our Golden Girl."
By gagging, Harry made his presence known, "I've just had my breakfast. I doubt Malfoy is capable of loving anyone but himself. The git." He patted James fondly on the head while the child took a seat and awaited his morning fruit and oats. Ginny gave Molly a quick peck on the cheek, poured fresh milk into a tall glass and refuted, “That's seventeen-year-old you talking, Harry. The man seems reformed.”
Molly walked over to James and hugged him tight, “Oh, my little munchkin. Look how much you’ve grown.” Ginny rolled her eyes, “Mum, let's not be dramatic. You saw him recently.” Molly ignored her only daughter and continued to smother her grandchild with kisses while he giggled uncontrollably.
Clearly, Harry was not done expressing his opinion, and his harsh comment cut through the joyous moment, “Seeing is believing, and I will reserve my judgement for later. Men like Malfoy don't just up and change, Ginny. Arrogance and deadly intent run through his veins.”
Hannah felt compelled to defend Malfoy, “That's all a bit harsh, don't you think, Harry?” True, he was her partner, and she trusted him but most importantly, she could feel and see a considerable difference in him. Does his past unequivocally define a man? In Malfoy’s case, everyone simply assumed the worst of him because of his former conceited self, but the Draco she knew was a considerate human being willing to lend a helping hand to those in need.
Hermione avoided eye contact and played with her fingers nervously. The pad of her thumb moved in a soothing motion over her engagement ring. She wasn't keen on the conversation but couldn't hold back the contempt that laced her words, “Harry is right, Hannah. You don't know the half of our morbid past with Malfoy.” She made air quotes and quipped sarcastically, "The so-called Slytherin Prince." What an utterly pathetic name. His actions were anything but princely, even if his face suited the part.
“People are capable of change, and it would be in everyone's best interests if you two came to terms with that,” Molly advised firmly with a slight smile. Her statement made Harry stiffen and uncomfortable, but it was not enough for him to change his opinion. Meanwhile, Hermione grew conflicted and gazed intently at her engagement ring. Could Molly be right?
Ignoring the two best friends who shared a popular opinion about Malfoy, no doubt Ginny spotted Hannah and squealed in delight, “Hannah! It's been forever!” Hannah got to her feet, hugged Ginny and raved, “It has been ages.” Her eyes roved over the pretty woman before her with flowing red hair and gushed, “You look lovely, Ginny. It's good to see you again.”
Ginny smiled, “Um, likewise.” She pointed to Hermione hovering in the background by the sink and asked, “Will you be joining us?”
Hannah sat back down, resumed eating her half-eaten plate of scrambled eggs Molly had graciously prepared and chuckled, “Yeah, Granger and I are joined at the hip these days.” Now there was an image to garner the interest of most men, and she wasn’t wrong since Harry turned beet red as impure thoughts invaded his mind against his wishes, and he coughed loudly to hide his obvious discomfort.
“It hasn’t been half bad,” Hermione admitted with a slight smile while wiping her wet hands on a dish rag that rested on top of the table. Hannah slapped her knee and laughed aloud as the memory of Draco flopping about like a fish on the Auror training floor came to mind, “Aye! She floored Malfoy in Auror training yesterday. That was epic.”
Hermione paled and threw Hannah a look of loathing. Bloody bigmouth! Did she have to announce it to the world?
Harry spilt his tea down the front of his shirt and cried in disbelief, “What!?” Molly rushed to her son-in-law’s aid and helped him clean the mess while Ginny glanced curiously at Hermione, fuming and refusing to acknowledge the many eyes on her and encouraged Hannah, “Go on! Tell us what happened.”
Molly placed a bowl of cut fruit in front of James and asked with interest, “That sounds rather interesting.” Hermione rolled her eyes and gave James her undivided attention. He was oblivious to the commotion and the only one with a good head resting on his shoulders.
Hannah ignored Hermione and the dirty looks and informed the group, keen on hearing what happened, “She challenged Malfoy to a duel.”
Ginny gasped and poked Hermione in the arm, “You did not!” However, Harry found nothing amusing about the situation and scolded, “What were you thinking?”
Hermione tossed a juicy piece of apple into her mouth and scoffed, “I clearly wasn't.” Merlin knew she hadn’t planned on challenging him to anything. It just sort of happened in the heat of the moment. She wasn’t one to admit it out loud, but the fact that she could overpower Malfoy was immensely satisfying.
Hannah grew wide-eyed with excitement and raved, “She was incredible. She shot an Incarcerous at him, and the idiot stood there like a doe caught in headlights. It was hilarious.”
“He was bleeding, Hannah,” Hermione said with a deep frown. She hadn’t intended to hurt him. Besides, it was barely a scratch. He would undoubtedly live. It was nothing for one to lose sleep over though she pondered on it and wondered if he was astronomically livid with her.
Hannah grew equally serious and argued, “Oh, he’ll live, Granger. He's my partner, and surprisingly, I'm fond of his blonde arse, but the cocky git deserved it. He wasn't expecting something like that from you, but you taught him a lesson he won't forget in a hurry.” She chuckled and added in a carrying voice, “And when you bent backwards to avoid his spell. Oh Merlin, his face!”
Ginny listened intently to Hannah from the sidelines but kept her gaze on Hermione. Her fidgety body language spoke volumes about her true feelings on the matter.
Harry was not subtle in his approach and made his displeasure abundantly clear, “Backwards? What the hell were you doing at Auror training?”
Ginny finally spoke up with a raised quizzical brow, “I thought Malfoy was gifted?”
Unexpectedly, Hermione answered without hesitation, “He is rather talented. Draco held back Ginny. It wouldn't have looked good if he accidentally murdered me.” She had witnessed his skills, and despite herself, Hermione was forced to admit that Malfoy was indeed talented and would make a fine addition to the team of highly trained Aurors.
She covered Harry's resting hand on the table with hers and smiled, “I let my personal feelings on the matter cloud my judgement. You were right to hire him, Harry.”
Hannah maintained, “Bollocks. He wasn't holding back, Granger. You were the better duelist.”
Harry couldn’t help the smug retort that effortlessly left his lips, “It's going to be awkward seeing him after that, won't it?” If he knew anything about Malfoy, it was that he was a proud man and being defeated by a person he considered beneath him in the past would put a sizable dent in his ego.
Ginny saw the opportune moment to voice her raging inner thoughts. Over the last few days, she had been plagued with severe doubts about their upcoming trip to Hawaii, “I don't think going away in this current situation is wise, Harry. There's a rogue werewolf and serial killer wreaking havoc, and you have so much on your plate. It would be incredibly selfish of me to leave you to look after James.”
Harry reassured, “It's two days, Gin. I'm sure it'll be fine. You need this break.” Molly nodded in agreement, “Listen to Harry, love. Besides, I will watch James at the Burrow while Harry is at work, and I plan on asking Andromeda to bring Teddy around. The children will have a lovely time. You needn’t worry yourself.” She grabbed Ginny by the shoulders, softened her gaze and insisted, “Go. You used to travel with Harpies frequently back in the day.”
“That was different, mum,” Ginny answered, gazing at James lovingly. Sure, back then, she had travelled almost every month for away games and had a jolly time with her teammates. It seemed as if a lifetime had passed since then. Even though she got complimentary tickets to every match, she could never bring herself to go for fear of missing her old life too much.
Hermione swapped a look of concern with Ginny and included, “Ginny has a point, Harry. I've been giving it a lot of thought, and it might be best to skip this one. It's not mandatory. We can always go some other time. Hopefully, after this madness, you can join by then.”
Harry rolled his eyes at the stubbornness and argued, “Not you too. The best thing for you is to be away from England. Besides, Malfoy is going along, so you'll be well protected.” Hannah, who listened intently, asked suddenly, “Why does he get to go to Hawaii?” She felt it was rather unfair that Malfoy was being sent on his protection detail to an exotic destination while she dogged around boring old London.
Harry shifted in his seat uncomfortably and answered somewhat meekly, “Well, it was a Slytherin proposed trip. Malfoy has little choice but to go unless I refuse to grant him leave, and even I’m not that cruel.” He grew thoughtful and requested, “I am sorry, Hannah, but do you want to go?” It honestly slipped his mind that Hannah would want to accompany Hermione to Hawaii because of Malfoy’s imminent presence.
Hannah thought long and hard and concluded that her presence might not be tolerated, so she did the most logical thing and refused, “It sounds grand to holiday at the Ministry’s expense, but I don't want to be a third sodding wheel.” It sounded like a proper couples retreat, and she wondered what possessed Ginny to agree to go.
Right on cue, Ginny injected with a firm, “Nonsense, you can hang about with me, Hannah.” Hermione smiled, “And me. Come on. It’ll be fun, Abbott.” Ginny teased, “Not if Malfoy has anything to say about it.”
Harry scolded, “Can we not speak further about Draco Malfoy?”
Hannah shook her head and added thoughtfully, “You lot go ahead. I can use the time to go over the Dollhouse Strangler case. I know there's something there, and I've missed it.” Her words mirrored her frustration over the case. She was sure the answer was staring at them in the face, but the trick was to find it, and Hannah was determined to locate Sarah with her pulse intact.
Harry declared, “It's settled,” Molly concurred and put Ginny’s mind at ease, “Don't worry, darling. We will just fine, won't we, James?” James nodded in agreement and stuffed finely sliced pieces of succulent pear into his mouth.
“But…” Hermione started to say.
Harry was having none of it, “But nothing. It's just for the weekend, don't make me go to Kingsley. The Minister is returning later, and you needn't bother pleading your case.”
She further pleaded, “Don't you need my help?” They required every skilled witch and wizard within the Ministry to pull their weight, and she could hardly do that while sipping Pina Coladas and tanning on the warm sandy beaches of Hawaii.
Harry smiled slightly and responded, “You are doing more than your share of work, Hermione. Besides, with the current threat on your life, you can hardly walk into Knockturn Alley and start speaking to shady buggers. We need you safe and sound.”
There was a distinctive edge to his voice that made Hermione uncomfortable. She moodily sank lower in her chair and mused, “I could if I wanted to.”
Ginny pulled out a neatly written list on a piece of parchment from the back pocket of her jeans and held it out for Molly to take. Molly stared at the paper perplexed, and Ginny explained calmly, “Okay, mum. Here's a list of things to do with James while I'm out.”
Molly bemused, “Blimey! I've raised seven fairly good children, including Charlie, Ron and the twins, and I won't be needing the likes of this.” She snatched the paper from Ginny’s hand, tore it in half and tossed the shredded remnants into the bin before shooting a look of disapproval at Ginny. She hurriedly picked James up and carried him off to the next room.
Ginny sprang into action. She had misjudged the situation. What was she thinking, handing instructions to her mother? It called for an early demise. She grabbed Hermione’s arm and pulled her towards the exit with a panicked, “Let's leave, shall we?”
Hermione stifled a laugh but let herself be dragged, and Hannah followed close behind before Molly came around to yell at them. She stuffed her face with the remaining toast and called out, “See you later, Harry.”
The three women walked hurriedly down the street taking care not to bump into Muggles. Once they rounded the corner, Ginny relaxed and took a few deep breaths to calm her rattled nerves. Before they left, her mother's murderous expression was enough to send a shiver down her spine.
Hermione teased, “Do you have a death wish, Ginny? What possessed you to present parental instructions to Molly?”
Ginny shrugged and laughed heartily, “Obviously, I was thinking through my arse.”
Hannah stifled a laugh and asked with a raised brow, “Where do you ladies want to go first?”
In a secluded part of London away from prying eyes.
The sadist breezed into the room in high spirits, “Good morning, my darling. What a fabulous morning, don't you think?” Sarah could barely see out of her swollen, bruised eyes, but she managed a crooked smile. After the disastrous incident of meeting his mummified mother, he punished her by forcing himself upon her countless times and emptying his vile seed into her body with the high hopes of impregnating her.
What would happen if he succeeded? She could never love or care for a child conceived by such malicious intent. Would he force her to give birth at home or risk visiting St Mungos? Home births could result in a multitude of complications and perhaps in a twisted way that would bode well for her, and she could escape his monstrous clutches. She would greet death with open arms and leave this cruel world behind.
He carried a tray burdened with a largish bowl filled to the brim with a hot substance and a plate with a few buns. She could tell from the aromatic smell that it was a broth of some kind—her daily nourishment. Sarah bit the insides of her cheek, held back the tears and hoped her parents were well, but she knew they wouldn't stop looking for her. At least with her foreseeable death, they would be able to have some closure.
The man moved the longish hair strands out of his face exposing his grotesque scar, and beamed, except the happiness never quite reached his eyes, “Mother forgives you. She would like me to tell you that she finds you very pretty.” He forced her to sit up despite the pain and continued to feed her soup. It tasted awful and lacked salt, but he overlooked her face twisted in disgust.
Sarah muttered half-heartedly, "Thank you." She did so to appease him since her body couldn't go through another night of abuse. He would kill her by forcing his antics on her by prolonging the inevitable to suit his unhealthy infatuation. The man tried to smile and appeared remorseful for his actions. He had sworn never to hurt those who mattered to him as his mother did, and in a twisted fate of circumstances, he had turned out much worse than her, but at least he was sorry and wanted nothing more than to make amends.
Besides, it was her damn fault. He would not have beaten her if she hadn't screamed and embarrassed him in front of his mother. He kept aside the bowl of soup, pulled out a black velvet box and smiled, "I have something for you." It was meant as a grand gesture, but the woman he presented it to was stark naked with visible bruises littered across her body and bloodshot eyes, and what looked remarkably like the remnants of dried semen on the inward skin of her thighs.
He fought the bile that rose and composed himself by looking away for a few minutes. Closing his eyes, he thought back to the beauty she was before he abducted her and willed his raging thoughts to settle. Once he composed himself, he turned to face Sarah lying in a fetal position looking at him through pained eyes. He opened the box and revealed an exquisite diamond ring. There wasn't a need to propose. He knew she would say yes. They were destined to be together until their dying days.
It was a sizable jewel, and Sarah was shocked he could afford one. She had always assumed him to be poor and squandering away in poverty, judging by his mediocre fashion sense and surroundings. Every bit of furniture around them was weathered and outdated, yet he maintained a clean home except where she was concerned.
His voice bore into her thoughts as he answered the questions she was thinking. He took the ring out, and it sparkled as the light bounced off its clear-cut surface, “It belonged to my mother. She insisted I give it to you. We were well off, you know? My father was quite wealthy, and so was my mother. Until my father kicked her out and treated her like scum, she never got over his treatment of her, and she had no choice but to sell her valuables and move into this dump.” He recalled a time they lived in splendour in the capital of Russia.
He knew his father was an important man from a young age but a scoundrel and womaniser who tormented his mother for sport and pleasure. He saw an assortment of women parade around the mansion, and most would sneer at him, put on their thick fur coats and leave, never to be seen again. When his magical abilities failed to manifest, his mother took to drinking, and his father beat and belittled them whenever he saw fit.
He looked around the room, and his good eye took in the peeling paint and dampness, “This house was gifted to her by parents who considered her a great disappointment because of her failed marriage but mainly because of…me. They hated me on sight.” In anger, he knocked a cracked vase to the floor and snarled, “The bastards never gave me a chance. They turned my mother against me and made me into a monster. The sacred twenty-eight! I hate the lot of them.”
Unable to move, Sarah watched the drastic personality change of her abductor in both fear and sadness. Undoubtedly, he had suffered at the hands of his loved ones. He started to walk towards her, and she lay perfectly still, closed her eyes and surrendered to whatever horror that would follow. What happened next surprised her. She felt his hand move gently over her hair, but still, she kept her eyes closed, but when he sat down on the soiled bed and took her hand in his, she bolted up and tried to pry her hand away from his grasp for fear he would break her fingers.
Unfazed by her sudden movements to get away, he took her left hand, isolated her ring finger, slowly slipped on the ring and gushed, “It looks good on you, darling.” He kissed her hand, cupped her face and said with enough emotional conviction, “I love you, Sarah.”
She looked into his eyes. One was burnt away, but you could see the outline of a chocolate brown iris moving within. His good eye watched her reaction intently. Sarah stared at the unwanted ring in disgust and fascination and replied in compulsion, "I love you too." She realised she had no idea what his name was.
He touched a purplish angry bruise and mumbled, “How are you feeling? He could bring barely bring himself to look at her. His handy work was a crushing reality of the pain he had inflicted upon her—a woman he apparently loved.
Sarah shied away from his touch, whimpered, contorted with the jolts of pain shooting through her legs and croaked, “Tired.” His features softened, and he requested shyly, “Would you like to watch a movie?”
Hardly able to believe the words he uttered, she whispered, her words barely audible, “What?” He smiled innocently like an excited teenager and said, “I picked up a movie. It's got rave reviews.” He spoke to her so casually and innocently despite being battered, shackled and naked on a dirty bed with his release spread across her thighs. She was getting whiplash by his many mood swings and personalities, but for the oddest reason of seeming normal, Sarah found herself agreeing, “I would like to watch a movie.”
The man was pleased by her obedience and smiled broadly, “Wonderful. I’ll go get it.” He turned to leave, but her bare body distracted him and caused him to frown, “I think it's time to wear clothes. I can't have my fiancé naked and catching the eye of every pervert on the streets.” It was an ironic choice of word. Pervert. It suited him well.
After fetching a long baggy white t-shirt and a pair of underwear that he had outgrown, he returned. Sarah tried to sit up, but her movements were restricted by the hated handcuff that held her in place. Her self-proclaimed fiancé saw her plight and rushed to her assistance, but before he unchained her, he gave a dire warning, “There is a more painful experience than death, my love. Try to escape, and I will introduce you to a wonderful new world. Nod if you understand me, darling.” Sarah trembled and nodded slowly. He gave a toothy grin, “Good girl. Now hold still.”
Taking the key out of his pocket, he wedged it into the tight keyhole and gave it a firm wiggle before the lock snapped, and the handcuffs fell off her person and onto the bed. Sarah shot it a look of disgust as if she was regarding a living being and blamed it for her imprisonment. Perhaps, she, too, was losing her mind. He helped her into the simple garments and declared sheepishly, “I will buy you some flattering clothes.” He knew her to be a stylish woman, and it was imperative that she remained happy with him after their marriage.
Sarah tugged at the shirt and struggled to stay on her feet. They hurt far too much. Her knees gave out, and she collapsed, but a pair of strong hands caught her and saved her from perhaps a nasty fall. Not that it mattered, she was an unrecognisable mess.
He led her into the living room towards an old-fashioned bluish sofa that belonged in the sixties and forced her to sit down. Her heart fluttered, and her eyes memorised the neat surroundings and lingered on the door that undoubtedly led outside. She was distracted by an overflowing bowl of popcorn, and its smell made her unconsciously swallow her spit greedily.
The man approached a modest television set and battered VHS player and popped the cassette into the rectangular space allocated for it. It felt surreal to be playing the perfect couple when the harsh reality of her abduction weighed down on her at every waking moment. It was a minor miracle that she could stomach his presence.
The TV came to life, and Sarah jolted and stared hard as the picture came to life and scenes moved in front of them. She shielded her eyes at first because the brightness hurt her sensitive corneas, but the man coaxed her into watching by offering her buttered popcorn, which she devoured by the handful and savoured the salty taste. She heeded his advice and gave in for a measly hour.
It was an intense American psychological horror where a young F.B.I cadet must receive the help of an incarcerated and manipulative cannibal killer to help catch another serial killer, a madman who skins his victims. His choice of film was almost poetic.
They settled on the sofa and ardently watched The Silence of the Lambs.
After much deliberation and arguing, they finally decided on a suitable destination.
Hermione, Ginny and Hannah were seated at a popular Muggle fast food eatery scrutinising the menu to order burgers, chocolate shakes and fries. They would partake in oodles of greasy food without a care. On the sly, Ginny had always been partial to American food though she would never admit it out loud for fear of ridicule from her patriotic brothers.
The food arrived, and Ginny grabbed the monster burger with both hands, causing the contents to drip down her fingers. She took a large bite and sighed in satisfaction, “It's been yonks since I had a proper burger.”
Hannah followed suit. She licked the sauce that clung to her fingers and said between hearty mouthfuls, “This is so bloody good. How much do I owe you, Hermione?”
“It's my treat. After swallowing a mouthful, “You’ve made this protection thing bearable and fun,” Hermione answered. She delicately popped a couple of french fries into her mouth and munched on them happily. Indulging in comfort food was blissful at the opportune moment.
Hannah smiled gratefully and replied, “Glad to hear it.” She picked up an oddly shaped circle smothered in grease, looked through the gaping hole at her friends and questioned, “What are these?”
Ginny was far too preoccupied with enjoying her meal, leaving Hermione to answer with an amused expression, “Those are onion rings.” Hannah raised a curious brow, bit into the ring and gasped as the flavours exploded in her mouth. She felt compelled to say, “Muggles are ingenious creatures.”
“I'm worried about, Harry,” Ginny’s solemn declaration cut through the loud chatting of Muggles, slurps and chomping of food like a double-edged dagger.
Hannah swallowed hard and nodded in agreement, “He's hanging in there, but it's a lot for one person to process.” She was highly impressed by how well Potter was handling the crushing pressure. It was enough to make a weaker man snap in half and be admitted to the psychiatric wing at St Mungo's.
Hermione elucidated, “We are flying in the dark, Ginny. Two horrific cases with absolutely no idea who is behind them. It's maddening.” Despite Harry’s insistence that they go to Hawaii and that all will be well, the trip's timing was horrible. A nagging guilty pull at her conscience prevented her from yielding to Kingsley’s and Harry’s instructions.
Ginny drank her chocolate shake in silence. Still, she wasn't convinced that going on holiday was the right thing to do, but for the moment, she let sleeping dogs lie and decided to play it by ear.
Malfoy Manor
After a vigorous training and study session with Emily, Draco marched up the stairs that led to Malfoy Manor. At the same time, Audrey loomed over them, barking instructions and constantly reminding them of their upcoming Auror trials. He had left the Manor at the break of dawn and dragged his feet across the lavishly carpeted foyer, and fell into the first seat in exhaustion.
Massaging his temples to rid himself of a pending headache, Draco paid no attention to the sound of muffled footsteps approaching him and the concerned voice, “Master Draco! Are you feeling ill, sir? Shall Dotty fix you some breakfast?”
Draco rubbed his eyes to chase away the grogginess and gave the elf staring at him in concern, a lopsided grin, “A bucket of coffee would be welcome.” He desperately needed caffeine. Dotty tried to grasp the concept of a bucket of coffee. She had never catered to such an odd request before and vocalised her thoughts, “A bucket, sir?” Draco chuckled slightly, “It was a poor attempt at humour, I’m afraid. A cup of coffee will do.” The elf’s features relaxed, and she bowed, “I will bring it at once.” She went to disapparate, but Draco stopped her, “Where is my mother?”
“Madam left for the day with Sir Bernard. He returned from Germany,” Dotty dutifully informed. She vividly recalled her mistress speaking with Master Bernard and expressing concern over her son’s well-being and how she needed to speak to him about a dinner with Miss Hermione’s parents.
Still, she said nothing since it wasn't her place to divulge such sensitive information unless instructed. Draco failed to hide his disappointment. He hadn't laid eyes on his mother or spoken to her in days. His training schedule kept him out at all hours of the night, and he mostly returned to the Manor in the wee hours of the morning to have a quick shower and change of clothes.
The timings were such that he hadn't crossed paths with his beloved mother but made a mental note to make it up to her in the weeks following the Auror trials. He was confident of passing, except the potion brewing part of the examination gave him cause for concern. In his younger days, he was quite an exemplary potioneer.
Though his fellows at Hogwarts thought it was Snape’s favouritism that secured his high grades, only he knew the gruelling hours he spent over texts in the shadows of the library and dungeon, hoping to outscore Granger. A feat he never managed to accomplish despite his many efforts.
Draco got to his feet and headed toward his room. His mother was out for the day, and Audrey had graciously excused them from further training and trusted them to self-study. He was undoubtedly grateful for the break. He lazily dragged his feet up the stairs while yawning out of pure exhaustion.
Once in his room, he glanced longingly at the bed and decided to rest his eyes. His request for coffee was forgotten, and fully clothed in his Auror garb, Draco laid down on the soft bedding and closed his eyes for what he hoped was a second. Before long, he fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.
After their hearty meal of burgers and shakes and possibly after Hannah’s third serving of onion rings, the women walked along the streets of Muggle London. They had a merry time as they took in the many shops that boasted exquisitely elegant gowns fit for a princess, among other things mere commoners would require.
They turned plenty of heads. Many men and women admired the feisty freckled redhead, the astute woman with wild curls adorning her face and full lips that were sensually painted blood red, and the pretty blond wearing black leather pants and a long greyish coat with a pulled-up high ponytail and minimum makeup. They had blossomed into empowering young women since their awkward days at Hogwarts, except for Ginny.
Even at school, Ginny Weasley was an attractive girl that garnered much attention from the boys and jealousy from the girls, but nothing unfazed Ginny and none would dare mess with her for fear of being on the receiving end of her infamous Bat Bogey hexes.
Ginny, Hermione, and Hannah spoke among themselves while window shopping and strode confidently without acknowledging the many flirtatious glances that came their way.
No. 12 Grimmauld Place
Hours passed, and Harry put down the pictures and character profiles of suspected Werewolves the Romanian Minister Darius had sent and massaged the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He truly hoped Kingsley was having better luck in America.
A thousand unanswered questions ran rampant through his exhausted brain. What would happen once they unmasked this Alpha King? How would they even formulate a plan to subdue the uprising before hundreds of innocent lives were lost?
Happy laughter from outside the small office he maintained at home made him look up and unconsciously smile. He had been cooped up and so obsessed with the many unsolved cases he had forgotten about James and Molly. A surge of guilt washed over him, and he pushed aside the pictures, got to his feet and left the room in search of the beautiful laughter he had heard before.
He found the source in the living room where Molly was reading James a story in the most playful way with the wondrous aid of magic. She changed her voice to suit the characters and made them come alive, and Harry stared, enthralled by his beloved son's amazed, widened eyes. A child's innocence was parallel to none. He moved silently into the room and sat down cross-legged next to James.
At first, James was so engrossed in his grandmother's avid storytelling that he hardly noticed his father, but once he did, he hopped onto Harry’s lap, threw his arms around his father's neck and hugged him tightly. Harry tightened the embrace, never wanting to let go of the moment. Molly smiled at the tender moment before her but, undeterred, carried on with the exciting story of Babbitty Rabbitty and her Crackling Stump.
"That's a cute blouse, Ginny. You should definitely buy it," Hermione encouraged after Ginny emerged from the changing room in a flattering light blue sleeveless top that hugged her figure in the right places. Hannah was again smoking in some dark alley away from prying eyes.
Ginny admired herself in the floor-length mirror of the store and frowned, "Hmm…." Her mind was an unsettling mess of random thoughts and scenarios that could occur during her absence. She would never be able to forgive herself if something happened to Harry while she was away having a jolly time.
The guilt was beginning to tear her apart. What sort of wife leaves her husband while he sacrifices himself to save people and create a better world?! Merlin, she was a proper selfish bitch.
Hermione sensed something was amiss and gently probed, "What's the matter, love?"
Ginny didn't bother beating around the bush. She blurted out the truth of what was formulating in her head, "I don't want to leave James and Harry at a time like this."
Hermione could sympathise with Ginny’s plight and understand to some extent how harrowing it would be to leave behind someone you loved while knowing the dangers they would face. She sighed, "I know what you mean. I tried to get out of it, too, but he wouldn't hear a word against it. Well, you were there, Ginny. You heard him.” She added without hesitation, “James will have a ball with Teddy, and there isn't a person that is more qualified to look after him than Molly.”
Hannah emerged with a black t-shirt and matching cargo trousers to try on and offered her input, "Well, Harry will feel better if you go, Ginny." She had heard Ginny's heartfelt declaration while waiting outside the rows of changing rooms and thought it best to offer her valuable advice.
Ginny raised a curious brow and questioned, "What do you mean?"
Hermione listened intently. She was curious about Hannah's thoughts on the matter.
Hannah frowned and tactfully explained, "If you decide to stay back, Harry will feel worse about how his job restricts his movements and yours."
Hermione was impressed, "That is a valid point, Abbott."
Still, Ginny wasn't wholly convinced, "I know, Hannah. He needs me around to calm him down on challenging days."
Hannah shrugged in reply. She wasn't going to add anything further, but Hermione exhaled and insisted, "Ginny, Hannah is right. It's for two nights, and Molly is watching James. Besides, what could possibly happen in such a short time?"
Ginny thought miserably about many things, and she was sure Hermione would share her sentiment despite her bold statement, but her mother was right. She desperately needed a break.
Grabbing Hermione’s arm with newfound enthusiasm, Ginny dragged her best friend towards the lingerie department with famous last words, "It's settled. Come on!" Hannah chuckled, tucked the clothes under her arm and followed the two women.
"Hello, darling!" Blaise said while loosening his tie and walking into the bedroom suite he shared with his lovely wife. With some difficulty, Daphne pushed down the neatly folded clothes that rested on top and closed the suitcase's lid, which she had up on the bed. She wiped her brow and exhaled, “Phew! That took longer than I anticipated.” She had spent the entire morning packing the children's clothes and the afternoon packing for Hawaii.
She had silently sobbed over Adam’s snitch-printed pyjamas and Carrie’s pink princess-cut dress. Leaving her babies behind left a gaping void in her heart. Blaise gave a nod of understanding and smiled at the mother of his children. Daphne was elegant and timeless, and he loved her fiercely. A small girl bursting with insecurities lurked underneath the glamour, and his job was to provide her with a haven.
Daphne rattled off, “I have packed the basics, darling. Is there anything more you would like to add?” Blaise had little patience for weeding through his enormous cupboard in search of clothing items he would require. Besides, he trusted his wife’s judgement and capabilities. If any items were missed, he would resort to purchasing them in Honolulu or have the competent concierge at The Ritz-Carlton Residences fetch them for him.
Pansy had owled each of them a detailed itinerary with the name of the five-star hotel they would be staying at, nothing but the finest for Parkinson. The cost of a room per night was enough to feed a small family, and when Blaise pointed it out, Daphne broke down in laughter and agreed. The parchment also included flight details and a footnote in red that simply stated– Please do not be tardy. Any excuses for late arrivals will not be tolerated.
Blaise did not take lightly to the instructions and he disliked being treated as if they were toddlers, and sought to give Pansy a piece of his mind. Still, Daphne stopped him and reminded him how Pansy had always been bossy and opinionated. Secretly, Blaise pitied Longbottom. The man had his hands full with catering to the obnoxious requests of a demanding witch.
He chuckled to himself, kissed Daphne on the cheek and walked into the ensuite for a much-needed shower. He intended to spend every waking minute of the weekend with his children before departing Monday morning.
Ginny raised a brow and said with a devilish glint in her eyes, “That's an, umm, daring bikini.” She shot Hermione an amused expression as her best friend admired herself in a skimpy blood-red string bikini that barely covered her voluptuous breasts and other private parts.
Turning her back to the mirror, Hermione glanced over her shoulder at her reflection and critically analysed her body and garment clinging to her like a second skin. She was immensely satisfied by how the material hugged her figure, accentuating her flattering assets. Her eyes fell on her rounded, firm buttocks, and she secretly thanked the workout routine she had discovered in her youth. She faced the floor-length mirror in the changing room head-on, adjusted her perky bosom, stood with her hands on her hips, and cocked her head to the side, “I wanted to try something different.”
Ginny grinned rather triumphantly, “I will win the bet, Hermione. You have no chance!” Hermione looked stunning and insatiable. Malfoy would have to work hard not to jump her in Hawaii. He would take one at her in this bikini and fall at her feet in lust.
Rolling her eyes, Hermione pointedly argued, “It's just a bikini. Aren't you reading too much into this?” Hannah swallowed hard. Her eyes roved over Hermione’s bikini-clad body in appreciation. She gathered her faltering composure and asked with a raised brow, “What's going on?”
“Hermione and I have an ongoing bet,” Ginny quipped while Hermione frowned, walked back into the changing room and closed the door behind her, and proceeded to change out of the bikini. She would buy the flattering swimwear, and despite herself, her treacherous mind wondered obsessively if Malfoy would appreciate her choice of swimming attire or think her a desperate tart for trying too hard. Hermione settled that the bikini made her feel great, confident, and sexy, which was all a woman needed.
Hannah could hardly conceal her curiosity, “Oh?”
Ginny smirked, dropped her voice to avoid being heard by others and explained, “One hundred Galleons that she will sleep with Malfoy before the trip ends.” She was undoubtedly sure she would emerge victorious. Even if Hermione adamantly denied having romantic feelings for Malfoy, she was well aware of the sexual attraction between the two.
“I'll take that bet,” Hannah announced after processing Ginny's information. It was bound to happen and moreover in a fairytale setting vastly different from London.
Fully dressed, Hermione, threw the door open and scolded, “Hannah!”
Hannah grinned sheepishly and shrugged, “What? I could do with the extra money.”
Hermione balled up the bikini. It fit snugly in the palm of her hand and stormed away with the final abhorring words, “You guys are the absolute worst.” Hannah and Ginny high-fived laughed aloud and followed the irritated woman.
They spent the rest of the afternoon snacking, shopping for clothes, swimwear and numerous other things that one would require in an exotic land. When their extensive shopping expedition ended, the sun had begun to set, leaving a magnificent hue of oranges painted across the sky and the air turned chilly and crisp.
Despite her friends ' encouraging words and logic, Ginny was still in two minds about leaving her beloved family.
Luna struggled but pulled up a tight bodycon dress as Theo came tearing into the room and bellowed, "Have you seen my swimming trunks?! You know, the black one with flames?!" He impatiently asked while turning the place over with his wand. Cupboard doors and drawers flew open, and their contents spilt in a messy heap to the floor, but Luna paid no mind to the wheezing about objects that narrowly missed her head nor her husband's childish grumbling as he tore apart the bedroom searching for his beloved shorts.
“Are you packing already?” Luna inquired while attaching an earring she had made to a delicate earlobe. Lately, she had thoughts of starting her unique jewellery line. While being editor-in-chief of The Quibbler was rewarding and enjoyable, she ached for another productive outlet to express her creativity.
Theo continued the search and answered impatiently, “Of course, I want to make sure I pack everything.” He packed the essentials and a few extra knick knacks in case of emergencies. Luna applied a layer of lip gloss and chuckled, “There are a few days left, darling. You mustn't get paranoid.”
Theo was beside himself and cried out in disbelief, “A few days!?” According to Pansy, we leave on Monday at noon, and she was pretty adamant that we not be late.” He recalled the stupid letter with instructions and frowned. Hopefully, Pansy wouldn't be an overbearing cow in Hawaii. Theo abandoned his task of locating his trunks, rubbed his belly and grimaced, “I wish we Portkeyed. Muggle transport gives me indigestion.”
Luna glanced at her husband through the mirror and teased, “You're being dramatic, darling.” A memory of Theo howling in pain came to mind, and she instructed sternly, “Make sure you pack suntan lotion. You know how easily you burn.”
“That incident on the beach does not count,” Theo grumbled and proceeded to pout like a child. There had been a humiliating incident when he disregarded Luna’s wise advice about applying sun tan lotion on a trip to the beach. Having laid down under the hot sun and fallen asleep, he had woken and was so badly burnt he could hardly move without screaming in pain.
Luna wagged a warning finger, “Yes, it most certainly does.” Theo grudgingly bobbed his head in agreement and mumbled, “I packed a case of the fucking cream.” Satisfied by his compliance, Luna pulled down her dress and twirled, "So, how do I look?" She wore a halter figure-hugging dress in a subdued shade of yellow.
Theo smiled and gathered her lovingly in his arms, "You are as bright as the sun. Gorgeous as always, my love." Her choice of clothing wasn't his taste, but it made her happy, and that was all that mattered. Somehow it suited her quirky personality. He had never known and relished in the sweetness and innocence Luna projected.
Luna broke from the embrace and left the room only to return five minutes later with the swimming trunks Theo had been keenly looking for. She gave him a happy grin, “I left it to dry in the other room.”
Theo’s face split in half with a boyish grin. He looked around the room at the monumental mess he created and frowned, “I wish you had told me before I tore the place apart.” There were clothes and accessories in every corner and bed. Luna simply smiled and waved her wand around the room. Ties, knickers, shirts, and many other things returned to their rightful place, and the room returned to its former pristine state.
Theo eyed Luna’s sashaying hips as she crossed the room to her dressing table and interrogated, “So, are you sure no blokes are joining?” Luna threw him an amused look from her seated position and mused, “Yes, of course. It's ladies' night.”
However, Theo wasn't wholly convinced and happy with the situation, “Hmm, be careful and don't let any stupid Muggles hit on you.” He had severe abandonment issues that stemmed from his younger years, and even though he was convinced Luna loved him unconditionally, he had a recurring nightmare that she left him.
Luna was well aware of her husband's many insecurities and replied, “You're cute when you get jealous. I love you, Theo. Nothing and no one will ever change that.” Theo was pleased by the answer.
He quickly kissed her pale blonde locks and wondered if his mates were free for a drink but left Luna to finish getting dressed in peace and resumed packing. He knew from past experiences that his beloved wife would require another full hour before she stepped out of the door. It was a ritual.
They piled into the Leaky Cauldron laden with bags and plopped themselves down on the first available table in exhaustion. Ginny had gone a little overboard and purchased more than her budget permitted. Not that Harry ever questioned, or they were ever short on Galleons thanks to Harry’s inheritance, but still, it was reckless spending.
Hermione looked around and smiled. The place was bustling, and soft music drifted over them pleasantly. She asked the others, “Do you want to get a drink?”
Ginny bit her bottom lip and replied earnestly, “Most definitely. Harry is not expecting me back anytime soon. Besides, Mum will have James down for the night in a bit.” She giggled, “I'm free from my motherly and wifely duties for the night.”
Hannah gave an encouraging thumbs up and pounded the table in delight, “That’s the spirit!”
Hermione urged, “What about you, Hannah? Fancy a pint?”
Hannah shook her head, straightened and politely declined, “I'm on duty, Madam Undersecretary. I cannot indulge in any substance that would hinder my judgement or reflexes.”
Hermione nodded and offered candidly, “A fresh juice?” She was impressed by Abbott's dedication to the job.
Hannah grimaced and replied sarcastically, “That would be lovely.”
Ginny flagged down a waitress who immediately grew flustered by the illustrious group she had to serve. It was her second day on the job, and she prayed to Merlin to help her make it through the night without breaking glass. Ginny rattled off their order and gave the young witch, who took down the order, an encouraging smile. The poor girl paled and hurried off in the direction of the bar to place their order.
Hannah leaned back and got comfortable. She scanned the area for any unscrupulous characters and glared at anyone who got too close to their table. Ginny swayed to the music and informed the group, “Oh, I invited Luna. It's been bloody ages since we saw her last, and she's been dying to get out for a bit.” Hermione perked up instantly, “That's brilliant. I can’t wait to see her.” Ginny grew thoughtful, “Nott and her have been trying to get pregnant, and I think it's taking a toll on both. The poor darling.”
Their drinks arrived along with an array of mouthwatering side dishes such as chicken wings, crisps, garlic bread, and cut-up fried sausages drizzled with a raunchy hot sauce. Hermione took her tumbler of scotch with a splash of soda and two ice cubes, and Ginny took her drink of firewhiskey with a lime wedge and a single ice cube. Hannah stared miserably at the tall glass of orange juice with half an orange slice artistically stuck on the sugar-coated rim of the glass.
Annoyed by the monstrosity before her, she muttered, “Bloody marvellous.” Hermione and Ginny burst out laughing but raised their glasses in a memorable toast.
The second Luna left to meet the others, Theo grabbed his mobile and phoned Blaise, who had put the children to sleep after an enjoyable day together and was now in his study signing off on a new shipment of brooms.
He answered and chirped, “Ah, good evening, mate. What's going on?”
Theo didn't bother much with pleasantries. He came straight to the point, “Drop by for a drink.”
Blaise glanced at the papers lying across his desk and sighed. A drink and chat sounded utterly tempting. He pushed back the chair. It scrapped loudly against the hardwood floors and gave into temptation, “See you in a bit, Nott.”
Theo hung up and called Draco. The rings went on endlessly, and Theo wondered if Draco was otherwise occupied. Impatiently he held onto the phone and willed his friend to answer. When the line connected, his plea was answered, and an extremely groggy Draco Malfoy answered the phone with a sleepy, disoriented, “Hello.”
Theo grinned and practically shouted into the phone, “Asleep at this hour? You lazy fucking git!”
Draco buried his head further into the luxurious bedding and held the phone away. He cracked his eyes open and was surprised to find the steady beams of moonlight streaming through the window and illuminating the room. The cup of coffee he requested hours ago rested on the table beside his bed. It was ice cold and covered with a saucer.
Clearly, Dotty had not seen fit to wake him and evidently, his mother had not returned from her day outing with Bernard. He struggled but sat up straight and tried to gather his bearings. He had slept half the day away. The exhaustion and sleepiness nights had finally caught up with him, but he felt renewed after proper rest. He heard a muffled mumbling that sounded remarkably like Theo’s voice.
He searched for the source and found it coming out of his mobile phone buried under the sheets. Bringing it up to his ear, Draco listened to the colourful slew of words Theo was known for using and then spoke, “What do you want, Theo?”
Theo scowled, “If his highness isn't too busy to mingle with the commoners, I would like to invite him for a drink at my house.” Draco chuckled, “His highness would be happy to oblige the Jester’s request by dropping in for a quick one. Theo opened his mouth to hurl an insult, but Draco hastily beat him to it, “I will be there in an hour.” He cut the line without waiting for Theo’s impatient reply, tossed the phone away and strode into the bathroom with the sole intent of having a leisurely shower.
Bernard poured a glass of red wine into an exquisite hand-blown wine glass and handed it to Narcissa. They had returned from their short trip to the countryside and sat by a roaring fire in Bernard's study indulging in cheese and other delicacies.
Narcissa took the glass but appeared far away and disturbed. Bernard had noticed his beloved’s odd behaviour and thought to ask, “A Knut for your thoughts, my love.” Narcissa snapped out of the daze and blushed at her rudeness, “Forgive me. I haven't seen Draco in days. I was wondering if all was well with him. I didn't want to smother him by calling and sending owls.”
It all made sense. “Ah, he’s got his Auror trials coming up, hasn’t he?” Bernard inquired curiously, followed it up with a softened expression and advice, “Well, an Auror is hardly home. It’s not an easy life nor a life for the faint-hearted.” He patted Narcissa’s hand and reassured her, “I am certain he is fine.”
“I suppose your right and I’m being paranoid,” Narcissa responded with a slight smile. Bernard had an infectious calm demeanour, and being in his presence instantly put her at ease. She had been trying to speak to Draco since her luncheon with Hermione.
There hadn't been a spare moment to inform him about inviting the Grangers for dinner at the Malfoy. Bernard agreed that it was a wise decision and one that would show that their intentions were pure and noble. It was imperative that Hermiones, mother, father and grandmother feel welcome and have their minds put at ease that their daughter would be loved and cared for.
Bernard left the room and returned with an elaborately wrapped box. He clicked his heels together and presented it to a stunned Narcissa, who took it with trembling fingers and a curious expression. He always brought back stunning art pieces from his many travels, and she was anxious to see what lay within.
Taking out her wand, she tapped it once and whispered an incantation the box melted away into nothingness, revealing a magnificent antique vase that must have cost a small fortune. She had seen a similar one in an ancient text but couldn't be sure if it was the same one or a replica.
“Oh, Bernard, it’s beautiful,” Narcissa gushed and carefully turned the vase at angles to get a better look, and Bernard beamed, “I knew the moment I laid eyes on it that I had to acquire it.”
He included, “I picked up a little something for Draco. It will prove useful in his line of work.”
Narcissa smiled, rose gracefully and kissed Bernard lightly on the lips. He was the one she should have married, but Lucius, much like Draco, was dashing and hard to resist, and she did love him fiercely for a time. Bernard graciously offered his arm, which Narcissa took without hesitation. They left the tastefully furnished study and retired to the foyer where a light dinner was served, followed by a lively game of wizards chess.
Draco ran his fingers through his hair, and the wet strands fell haphazardly across his forehead, adding to his appeal.
He arrived at Nott Manor and knocked on the door. An elderly wizard in a smart suit opened the heavy door after a brief moment, invited Draco in, and wordlessly led the way. If Draco remembered correctly, Theo had a female house-elf, but Nott Senior had struck down the elf in a fit of rage and forced Theo to bury the mutilated body. The loss of the elf, who had been a comforting friend amidst the darkness had been a crushing blow to a lonely boy who feared his father.
Draco heard the deep voices engaged in a lively conversation from a room with its door open. He walked into the room that doubled as Theo’s workspace and asked the men enjoying a drink in his absence, “What's all this? Where's Lovegood?”
Theo and Blaise got to their feet and greeted their old friend. Theo answered, “She's out with the Weasley and Granger.” That piqued Draco’s interest. He raised a curious brow and asked, “Granger?”
Theo chuckled and made air quotes, "Ladies' night." He walked across the room to the fully stocked bar, poured Draco two fingers' worth of Laphroaig Single Malt Scotch matured for thirty years, and added a single ice cube. The aromatic notes gave off a pungent smell of ripe tropical fruits, toasted macadamia nuts, and vanilla cream. It also served tantalising smoke, lime, sea salt, and mild chilli hints for the palate. Then, the finish boasted of antique leather, and green tobacco leaves taste.
He handed the drink to his friend and mused, “Didn't she tell you?”
Draco took the drink and scowled, “It might come as a surprise to you, but Granger is not my girlfriend and is in no way obligated to inform me of her whereabouts.” Yet, the corner of his eye twitched in anticipation. A simple text message to say that she was headed out would have sufficed.
Theo said with a distinctive roll of his eyes, “Must you get anal about it.” Obviously, the topic concerning Granger was to be addressed lightly around Malfoy, he thought. It was hard to place where his affections lay.
Blaise patted Draco heartily on the back and bellowed teasingly, “Ah, a celebrity is among us!” He fawned over his best mate and gushed, “May I have your autograph?”
Draco glared sternly, “Shut it, Blaise!” His mate had read Skeeter’s interview, but they hadn't met after for them to discuss it in detail. Their respective schedules kept them busy, which was one of the reasons they jumped at the opportunity to meet even on such short notice. They could bond in Hawaii, but discussing the more serious things with their respective spouses and Granger would be a near-impossible task.
“What are you on about?” Theo was bemused. He had evidently missed something important.
Blaise laughed aloud, “Theo, you must be living under a rock”. Theo scowled, “Fine. Whatever. Just fucking tell me.” Blaise chuckled, “Did you not see the tell-all interview in Witch Weekly Magazine?”
Draco groaned and threw Blaise a deep look of frustration.
Theo shrugged, “No, I didn't. I don't subscribe to that garbage, and neither does Luna.” His magazines consisted mainly of scientific journals. He kept a keen eye on new inventions and advancements in potions and alchemy. Baseless gossip never appealed to him.
While Blaise did not read the primarily women's magazine, Daphne did, and he had walked in on Astoria, showing her sister a passage in the interview dedicated primarily to her. Astoria had interpreted Draco’s words to mean something entirely different from what he truly intended.
Blaise winked and elucidated, “Well, let me enlighten you then.” He gave Theo a summarised version of the interview, and Theo gasped in shock at the right places and showed the proper amount of enthusiasm where it was required. Draco pursed his lips and listened intently without uttering a word. Theo slapped his knee and mocked, “You dished out the dirt!” He shook his head in disbelief. According to Blaise, most of the answers were exceedingly personal, “No fucking way! Why did you do it?”
“I did it for Granger,” Draco replied without any unwillingness on his part. His answer was unpretentious, and to the point, but of course, it failed to appease the curiosity of the men before him. Blaise frowned, “That explains nothing.”
Draco took a deep breath, and his drink's distinct smell of vanilla took up permanent residence in his nostrils. His ordinarily handsome features contorted unpleasantly, and he said with little room for argument, “Skeeter would have continued to throw mud on Hermione’s character if I didn't.”
Theo leaned forward and insisted, “So, you gallantly rode in on a magnificent black horse and sacrificed yourself to save her?” The Malfoy he grew up with wouldn't have given another’s suffering a second thought. Sure, they had all changed post-war, but this man before him was unfathomable. He didn't quite know what to make of it.
“I did what I must to protect her,” Draco said, amused by Theo’s comparison.
Theo puckered his lips and made kissy noises like some adolescent boy after learning about his mate’s first kiss and teased mercilessly, “Aww, he sounds pitiful.”
Draco lunged forward with a loud proclamation, “Arsehole!” but Theo managed to escape his grasp.
Blaise offered thoughtfully, “I think you did the right thing, Draco. It's a good start to show Granger that you have indeed changed and hold her in the highest regard.” Surely she would have softened towards him.
He swiftly remembered Astoria and warned, “Be aware. You might have put your foot in your mouth by adding some adoring details when describing your relationship with Astoria. She thinks you love her.”
Draco sighed and sank further into the comfortable chair. He cared for Astoria as a friend. Why was that so difficult for her to grasp? Despite her illness, she was an intelligent woman or had her mind slipped so far off the perimeters of normal that she couldn't differentiate between fact or fiction? It was entirely plausible that she interpreted conversations and statements to suit her.
Ignoring the tense issue brewing, Theo snickered, “You're going to jump Granger’s bones in Hawaii, aren't you? Because if you don't, somebody else might.” Hermione was an attractive, intelligent woman with authority, and any man would give his left ball to have her show them an iota of interest.
Draco narrowed his eyes. The apparent swirls of perfect grey darkened, “Whoever can try, but I assure you they won't get far.”
Blaise raised his glass with a hearty grin, “I’ll drink to that!” They clicked glasses in celebration of a possibly memorable trip.
After Luna joined them at the Leaky Cauldron, they hugged and exchanged gossip, and whatever was going on in each other’s life while Hannah diligently watched the group. At one point, she noticed a shady but attractive man who seemed to be alone, nursing a hefty scotch and staring at them unblinkingly. She stared right back without breaking eye contact enough to make the man uncomfortable and promptly leave.
Hannah had no idea she had just met the infamous Dorian Blackwood under one of his many disguises.
After another two rounds of drinks, Luna insisted they go by a Muggle nightclub she passed often and thought looked interesting. Luna’s take on interesting and theirs were vastly different, but the night was still young, and they were adults who could afford to take a risk or two. Ginny was initially reluctant, but Hermione was more than willing, and Hannah wholeheartedly encouraged the decision. The man at the bar unsettled her, and she wanted to head out of magical territory. They were too well known in the magic community and could be seen coming from a mile away. They stuffed their shopping bags into Hermione’s beaded purse with the expandable charm that she always kept with her, paid for the drinks even though Tom, the innkeeper, insisted it was on the house and left the familiar pub.
For once, Luna’s idea of an interesting place was tallied with others. A server wearing tight black trousers, a buttoned-up white shirt and a black bowtie approached them the second they entered and led them to a table in the corner, which considerably drowned out the loud flow of techno music.
A couple of tequila shot rounds later, they talked about Hogwarts and how incredibly fun Hawaii would be. Luna rattled off some bizarre facts about Honolulu and how she was confident her child would be conceived under the rays of the Hawaiian sun. Hannah sighed and wished she could down a shot. It would have made Luna’s antics much more hilariously entertaining.
Luna sensed her friend's plight and inconspicuously nudged her, “Have a drink, Hannah?”
Hannah refused and stated, “I can't drink on duty, but by all means, get shitfaced.”
Ginny downed another shot, slammed the small empty glass on the table and questioned, “What's all this about you not talking to my stupid brother?” She had avoided the topic all day and thought the best time to breach the subject was when their inhibitions were low, and tongues wagged loosely.
Hermione frowned. She did not need a reminder of what transpired in her office on that fateful day, “I'm sure Harry's told you all about it.”
Ginny affirmed, “He did. They both did, and I gave them a piece of my mind and told them to leave you alone and mind their fucking business.”
Hermione downed a shot, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and exclaimed, “Oh, did they tell you the part where Ron basically called me a desperate slut?”
Ginny scoffed, “Not in so many words, but I gathered he might have. Honestly, why didn't you tell him to fuck off? You always let him off so easily.”
Hermione stared into the bottom of her empty glass and defended her actions, “I know, but you also know how he gets? All puffy-faced and emotional. It's like dealing with a broken up teenage girl. I hate handling his drama.” Luna giggled, and Hannah couldn't help the laughter that bubbled to the surface.
Ginny nodded in agreement and said with a hint of disappointment, “Harry should have known better. Anyways, I ripped them a new one. They understand a bit better now.”
"Thanks," Hermione moodily muttered while tossing stale chips into her mouth. Ginny leaned forward and almost whispered, “So, were you really snogging Malfoy inside your office in broad daylight?”
Hannah rolled her eyes, “You two need to get a room, Granger.”
Hermione blushed, “Well, it's not the first time, and I'm almost certain it won't be the last.”
Luna gushed, "That's a beautiful ring, Hermione." Hermione mumbled a quick thank you and moved her hand off the table.
Ginny smirked, “Hermione, just sleep with Malfoy and get it over with before it does your head in.”
Hermione was taken aback by the brazen comment and refuted it with humour, “Ginny! One does not simply jump into bed with a man. I am a lady.”
“Oh, what a load of crock,” Luna injected with a high-pitched giggle, and the women burst into laughter.
However, once the laughter died down, Ginny declared, "I know you see the arrogant pointy faced git when you look at him at times, but could we hypothetically assume he's changed."
Hannah agreed wholeheartedly and added her input with a mischievous wink, "You might be pleasantly surprised." Unconsciously, she had become Malfoy's spokesperson.
Hermione mused, “Aren't you going to tell me off for wanting to shag the enemy as your brother did?” She wore her hair loose, and curly strands cupped her face endearingly.
“My brother is an idiot,” Ginny said superbly disdainfully and followed up quickly, “You're a big girl, and who you sleep with is hardly anyone's business, even if it is Malfoy. Just promise me you'll be careful.” Her last words were said with genuine concern.
Hermione scrunched up her nose to show her obvious displeasure and argued, “I'm not going to get heartbroken if that's what you mean.” Ginny smiled slightly and countered, “Hermione, you love fiercely. I don't want to see you get hurt if he doesn't reciprocate your feelings.”
She followed through with a sly smirk, “However, judging by his answers in Witch Weekly Magazine, I'd say he's well on his way to falling head over heels in love with you.
Hermione visibly cringed. Merlin, forbid. She couldn't fathom a lovesick Draco Malfoy. How would one go about approaching such an atrocity?
“Do you want to sleep with him, Granger?” Hannah asked curiously with raised eyebrows. She patiently awaited the answer.
Hermione hesitated, but she was among friends and clarified her thoughts on the subject, “Well, I, umm…I've made it abundantly clear that I welcome it, but he doesn't seem to want to sleep with me.” There was a distinctive edge and resentment to the tone she hadn't planned on.
Luna listened intently while sucking her concoction of vodka cranberry through a straw.
Hermione shrugged, “He touches me and kisses me senseless, but he brushes it off when it comes to sex.” She vividly recalled his fingers invading her most private place. It was intense and insanely erotic. Hermione shuddered as the memory took precedence and grabbed tufts of her hair. She groaned, “Argh, It's quite frustrating.”
“Yeah, I can bloody imagine,” Hannah said in complete agreement. What was Malfoy playing at? Perhaps, he was gay. It was a farfetched theory but one they could seriously consider. Hannah refrained from mentioning it in fear that any unwarranted questions regarding her sexuality would arise.
Ginny said thoughtfully, “Maybe he's insecure.” Most men had a tough time accepting a strong woman in bed. It was quite probable that Malfoy, like any other Alpha male, was intimidated by Hermione’s presence and occupation. Still, it seemed unlikely since he held up his own and went toe to toe with her while others shied away from the challenge.
“Insecure about what?” Hermione questioned passionately. Her tone of voice mirrored her feelings on the matter. Despite his apparent personality change, he had not once stepped lightly around her. Quite the contrary, he instilled himself in her life, causing her to question every minor detail she secretly harboured about him.
Ginny shrugged, “I don't know, but maybe since it's you, he would prefer to tread lightly.” She downed another tequila shot, hooked her pinky finger and quipped, “Or perhaps he's got a small cock.”
That seemed like a plausible explanation, but Hermione shot it down right out of the gate, “Hmm, somehow, I doubt that very much.” Of course, she hadn't seen his appendage, but she had felt his hardened length press into her numerous times. From that, she came to a reasonably fair assumption that Draco Malfoy had a decent-sized penis. Not monstrous, but manageable.
“Then why the hesitation?” Hannah addressed. She was exceedingly curious as to why Malfoy would refuse to sleep with Granger. She had plenty of attributes he valued in a woman. The Algorithm did not match them up based on a whim. Hermione drained her drink and hissed, “Maybe he still thinks I'm unworthy to bump uglies with?” She proposed and waited for feedback.
Hannah cried indignantly over the music, “Come off it!” Ginny frowned, “Definitely not!” Luna chimed in with her whimsically low voice of reason, “I think Draco is waiting for the perfect moment.”
Luna could be counted on to offer a reason no one previously thought of, and more often than not, she was right on the money. It seemed like a ludicrous notion that Malfoy was biding his time and waiting for the opportune time to claim her, hopefully, savagely. Still, none had a reasonable rebuttal, and each fell into silence and pondered their thoughts.
Hermione swiftly dismissed the conversation, “Besides, we have far more important things to concentrate on than having sex.” It made for good banter over a couple of drinks with the girls, but the situation was grave. She kept her morbid thoughts to herself and refrained from putting a severe damper on the evening.
A smartly dressed server approached them, carefully balancing a tray of four Long Island ice teas. He set the drinks down, smiled broadly and with remarkable ease and pointed to the bar where a party of four Muggle men sat on high stools nursing amber-coloured concoctions and said, “Courtesy of the gentlemen at the bar.”
Luna glanced their way and smiled warmly. She wasn't being flirtatious but polite. She was wonderfully unaware of social norms.
Ginny scolded, “Don't encourage them,” but it was too late.
Luna took a tall glass, raised it high, and mouthed, “Thank you.” She had the uncanny ability to befriend anyone willing. The men grinned confidently but made no real effort to approach them, and Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. Hermione reached for a complimentary drink, but Hannah shot her a look of warning. They had no clue who the men were, and they could easily be disguised Death Eaters looking to abduct Hermione or cause her bodily harm.
Hermione withdrew her hand and swapped a look of understanding with Hannah. She felt a vibration within her bag and knew at once it was her mobile. Fetching it, she squinted in the dim light to better look at the name and exclaimed, “Oh, my mum’s calling.”
She excused herself and connected the call while moving through the crowd of clubbers, moving enthusiastically to the music towards the exit. Still, even in the narrow dark passageway, the sound of music was prominent but barely.
“Hello, darling!” Julia chirped, but Hermione pressed the phone to her ear and almost yelled, “Mum! Hang on! I can barely hear you.” She moved further away from the entrance and almost onto the nearly deserted London street. Julia informed and shouted, “I'm just ringing to remind you about brunch tomorrow.” Hermione could hardly hear anything except the word brunch, and it struck a chord but not a definitive one. She replied, “What? Brunch?”
Richard wandered into the kitchen searching for a beer and questioned with a raised brow, “Why are you yelling, Jules?” Julia covered the phone's mouthpiece and offered a hurried explanation, “Hermione is at a club. She can't hear me, darling.”
“At a nightclub? What is she doing at a club?” Richard hissed while viciously popping the seal on a cool Budweiser. The aluminium can took the brunt of his frustrations.
Julia struggled to hear her daughter and impatiently silenced her overprotective husband, “Shush!” Hermione was a grown woman and free to come and go as she pleased but unfortunately, Richard forever treated her like the precious child he accompanied to ballet rehearsals.
Richard was indignant, “Don't you shush me. I want to know what my daughter is doing in a sleazy club?” Julia rolled her eyes and moved further away from her husband, and when she heard Hermione clearly, she smiled, “Ah, yes, darling. Much better. Can you bring around two boxes of strawberries with you tomorrow?”
Hermione struggled to keep her composure and appear normal and not half drunk. She hoped to keep it together while speaking to her mother, “Of course, mum. I've got to run. Give my love to dad and nana.” She hung up, smacked her forehead and groaned. Shit. She had forgotten all about brunch, and what was worse, she had neglected to mention it to Malfoy.
Hannah leaned against the wall and smoked a cigarette awaiting her return.
Hermione breezed past her and went straight to the bar while Hannah hurriedly stubbed the cigarette and followed her. Without much thought to the consequences, Hermione ordered a round of shots with the firm instruction to the bartender that they keep coming until she requested.
Hannah watched her protection assignment down two consecutive shots in rapid succession and raised in concern, “Haven't you had enough?”
Hermione signalled for another and slowly shook her head, “Not nearly.” Alcohol helped calm her rattled nerves to inform Malfoy about brunch.
An hour went by, and it was nearing two am. The atmosphere intensified with pumping beats, and they danced mainly with each other and had a grand time when it dawned on Hermione that she had forgotten to call Malfoy again. She pulled out her phone from the tight back pocket of her jeans and groaned. It was such an ungodly time to ring someone, but it had to be done, and she was pleasantly high and feeling good about herself.
Hermione left Luna and Ginny dancing on the floor and headed towards the ladies' room. She stumbled, and a man standing close by saved her from a nasty fall. She reconsigned him as one of the men that bought them drinks earlier.
He smiled and held onto her arm for longer than needed and opened his mouth to speak when Hannah appeared out of nowhere and interrupted, “Are you alright?”
Hermione smiled graciously and thanked her mysterious saviour. He didn't skip a beat by offering a leering smirk and replied, “It was my pleasure.”
Once they were out of earshot, Hannah hissed, “What the hell are you doing?” Hermione grinned sheepishly as they entered the ladies' bathroom and answered, “I need to call Draco.”
Hannah was floored by her reply but didn't question further and waited for the situation to unravel. Hermione stared at the numbered keys on her mobile for a fleeting moment, and having located the desired contact, she pressed it and waited hopefully for the person on the other end to answer. Sure enough, after a few mere rings, his deep sultry voice came through and enveloped the shell of her ear, “This is a pleasant surprise. I'll admit I've missed your dulcet tones.”
Hermione pushed her hair back with her free hand, bit her lip and rasped, “Mmm, I miss you far more than you know.” That sounded wrong on many levels, and she wished she hadn't thought of his fingers bringing her to orgasm.
Hannah snorted and, with some difficulty, managed to suppress her snarky comments.
Draco sat up straight and keenly hung onto her every word, “Care to elaborate, Granger? I’m all ears.” The mention of her name was enough for Theo to snap to attention, and he moved closer despite Draco’s wordless look of warning to stay away.
Hermione was too far gone to exchange pleasantries and slurred, "Your presence at the Granger household tomorrow is mandatory."
Ginny and Luna chose that exact moment to come stumbling in. They held onto each other and giggled uncontrollably. Draco heard the commotion and smirked, “Granger, are you drunk?”
Hermione dismissed his question, “Of course not! Ginny, Tell him I'm not drunk.” She held out the phone, and Ginny spoke directly into it, “She's not, but she is tipsy, Malfoy. Stop treating her like a child.”
“Where are you?” Draco swallowed the laughter that bubbled to the surface and tried a more direct question. There was no doubt in his mind that all of them were smashed, and he wondered if Hannah was too.
Hermione chuckled and whispered, “Shh, it's a secret.” The barely conscious part of the brain screamed in protest at her attempt at flirtatious answers.
His protective instincts rose to the surface, and he insisted, “Let me come get you. It might not be safe, and you could easily splinch yourself if you disapparate in your current inhibited state.”
Theo had listened for long enough and weighed in, "What the fuck is going on?" His palms were a sweaty mess. Was Luna drunk? Hundreds of questions spun together to form disastrous scenarios, and he struggled to control his imagination from playing cruel tricks on him.
Hermione gushed, “Awww, you would do that? For me?”
Luna combed her hair back and secured it in a ponytail while Ginny entered an empty stall to relieve herself. Hannah leaned against a porcelain sink with an amused expression and wondered if Hermione would remember any of this in the morning.
Draco got to his feet and said sternly, “Yes, I would, without hesitation. Send me the address.”
Hermione tutted, “Oh, I don't think so. Besides, it's girls' nights out, and Hannah is right here.” She managed to put the call on speaker and instructed with a smug grin, “Say hello, Hannah.”
Hannah sighed and replied with less enthusiasm and apparent tiredness, “Wotcher, Malfoy." They left the sanctuary of the toilet with the call still intact, and Draco’s irritated voice came through, “Stop mucking about, woman.” He was rapidly losing his patience over her seemingly reckless behaviour. Ginny and Luna returned to their table and chatted animatedly among themselves.
Hermione took the call off speaker mode and hissed, “Who stuck a wand up your arse?” Despite her drunkenness, she did not appreciate being told off like some wayward teenager who wasn't in control.
The deep voice of an eager man made it to Draco’s sensitive hearing, "Come on, love. Let me buy you a drink. I'm Steven, by the way."
Who the fuck? An unsettling feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Why was his vision clouded in red? Calm yourself and act maturely, he silently berated himself.
It was the man from earlier. Evidently, the tosser had been hanging around, possibly waiting for a second chance with Hermione or was there a more sinister intent behind his actions?
Hannah glared but got pushed to the side by a group of girls who looked like they had one too many.
Still fuming at Malfoy’s ridiculous behaviour, Hermione eyed the man and decided she liked his choice of the shirt but nothing else.
Despite her drunken state, she was acutely aware that her intended was still on the line and annoyed.
She laughed flirtatiously and batted her long eyelashes, "Sure, darling, I would love to have a drink with you!" The man radiated happiness at having accomplished his goal.
Hermione excused herself for a moment and spoke directly into the phone with a less than pleased tone of voice, "See you tomorrow at eleven am. Oh, and remind me to buy strawberries."
Draco was beside himself and exceedingly frustrated by her brazen behaviour and declared in a voice that was not to be trifled with, "Do not entertain him, Granger. I fucking mean it!"
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Relax, Draco! Don't be such a killjoy." A masculine scent invaded her personal space. The smell was repulsive and almost made her vomit.
"Who's Draco?" The Muggle man probed curiously while slipping a hand around her waist.
Hermione attempted to move away, grinned slyly and stated the truth, "My gorgeous fiancé."
Draco couldn't help but smile, and then the sudden realisation of another man wanting to spend time in her company made him deeply frown.
The determined man caught sight of the impressive ring and tried to persuade, "Ah, how about we forget about him tonight, love? You and I can have a little fun." He could pocket the ring and sell it for a sizable fortune if all else failed.
Draco fumed, "Granger! Are you there? Answer me!" His free hand balled into a hardened fist, and he mustered all his self-control not to put it through Theo’s antique mirror.
Blaise sensed something was wrong and tried to be the voice of reason, "Hang up the phone, mate."
Hannah emerged from the side with a deep frown of disapproval etched onto her face. Without hesitation, she pushed the man's hand off Hermione’s person before she could and shoved him back with a dire warning, "Don't touch her."
Don't touch her? What? When had it escalated into touching? Draco was livid. His hold on the phone tightened, and his patience hung by a very fine thread.
Reluctantly, the man fell back and sneered, "Mind your own business." This no-good bitch was thwarting his plans.
Hannah stood her ground, sized up the pitiful Muggle, cocked her head to the side and smirked, "Make me."
Hermione kept her eyes on the man seeking an altercation with Hannah and spoke calmly into the phone, "Good night, Draco." Her bad idea to rile up Malfoy had backfired and put Hannah at risk.
Draco insisted with more force than necessary, but his plea fell on deaf ears, "Granger, don't you dare hang up," Blast, the line went dead, and Draco stared at the black screen with his heart pounding in his ears.
Theo caught sight of his friend’s anxious face and demanded in an elevated state of panic, "Where are they?"
Hermione closed the gap between Hannah and her and stood by her side. She faced the man, shot him a deep look of repulsion and said icily, "Listen to me, sport, we won't be having any fun tonight, so kindly keep your hands to yourself and fuck off." A heavyset bouncer with a commanding presence arrived at that precise moment, towered over them and inquired, "Is he bothering you, miss?"
Hermione tapped her chin in mock thought and mused, "Are you bothering us?" The man shook his head so vigorously it appeared to come off. He paled and backed away ultimately.
Blaise grabbed Theo by the shoulders and urged, "Relax, Theo! Breathe." Theo broke free from the hold, grabbed his wand and insisted, "We should go find them. They could be in trouble."
Abandoning his wand, he tried calling Luna, but the rings went on endlessly with no favourable result. It remained unanswered even after many tries. Theo grumbled and paced around the room while Blaise refilled his glass with scotch and took a swig.
Finally, Draco found his voice and thundered, "For fucks sake! Will you shut up? They’re fine!" He stormed out of the Manor without a backwards glance and into the shabbily maintained gardens.
Clearly, Lovegood and Theo were not fans of gardening. A thick layer of mist had settled over the ground, reflecting his mood and unnerving thoughts.
Draco looked to the heavens and demanded answers. Of course, none came, but it was worth a try. He sat on a nearby bench, closed his eyes for a fleeting moment and sighed. It dawned on him that there was one person he could call to make sure Granger and the rest were still among the living. He was fully aware that he was being overly dramatic, but Granger had brought this upon herself by behaving like an adolescent.
He hurriedly called the person, and the call connected after a few rings. He could hear the loud music thumping, but he drowned it out and focused, “Hannah?”
Hanah replied right off the bat, “She's fine! I'm watching her like a hawk.” She was in no mood to entertain the many qualms of a jealous fiance. Her bed or Hermione’s somewhat comfortable couch beckoned her, and it was almost time to call it a night.
Draco exhaled. His breathing evened, and his conduct turned professional, “Good! Do you need any help?” Hannah snorted and quipped with dripping sarcasm, “Yeah, maybe to carry their drunken asses home.” He couldn't help but ask. It ate away at his brain the more he tried to disregard it, “Who's the bloke?”
Hannah spoke loudly enough to be heard. She glanced at Hermione and smirked, “Some moronic Muggle she's dancing with. He’s not bad looking, but don't worry your pretty little head. It's harmless for the moment.”
Draco stiffened and hissed most unpleasantly, “I am not worried about her shacking up with some random idiot she has taken a five-minute fancy to. It's my job to care for her wellbeing and yours.” Hannah chuckled, “Ah, I am so relieved you feel that way because I wasn't sure whether to tell you or not that they are snogging on the dance floor.” She added dramatically for more effect, “Oh, and now he's grabbing her bum.”
There was only so much he could let slide before the anger he kept at bay consumed him. He inquired in a dangerously low voice, “Where are you?” Hannah stifled a laugh and put him out of his misery, “Sucker. I had no clue you were this gullible, Malfoy.”
Draco fumed, and rightly so. This was hardly the time to play ludicrous games when there was a potential threat to Granger’s life, “I do not find this amusing, Abbott. That man could be anyone, and Granger could be in grave danger.”
“Are you questioning my abilities to protect Hermione?” Hannah fired back without remorse. She would have to remind her trainee Auror partner, who was in charge, and the more experienced one. Her track record with cases was second to none, and she had yet to come across a mission that got the better of her.
Draco regretted his choice of words and attitude. In exasperation, he massaged the bridge of his prominent nose and replied, “Of course not.” For all intents and purposes, Hannah was his friend and his superior. It was best not to let his feelings for Granger and suppressed emotions interfere with his job, judgment, and, most importantly, his relationship with Abbott.
Hannah scoffed, “Then calm your jealous arse down. I will make sure your girlfriend gets home safely with her knickers intact.”
Draco gritted out, “She is not my sodding girlfriend.”
Hannah was tired of dealing with such childish behaviour and made it a point to vocalise her thoughts, “You're a bigger idiot than she is! Good night, Malfoy.” She cut the line without waiting for a reply which she was sure would have been carefully constructed and annoying.
Ginny laughed and sipped a glass of water, “Good one, Hannah.” She couldn't recall the last time she stayed out past twelve, and though her legs hurt and her mouth tasted vile, she had a great time with a bunch of fabulous women.
Luna held onto her phone and reassured her husband that she was well and in one piece. Theo had finally got through to his wife and begged her to come home this instant. It was a request Luna denied but promised to be along shortly.
Hermione smiled slightly and asked, “I resent that last comment, but why did you lie to him, Hannah?”
Hannah nudged her and chuckled, “I'm sober. Let me have some fun, you drunk wretch.”
Chapter 53
Summary:
To all the comments:- Thank you so much for the delightful feedback, I live for it! :)
I know the slow burn is frustrating, but I do have to bring in that tension. Please do bear with me :)
Draco's shares his insecurities about sex with Hermione, and Kingsley and Harry meet with Dorian.
Enjoy Chapter Fifty-Three!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
The Ministry of Magic
Kingsley returned from his official trip to New York and remained in the office nursing a tumbler of aged scotch until he gathered his scattered and disturbed thoughts. His mind was a jumbled mess of facts and missing information, and he couldn’t be trusted not to take out his many frustrations on his beloved wife. Maureen was an understanding woman, but it wasn’t fair to burden her with issues pertaining to his job.
He pulled the photographs he brought back with him closer and stared at the stills. The bold word revolution painted on the wall with the victim’s thick blood seemed to mock him. The still fresh blood trickled down the curvature of the letter formation, dripping down the filthy wall. Kingsley ruffled through the other pictures and pulled out two more identical ones from Romania and France. The threatening word remained the same but in the respective native tongue.
Revoluţie
Révolution
Mutilated corpses with scattered limbs and guts spilling onto the dirty street stood out. The photographer had done his job remarkably well by capturing the situation's essence.
Kingsley sighed, took a sip of the smoky amber liquid that lay undisturbed in the crystal tumbler, and a surge of rage overpowered him at the helplessness of the situation. He threw the glass across the room in frustration, which shattered into many irreparable pieces as it collided with the wall.
Breathing hard, Kingsley leaned back into his chair and shut his eyes in a futile attempt to compose himself. Darkness surrounded him and pulled him into its warm embrace.
Avery Manor. Formally rundown but restored to its former glory by the last remaining heir.
Julius straightened his jacket and led the scarred yet tall, striking raven-haired man down a lavishly carpeted hallway. They passed many exquisite paintings and draperies suited to Avery’s high standard of living. He stopped at the door in solid oak, pushed the doors open wide, and stood to the side as the heavy booted man strode past him into the room.
Avery Senior had little faith in Albus Dumbledore as headmaster of Hogwarts and therefore decided to send his only child and heir to Durmstrang to be educated under former Death Eater and friend Igor Karkaroff. Of course, the boy visited every holiday; it was a joyous time for father and son. They shared a close bond, unlike the others who had strained relationships with their offspring, where most sought approval over love.
Julius didn’t have to strive much to prove his worth and garner favour. He was popular as a Brit among predominantly international students from all regions of Europe, a natural-born athlete and exceptionally gifted at transfiguration. He received some backlash for his father’s involvement with Death Eaters.
Still, by the time Voldemort had risen once again, he was finished with Durmstrang, and despite his wishes to return to London and fight at his father’s side, his pleas were ignored, and he was firmly instructed to go to Moscow and finish his further training.
He distinctively recalled his mother’s letter informing him of his father’s imprisonment. It had been a dark period, and he had returned with haste but in vain. His father was sentenced to life in Azkaban for his malicious deeds or so deemed by the bastards in the Wizengamot. There wasn’t a bloody thing he could do. Helplessly at his mother’s insistence and father’s advice from behind the cold bars of Azkaban, with a heavy heart, he returned to Russia to complete his further education in curse-breaking.
Though he left, he vowed to return, free his father, and wage war on all those responsible for their suffering. His mother became a ghost of her former self that drifted aimlessly through the Manor. She passed peacefully in her sleep a couple of years down the line, and before she succumbed to her untimely fate, she would whisper his father’s evil doings and beg a faceless entity for mercy.
His mother’s ramblings meant nothing. Julius was convinced his father was a great man, and he sought tirelessly to overturn the injustice done to him. That particular thought drove him to pursue the inner workings of Club Sanguis.
Formerly, it had been a profitless hideout for pureblood individuals holding high societal ranks. Still, once Julius instilled himself within the network of macabre characters led by former Voldemort sympathisers Gregory Goyle and, to a lesser extent Graham Montague, and once he had proven himself worthy, taking over the operation had been relatively easy.
Goyle wasn’t a shrewd businessman, and Montague couldn’t be bothered to see the true potential of the gold mine they sat on. Goyle squandered away his father’s accumulated wealth and his wife’s large dowry. In return, he treated her like scum and as his breeding machine. He fathered five children who, by the grace of God, looked like their mother and nothing whatsoever like the beefy purple-faced brutish man.
Julius was intelligent and trained in combat and duelling at Durmstrang, who sought to arm their students with various skills before leaving their establishment. Goyle had little choice but to hand over the reins, step down and watch disdainfully as he was usurped. Under Avery’s strict control, the club and activities flourished, and soon it became known worldwide as an allegedly reputed institution.
He wasn’t known to be a caring soul, and none would dare cross him. To add to his dangerous appeal, he commissioned the finest artist to tattoo a monstrous Basilisk that entwined its way down the entire length of his left arm. It was a fitting tribute to Salazar Slytherin and his predecessor Lord Voldemort. He had been spared the Dark Mark, but this was a more prominent offering of his loyalty.
Julius asked with a slight smile, “My Lord, is the room to your liking?”
The man looked around, impressed by the four-poster bed, antique furnishings and dormant fireplace. He nodded curtly, “Thank you for showing me such hospitality, Julius. Your father would be proud.”
Julius beamed but kept his emotions under control, “Thank you, sir. You honour me with your presence and kind words. My sole wish besides furthering the cause is to have my father by my side once more.”
The shrouded leader agreed without hesitation, “Unlike the others, your father was a component duelist. It was a shame Voldemort never regarded him highly. He only bestowed much of his graciousness over Bellatrix and Lucius.”
He scoffed, “What a bitter disappointment they turned out to be.” Rodolphus Lestrange was an understanding man to knowingly let his wife whore herself to Voldemort. A scandalous rumour that Bella was pregnant with Voldemort's child caused an irreparable rift between the couple. However, it became baseless gossip since the eldest Black sister showed no signs of conception.
Julius graciously bowed in respect, “Certainly, my Lord. My father would serve you well.”
The master, weary of the conversation, dismissed his lieutenant, “He would be true. Let us discuss the path to his freedom later. I wish to retire.” It hadn’t been easy winning over Julius Avery, who had disregarded him without a second glance and nearly ended his life with the flick of his wand.
Unfortunately, he had to reveal his true self to gain the young wizard's trust, among others. He knew Julius had his plan and was a much more formidable wizard than his father before, despite his hope to rescue him. He knew without a doubt the man would never be the same again. No one left Azkaban with their mind intact.
Julius grew remorseful of his words about his father and apologised profusely, “Of course, my Lord. Forgive my impertinence.”
A sudden wave of unease embodied the masked man who hid behind his Chimera mask. He missed the underground network of dark passageways and dungeons of the Mansion. It suited his disposition well.
He waved his hand dismissively, “Leave me. I must speak with my brothers in Romania, France and Japan.” Julius watched the man in a crisp suit, unable to move a muscle at the sudden belligerent dismissal. Still, without taking offence, the leader smiled, “One day, I expect you to be at my side and lead the way forward when I am unable.”
Julius bowed reverently and slowly backed out of the room. He knew what a gruesome monster the Master was; when the time was right, he would volunteer to be bitten if it helped free his father.
Malfoy Manor
Having slept fretfully, Draco was up in a few measly hours after leaving Theo’s following his annoying conversation with Hannah. He trained vigorously to fill the void.
Would Granger truly sleep with some random stranger she met at a club? Surely, she would not. He was a dignified prude with his archaic ideologies, but he dismissed his behaviour as being justified.
The heavyset punching bag took the brunt of his frustration. His hard punches collided noisily with the rough outer material, and it swung dangerously, threatening to come loose, but that did little to deter his savage attack. Draco punched it repeatedly as a faceless man causing Granger to moan sinfully invaded his mind. His swings grew more frequent, and he kept going until sweat coated the expanse of his back, and his knuckles swelled from the torment he inflicted upon them. Max raised his head, whimpered from the corner and eyed his Master in concern.
“Fuck this,” Draco swore under his breath. He had been pushing himself on an empty stomach to the brink of demise for hours on end. A quick glance at the clock informed him it was a little past nine am, Granger would probably be asleep, but he decided he didn’t particularly care if she was. He needed to lash out and unburden himself.
He stopped at the floor-length mirror in the bathroom and scrutinised the angry red bruise glorifying the side of his neck. An unforgettable present from his intended when she floored him during her little demonstration at Auror training. It had probably spread through the DMLE, and he was most likely the laughingstock of the entire department. It didn’t matter much considering Hermione Granger was responsible, a perfect little swot.
After a lengthy shower that washed out the sweat from his workout, Draco pulled on a white button-down shirt with a high collar to hide the vicious mark and blue jeans. Pleased by his appearance, he looked at the clock once more, quarter past ten.
Leaving the comfort and sanctuary of his room, Draco strode straight to where his mother kept an impressive collection of vintage bottles of wine in a decorated cupboard in the foyer. He half expected to find Narcissa reading a book, but silence greeted him occasionally punctured by Max’s exciting whimpers and soft growls. The growing dog never left Draco’s side, and he ruffled its fur and bestowed a look of pure adoration over the German shepherd.
Throwing the cupboard open, Draco rubbed his chin in thought as he surveyed the labelled bottles, and a few days-old stubble felt rough on his fingers. He made a mental note to shave but momentarily disregarded it and surveyed the neatly arranged bottles of wine that would cost a small fortune.
Knowing Mr Granger was a wine connoisseur was a significant advantage. After substantial consideration, he picked up a 1937 Domaine de la Romanee-Conti Grand Cru. It was an expensive blend but left him terribly wanting. Draco resumed his search, and hidden in the back was a treasure he wasn’t sure his mother would easily part with but putting caution to the wind, he slipped the rare bottle of Romanée-Conti 1945 into the deep pocket of his black trench coat.
Making sure not to make a sound and awaken half the Manor, he closed the cabinet doors and walked away, purposefully grabbing a green apple on his way out. He bit into the juicy flesh and devoured the fruit whole in a few bites.
He reached his favourite apparition point by the marble fountain watched by angels and pulled out his wand to disapparate when out of the corner of his eye he saw Dotty approaching as he disappeared. Max followed Dotty closely, running towards him as fast as her tiny feet would carry her, flailing her arms about urgently, but it was too late.
Draco landed near a deserted alleyway away from nosy Muggles and wandering eyes. Dotty’s conduct perturbed him, but whatever it was would have to wait. He dusted himself off, stepped onto the busy pedestrian sidewalk, and kept his face downcast despite the appreciative glances coming his way. A child eating a strawberry ice cream jolted his memory, and Granger’s drunken words about reminding her to buy the succulent fruit came crashing back.
Thankfully, a modern farmers market was within sight, and Draco joined the swarm of Muggles looking for fresh produce, and he wasn’t disappointed.
Two stalls down, he came across the plumpest red strawberries he had ever seen. He tossed one into his mouth and savoured the taste, and without bargaining, he bought three boxes of fruit from the kind older woman who ran the stand. She was all smiles at making a large sale and promptly packed the trays into a bag and handed it over, which Draco took with a grateful smile.
Running his long fingers through his platinum blonde locks, Draco whistled softly as he walked along the cobbled street toward Granger’s modest flat complex. It wasn’t early by any standards, and he abandoned the lift, jogged up the stairs, and came across Hannah leaning against the wall outside Granger’s flat, smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee out of a tall plastic cup.
Hannah caught sight of the smartly dressed man heading her way and grinned. She would’ve bet good money that Malfoy would turn up.
Draco wasted no time. As he got closer, he pointed to her foul tip, little nicotine buddy and frowned, “You know that causes cancer, right?! I thought you were smarter than that.” Hannah rolled her eyes. He struck a chord and was far better than Hermione at guilting her about her addiction.
Hannah stubbed the cigarette and scoffed, “Argh, please don’t get all fatherly on me.” She attempted a tired smile, “Thank Merlin, you’re here. I need to fucking sleep.”
Draco took in the dark circles, and unkempt hair and teased with a slight smile curving his lips, “You look cheerful.”
Hannah held onto him and exhaled, “I’m fucking dead on my feet. I haven’t partied with Weasley and Granger before. I have got to admit I’m impressed.” Indeed, she was. After Malfoy’s call, they had done two more rounds of shots and left.
Hannah was positive, that Luna had a hollow leg because, despite the numerous tequila shots, the woman remained composed and on her feet. Ginny had been a riot, cursing and singing off-key at the top of her lungs, leaving Hermione with little choice but to intervene. She covered her best friend’s mouth with her hand while giggling uncontrollably. They had seen Ginny to Grimmauld Place before returning home.
Draco brushed a piece of greasy hair off Hannah’s face and said firmly, “Well, she’s in safe hands. You can leave.” He was afraid his partner would collapse out of sheer exhaustion.
Hannah yawned and didn’t bother to conceal her gaping mouth. She inconspicuously glanced at the closed door and said groggily, “Don’t make too much noise. That Muggle bloke from the club spent the night, and they were bloody loud doing whatever they were doing in the bedroom. I hardly slept a wink.”
Draco felt a raging surge of anger. His hands balled into fists, and his features contorted unpleasantly as he hissed, “What?” Somebody was going to die, but he wasn’t quite sure who. He battled internally. Calm yourself. This isn’t the way! What is the matter with you?
Hannah let out a tired chuckle and rubbed her eyes to chase away the sleepiness, “You’re lucky, Malfoy. Granger sounds pretty good in the sack.”
“How could you let this happen, Hannah?” Draco accused outwardly, after failing miserably to keep his temper intact.
Back in China, he had such control over his emotions and feelings. After a few weeks with Granger and all his hard work to control his inner self fell apart.
Hannah shrugged, “It’s not my place to dictate her life, Malfoy.” She poked him in the chest with a knowing smirk, “Granger has needs, Malfoy. Needs you aren’t satisfying, apparently.” Draco blushed crimson and raised a questioning brow. What was that supposed to mean? Whatever it was sounded insulting. He was ignorant of the fact that women shared their feelings with friends.
Draco ignored the brazen comment, cracked his knuckles and gritted out, “You might want to stick around, Abbott. I make no promises to behave as a gentleman should.” He was going to unceremoniously toss the stupid wanker out on his arse and throttle Granger for behaving like a tart.
Hannah stopped Draco from storming into Hermione’s flat by grabbing his arm and bursting out laughing, “The look on your face is priceless.” The hilarity of the situation caused her to double over with laughter and hold onto her sides.
“You’re a cunt,” Draco said with a deep frown. The realisation that he had been played was bittersweet. On the one hand, he was immensely relieved that Granger had not shared her bed, and on the other hand, he was exceedingly annoyed with Abbott for angering him with falsehoods that led to him behaving like a jealous moron.
Hannah composed herself, ignored the icy glare of her partner, patted him heartedly on the back and exclaimed, “Oh, well! I’m off to get some shut-eye. I’ll take her off your hands in a few hours.”
She added for good measure with a smug smirk, “Have a good day, Malfoy.”
Draco turned his back on her and flipped her off before entering the flat with Hannah’s tired laughter ringing in his ear.
The living area was empty, and he assumed Granger was either asleep or in the bathroom. He hung up his coat with more force than necessary, left the bag of strawberries on the table, walked towards the room, and made his presence known before entering, “I'm coming in, Granger. I hope you are decent." Draco heard a muffled reply, and without waiting for further clarification or invitation, he pushed the door open and marched in. The state she was in was the complete opposite of decent.
Hermione drowsily sat up wearing nothing but a pair of flattering silk knickers and a fluffy white bathrobe to cover her nakedness. She massaged her throbbing temples and yawned. Draco stilled and froze by the entrance as her breasts pulled tight and rode up as she inhaled. He got a glimpse of rosy-tipped nipples and matching areola, which was enough to send his dormant hormones into a frenzy.
He swallowed the lump that formed and tried a direct question, "Did you have a pleasant evening?" Unfortunately, despite warning himself to control his feelings, they got the better of him, and the resentment he harboured was apparent.
Hermione closed her eyes, massaged her throbbing temples, and whispered, "Please speak softly and yes, I did." It wasn't a lie. She had a marvellous time and was now paying the price with a dreadful headache and hangover.
Draco positioned himself by the door, narrowed his eyes and murmured, "I heard you made a new friend." Fuck subtly. He was going to give her a piece of his mind. There was an imminent threat on her life, and that sleazy Muggle could have easily been a Death Eater in disguise.
Hermione smiled despite the pain in her head and nodded in agreement, "Ah, yes, Steven was charming and such a gentleman." She stretched the truth to provoke a reaction from the fuming blonde man standing in her room. Why must Hannah have all the fun?
"Good for you," Draco spat in contempt and followed it up with a stern, "I told you to be careful. He could've been anyone." An unsupervised night around town under the current circumstances was a terrible idea, even if Hannah was in attendance.
Hermione tried hard not to laugh at how genuinely upset Malfoy appeared and reasoned, "There was no cause for concern. It was a bit of innocent fun. Besides, Hannah was right there."
Draco refuted harshly, "Must you behave so poorly, Granger?" Innocent bit of fun? Was she barking mad? Her little escapade could have resulted in death.
"He was nice," Hermione said with a definite roll of her eyes and a casual shrug. Was Malfoy's anger centred around his job, or was it something else entirely? She couldn't help but wonder, and even in her hangover state, she leaned towards his empowering smell and presence. What was that earthy cologne he used? She wanted to drown in it.
Nice? Draco was utterly livid, "I don't fucking care!!" He yelled, forgetting her earlier request to keep his voice down.
Grabbing the sides of her head, Hermione grimaced and pleaded, "Argh, stop yelling. I have a splitting headache."
With a significant roll of his eyes, Draco left the room abruptly and went into the kitchen, searching for the hangover cure he was sure she kept handy. He was familiar with the surroundings after having stayed over to look after her numerous times. In next to no time, he located the small vial, stormed back into the room and impatiently held it out for her to take. She acted like an impudent child, and her reckless conduct irritated him.
Hermione sighed, took the opened bottle and drained the contents. The effects were instantaneous.
A warm flutter spread to the corners of her body, and the earlier feeling of a dead cat on her tongue and excruciating headache vanished into nothingness. She opened her eyes a new person and leapt out of bed, still wearing the robe that barely concealed her body.
She did a few warm-up exercises while Draco watched her movements intently and said with a cheery disposition, "Ah, much better. Thank you, Malfoy."
Draco mumbled a halfhearted, "You're welcome." He was still waiting for a viable excuse for her behaviour at the nightclub.
Hermione cocked her head to the side and queried rather innocently, "What time is it?"
Draco found it hard to tear his gaze away from the wild dark down tussles that framed her face, but reluctantly, he glanced at his watch and informed, "Quarter to eleven."
"And why are you here?" Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and asked with the quizzical raise of a perfectly shaped brow.
Draco frowned. Obviously, she had forgotten about visiting her parents. He elucidated with smug superiority and an alluring grin, "I thought you would want to head to brunch together, but I can meet you there if you wish."
Hermione slapped her forehead and groaned, "Oh, fuck! Brunch, of course." She would have traded anything to forgo brunch, slip under her sheets with Malfoy, preferably next to her and drift off into dreamless slumber, but it was far too late to cancel without hearing an earful from her temperamental father.
"Seriously? How could you forget?" Draco scolded with a disapproving shake of his head. Even though her manner annoyed him, he preferred scatterbrained Granger over the one that analysed every microscopic detail.
Hermione bent to touch her toes and defended her actions fiercely, "I was so intoxicated I would've forgotten my name."
Draco observed her trying tirelessly to touch her toes without bending her knees and stifled a laugh. Instead, he scoffed, "But not the name of the man who kept you company."
Hermione was beside herself. How dare he act this way? Was he looking for an apology?
She had gone out with friends and not for some bloody shagfest, and even if she had slept with Steven, it wouldn't have been any of Malfoy's business. His incessant questioning and schoolboy-like behaviour started getting on her nerves. Ron had similar traits, which caused them to go their separate ways, and she truly hoped Malfoy would refrain from being a tremendous pain in her arse.
Draco noticed the shift in his fiancé's disposition and sought to set the record straight, "Look, I'm not trying to tell you what to do, Granger. These are uncertain times, and you could have been in danger." He knew a woman like Granger would not take kindly to possessiveness, but in this instance, she left little choice.
Hermione heaved a sigh and muttered a quick, "Fine. Whatever," before turning away to search for clothes. She was suddenly acutely aware that she was naked as a gust of cool wind swept through the room. The coolness seeped into her skin and awakened the fine hairs on her neck.
An awkward silence engulfed them as one stood unmoving while the other frantically scanned the surroundings for a shred of clothing. The realisation that something might have transpired between the Muggle and her came to Draco's mind as he recalled Hannah's dire warning, "Don't touch her."
It made sense to clarify what happened for the sake of his sanity, but since when did his saneness rely on Granger's activities? He was sailing into uncharted waters without a hope in the world.
Draco cleared his throat and interrogated, "Did he touch you?"
Hermione stopped searching for clothes, stared into his handsome face with an amused expression, and contemplated an answer. She regarded him curiously, "Elaborate what you mean." Her response was unsatisfactory and caused Draco to frown deeply.
He closed the gap between them in two strides and retorted, "What are you playing at? Did he touch you, Granger? Intimately like this…." He ran the somewhat rough pad of his thumb along her bottom lip and waited impatiently for a suitable explanation.
Moving away from his manly fragrance and scorching touch that left her without any intelligent thoughts, Hermione stood still before she snapped out of the daze, licked her bottom lip and glared sternly, "Even if he did, it's none of your business, Malfoy."
Draco boldly gestured to the exquisite ring wrapped around her finger and insisted, "The ring disagrees." The precious stone had turned a flattering shade of pale red, and he knew it meant its allegiance was solely to him. To the best of her ability, Narcissa had briefly explained the many mysterious functions of the ring and what the colours depicted. Having worn the beautiful heirloom for nearly a lifetime offered her some insight into its workings.
Hermione made her thoughts on the matter abundantly clear, "Please don't delude yourself. I do not appreciate outbursts of jealousy. We are not obligated to one another." It was the bitter truth despite the sexual attraction to each other, which could be easily dismissed if she put her mind to it, or so she thought.
Draco's eyes roved over her body at an antagonising slow pace. He smirked in reply, "Perhaps you should change unless you plan on wearing a sexy bathrobe that hardly covers your bits to your parents." He found her behaviour highly amusing, but her harsh words dented his heart a smidge.
Hermione secured the robe around her more evenly and openly scowled, "Grow up, Malfoy. Go into the living room and amuse yourself while I get ready." Refusing to entertain her request, Draco stood his ground and queried, "Did you decide about Hawaii?"
She supposed there was plenty to discuss. They hadn't spoken about anything in detail especially not about their upcoming trip. Deciding that now was a better time than ever, Hermione replied with a certain level of hesitation, "I spoke to Harry. He insisted that I go to Hawaii."
Draco spied something silky under the cupboard. He picked up a discarded green thong off the floor, regarded it curiously and chuckled, "I hate to say I told you so." He knew without a doubt that Potter would insist she leave. Hermione was woefully unaware of how much the Ministry of Magic valued her.
Hermione grew bored of his overbearing behaviour and hissed, "Then don't, Malfoy. I still think it's a terrible idea, but let's go." There, it was done and dusted. They would go to Honolulu and try not to succumb to the crackling sexual tension that embodied them.
"Good. You won't regret it," Draco guaranteed. It would be an excellent opportunity to break down barriers and be vulnerable in each other's presence. He wanted Granger to confide in him and forgive and forget his past unpleasantness.
Hermione was already regretting it. She offered good-naturedly, "I will authorise a Portkey. We can meet here Friday morning and be whisked away. I'll inform Ginny…."
Draco interrupted with a quizzical raise of his brow, "Ginny? As in Ginny Weasley?" Surely, he was mistaken.
Hermione had the good grace to look mildly ashamed. She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and said in a carrying tone, "Oh, did I fail to mention Ginny will be joining?"
Draco exhaled and nodded curtly, "Yes, as a matter of fact, you did."
It hadn't occurred to Hermione to ask for permission. After all, she wasn't the initiator of the said trip, and it dawned on her that inviting another without running it by Malfoy might have been in poor taste.
Bollocks. She had undoubtedly done the unthinkable without a second thought to anyone's feelings. Still, unfortunately, it was far too late to go back on her word and cancel plans with Ginny without looking like an utter sodding shit. Hoping for the best, Hermione inquired timidly, "Is it a problem?" Silently, she scolded herself for not thinking things through.
Draco shook his head and smiled reassuringly, "Relax. It's not a problem in the slightest." He understood her reasons for wanting her best friend to accompany her but wished she had informed him of her decision. Blaise and Daphne came to mind, and he hoped there wouldn't be any unnecessary complications between the couples.
Hermione relaxed slightly and diverted the conversation, "I thought of informing my parents about dinner at the Manor over brunch." Draco stiffened. He was unaware of any dinner at the Manor and bemused, "What dinner?"
She assumed Narcissa would have spoken to him about it, but clearly, she was greatly mistaken. Hermione chewed on her lip nervously and clarified, "Narcissa thought it prudent to host dinner for my parents at the Manor before we left for Hawaii. As a gesture of goodwill."
Draco grew wide-eyed with reasonable shock, "Why is this the first time I've heard of this?" He then recalled Dotty flagging him down before he left and wondered if there was a connection between the two. It had been days since he had seen his mother, and he had left Dotty without a backwards glance since he was sure it wasn't urgent. Evidently, he was mistaken.
"Narcissa suggested it. I thought she might have mentioned it," Hermione offered further insight into the matter. Draco frowned and replied thoughtfully, "I've hardly been home. I'll speak to her later, I suppose. I have no objections; however, I would appreciate due warning next time." He was exceedingly fond of the Grangers and thought inviting them to dinner was a brilliant idea.
Hermione nodded in agreement. She was blindsiding him with a ton of information, and it hardly seemed fair. However, there was a matter of great importance and one that Kingsley mentioned on the sly or slipped into the conversation when she least expected it.
"Um, we need to set a date," Hermione averted her gaze and said. She felt incredibly shy at the moment and couldn't bring herself to look at him directly. His mystic eyes roving over her face searching for answers threw her off balance and caused her breathing to hasten.
Draco became rigid and replied without hesitation, "How about two weeks after we return?" This particular topic was something her parents were bound to touch on, and it made perfect sense to speak about it before it was addressed over Nana Granger's gorgeous apple pie.
Hermione scrunched her nose and questioned, "Why does it have to be two weeks? There's nothing to plan but turn up at Ministry, and we already work there, so it's no hassle whatsoever."
Though Draco wasn't convinced, he asked sceptically, "Are you absolutely sure you don't want a function?"
Hermione answered without a hint of hesitation, "Positive! I will not change my mind." She would not celebrate a union that was forced upon her. They had stolen her right to choose a spouse, but she would exercise whatever liberty she had left by not having a function.
Draco sighed. His mother and hers would be sorely disappointed, but Narcissa wasn't the type to take things lying down. He was convinced the matter was far from being over.
He shrugged to show indifference and suggested casually, "We could hop over to Las Vegas and get married at one of those shoddy chapels by an Elvis Presley impersonator." It seemed ideal, less bothersome, and a fantastic story to tell others one day.
Hermione's mouth fell agape. She shot down the idea with a significant amount of disgust, "Let's maintain some class, please." Draco regarded her with an amused expression and quipped, "Oh, of course! Getting hitched at the Ministry oozes class, doesn't it?"
"Must you be incorrigible, Malfoy?" Hermione said superbly disdainfully, and Draco countered with equal valour, "Must you be difficult, Granger?" Their banter was undoubtedly becoming.
The seconds ticked by relentlessly, and Hermione toyed with the string of her robe and asked curiously, "Who's your witness?" Draco answered without pause, "Blaise. And yours?" Theo would not take kindly to his decision and would proceed to throw a childish tantrum.
Hermione replied thoughtfully, "Harry, but I haven't asked him yet." She had initially thought Ginny would be better suited since it was Malfoy but then remembered Harry worked with them. It would be less of a bother and perfectly executed.
Draco slyly suggested with comical intent, "Why don't you ask Weasley to be your witness?" Hermione piled her hair on top of her head and replied sarcastically, "Very funny, you prat." He smiled slightly and caught her observing him through the mirror with a mischievous smirk.
In an instant, their guard dropped, and hidden feelings and sexual tension they tried tirelessly to keep at bay swallowed them whole. Draco gravitated closer and inhaled deeply, "Your fragrance is intoxicating." She smelled faintly of lavender and roses.
Hermione thanked Merlin for the fleeting thought that led to having a leisurely shower right after returning from the club. The smell of smoke and booze had clung to her clothes and hair, and she diligently shampooed her hair twice to get the dreadful smell out.
Boldly, she stepped into the circle of warmth he projected and roughly pulled down the collar covering the wound on his neck. Though slightly cautious, he let her do as she pleased. Hermione moved the soft tips of her fingers over the angry bruise and drawled somewhat seductively, "Does it hurt?"
Draco sneered, moved away a tad and gritted out, "Does it matter? Please don't act as if you care for my benefit. We are beyond such niceness."
"Mmm..." Hermione breathed. She went on tiptoes, kissed the reddened mark, and tried to replace it with her own by gently suckling on his pale skin using her lips and tongue.
Draco's eyes fluttered shut, and a satisfying guttural groan left his lips as he surrendered to her diligent ministrations.
Satisfied by her work of branding him, Hermione whispered into the shell of his ear, "Does that feel better?"
Draco swallowed hard and replied huskily, "Mmm, yes." He cupped her face, and while she leaned eagerly into his tender touch, he crushed her lips with his. Not realising her robe had conveniently come apart, Hermione pressed herself against him wantonly and moaned between heated kisses.
Draco slipped his hands inside the robe and felt the flushed bare skin of her waist burn against his touch. His fingers dug in, and he held her firmly to him as he backed her towards the moderately sized bed with light blue bedding. His tongue explored the expanse of her mouth, and she returned his fervent dominance by twirling her tongue around his and moulding her lips perfectly to his.
The back of her legs hit the side of her bed. They lost balance and toppled onto the comfortable sheets. She was almost naked underneath him with only a pair of knickers covering her decency, but neither seemed bothered.
Hermione undid the buttons of his shirt and ran her fingernails up and down his torso while he licked a stripe down her neck and pried her legs apart with his knee. Sounds of pleasure from both of them bounced off the walls of the tiny space, and it urged them forward to complete the act that would make them whole.
His hand moved on their accord to cup a breast. He kneaded the soft flesh and pinched the nipple before taking the pebbled nub between his lips. Hermione arched her back and mewled as the tip of his insistent tongue danced an enticing pattern around her fully aroused nipple. Wetness accumulated between her thighs and dampened her knickers.
Draco swirled his tongue around the nipple and gently grazed it with his teeth, garnering a low contented moan from the witch writhing under him while his free hand massaged the other breast and pinched the rock-hard nipple. All feelings headed south, and his cock sprang to life and threatened to rip through his jeans.
Burying his head in the crook of her neck, he pulled at her skin with his teeth, the same as she did him and demanded in a voice that was clearly not his own, "Do you like that, Granger?" Hermione threw her head back, and her toes curled as the renewed sensations he evoked overpowered her.
She breathed, "Yes."
Taking his hand off her bosom, she guided it between her legs and pressed it to the dampened material. Draco shielded her laced-covered cunt with his hand and moved the tip of his middle finger along her material-protected slit soothingly before slipping it under the fabric and feeling her arousal greet him.
He repeatedly claimed her lips and rasped, "You're dripping, my love." His solitary finger exploring her inner folds was heavenly, but she preferred to be impaled by his cock. Hermione could feel his stiff shaft over the rough jeans material press into her body.
She struggled but sat up with some difficulty while Draco continued to caress her. When he felt she was ready, he slipped the finger into the tight passage of her vagina. Hermione locked hooded eyes with him, parted her lips, and gasped at the welcome intrusion. Her inner walls contracted around his digit and held him tightly in place.
Draco was lost, but a nagging inner voice and feeling kept eating away at his consciousness, and his hardness slipped. He withdrew his hand and abruptly shot to his feet. Sweat dripped down his back and disappeared into the crevice of his buttocks.
Hermione used the distraction to sit up. She reached for him and pulled him towards her by the loops on his jeans. His crotch was eye level with her, and she bit her bottom lip and grinned devilishly, "To the victor, go the spoils." She was going to have sex with former nemesis Draco Malfoy, and there wasn't a soul alive to stop them.
She went to pull down the zip slowly, but Draco took a small step back, looked down his nose at her, and said reluctantly, "You could have asked for anything, and I would've handed it over with no questions asked. Are you sure you want to waste it?"
He swallowed hard, and when she didn't reply, he pointedly glanced at his watch before saying, "Besides, it's getting late. We mustn't be late." The intensity of the situation caused his insecurities to flair and his confidence to wane drastically, making his cock lose its hardness. He wasn't ready to do this and disappoint her.
Hermione openly dismissed his comment and reached for him again, "There's plenty of time, Draco." His short statement made her second guess herself and feel inadequate, but he slipped away and replied shakily, "Not really, it's nearly twelve, and I'd rather not get on your father's bad side."
Falling back onto the bed, Hermione propped herself up on her elbows and made her frustrations avidly known, "Why do you always do that?" She wanted answers.
His behaviour was getting tiresome; if he wasn't willing to have sex, then she could drop the subject and look elsewhere to satisfy her needs. Plenty of perfectly good-looking intelligent men were more than willing to do the deed without expectations.
Draco knew precisely what she was after, but instead, he asked faux innocently, "I don't follow." Hermione sprang to her feet in anger. His refusal of her was humiliating and stubborn tears of frustration almost spilt over.
She accused harshly and rightly so, "We snog each other senseless, but when it comes down to fucking, you back off." She didn't care to refrain from using colourful phrases to describe their dilemma.
Hermione demanded through clenched teeth, "I want to know why, Malfoy."
Draco flinched as her words cut through him. He could see the hurt in her beautiful eyes, and that wasn't his intention, "I, erm. Well, we shouldn't. Not like this." He stumbled over his words and sounded utterly unconvincing.
Hermione was livid, "What do you mean?" She could hardly wait to hear his reasoning.
"It doesn't feel right," Draco argued in a futile attempt to obscure his insecurities. He could practically sense Granger's anger rise with each passing second.
Hermione cried in outrage, "What!?" This was absurd. It felt plenty right to her. Not a moment ago, he had his finger buried up her cunt. Was he fucking saving himself?
She brazenly pointed to the bed and insisted, "It felt plenty right when you were on top of me just now." Moving closer, Hermione shamelessly cupped his package while he went rigid but didn't dare to move a muscle.
Her hand barely covered his hardened appendage. It throbbed and pulsated against her hand. She came to the shuddering conclusion that Draco Malfoy had a decent-sized cock even though he wasn't wholly aroused.
She accused without a shred of mercy, "You want this." Her breasts pushed up against his chest, and Draco's breathing elevated. He locked imploring eyes with the persistent woman giving him her undivided attention, and drawled in a jagged voice of steel, "Of course, I want this."
Hermione immensely enjoyed his discomfort, but she tried a more direct question. A question that constantly swirled around her mind eating into her insecurities, "Do I disgust you?"
Draco could understand why she would need to ask such a pointless question. He was well aware that it was his doing. Pushing his still-aroused cock further into the palm of her hand, he boldly argued, "Does that answer you're ridiculous question?"
Hermione ran her manicured fingers up and down his sheathed dick, looked him directly in the eyes and challenged, "Then why don't you? What's holding you back?"
She applied pressure, and Draco paled, but Hermione smiled and haughtily added with dripping sarcasm, "Are you mortified by the concept of sticking it into a Mudblood?" She waited anxiously for his answer.
Draco flinched and hissed in abhorrence, "Do not use that disgusting word in my presence." He followed through with a heartfelt, genuine question, "And do you still think I am so shallow?" Indeed, she now thought differently. He wanted to claim and give her what they badly wanted, but he needed more time to prepare himself mentally.
Slowly, Hermione kept snaking her fingers up and down his penis and admitted, "I quite frankly do not know what to think." She didn't know what to make of his behaviour except to merit it to his guilty conscience because of her unworthy blood status.
Closing his eyes, Draco exhaled, his breathing laboured as he struggled to keep his primaeval instincts under control and said in a dangerously low voice, "Stop touching my cock, Granger." Hermione smirked and pouted her lips, "But, I quite like touching your cock, Malfoy." Gathering his willpower, he moved away and put some distance between them.
Hermione chuckled but kept her true feelings hidden. She walked over to the dresser in search of some proper underwear and shed further light on the distasteful state of affairs, "Well, Draco, in the past, you have refused to touch me for fear of soiling yourself with my filth."
Draco grew tired of her referencing the past and gritted out, "That's in the past and irrelevant. It's got nothing to do with it. I desire you far more than you know."
"Then what's stopping you?" Hermione cocked her head to the side and implored. He was yet to provide a satisfactory answer.
Draco sighed, "I…." Perhaps it would be in their best interest to simply address the facts and avoid the apparent misunderstanding that seemed to be happening.
Hermione sensed his difficulty and hesitation to divulge sensitive information and reassured him, "Draco, you can tell me. I won't judge. I swear it, and …."
She was interrupted when he blurted out unceremoniously, "I haven't had sex since I left England."
What the blooming fuck? Out of all the possible explanations, she would have never picked that one. No wonder he was tripping over himself and acting dodgy about the whole thing. It made sense, Hermione supposed. He had performance anxiety. The once well-known shag was scared of not living up to his reputation or was it a poorly disguised cover-up to hide his real intentions.
"Oh…" the single damaging word left her lips without much thought. Hermione came to the shuddering conclusion that she was more sexually experienced than Draco Malfoy. In the weirdest of ways, it did not sit right with her but gave her a surging sense of perverse dominance.
Draco frowned. His evident displeasure was etched onto his appealing features, "That's not a good oh, is it?" Salazar, she probably thought he was completely mental and horrid in bed. His anxieties returned, and he did what breathing exercises he learned to push them away.
Hermione defended her poorly timed words and stated plainly what she believed to be the truth, "It's a surprised one. I thought you might have or would have at least with Astoria after your return."
Draco explained his actions further with a hint of remorse and solemnly, "I kept myself celibate out of choice not because of the lack of opportunities, and Astoria's mind is fragile. She would misinterpret intimacy as a sign of rekindling our relationship."
Plenty of women in the village were willing to accommodate him if he wished, but it never took precedence over the real reason he was there. During his time at the Shaolin Temple, he practised the ways of Buddhism and lived as a monk though he was never officially ordained.
Hermione composed herself and shoved the bubbling anger that rose back to the pits from whence it came. Her bitter thoughts ran rampant. Oh, he wanted to sleep with Greengrass but was concerned about driving her off the edge. Bloody marvellous. She fought the urge to fling a pillow at his very handsome head.
She raised a questioning brow, "Are you a monk?" Maybe he was and couldn't be tempted, and she would be damned to the bowels of hell for trying to seduce a man of religion.
Draco threw his arms open and showed his vulnerable self. He mused with a slight smirk, "Do I look like a monk?"
"I had to ask. It's rather odd," Hermione answered callously with a casual shrug.
Draco was perplexed by her assumption, "Why? Because I preferred to stay away from physical entanglements? I had many things to accomplish, and sex wasn't on my list of priorities." He hesitated and became cagey with the latter part of his answer, "Besides, I haven't looked at another woman since…."
Hermione grew exceedingly curious and queried impatiently, "Since what?"
There was little point in denying the truth. Draco took a deep breath and confessed, "Well, since we become somewhat intimate. Believe it or not, you are all I think about and not always sexually. I worry about your safety. These are uncertain times, and your association with me has put you in grave danger."
Merlin, that's a lot of well-rehearsed bull.
Hermione swallowed her annoyance and declared, "I'm fine, Malfoy. See? Not a scratch on my body." She unashamedly showed him her nakedness, and surprisingly he didn't flinch but stared at her body in fascination, moving his astute eyes over her imperfections. She had faint stretch marks and several scars.
Her body had been through its fair share of battles, and it didn't bother her to show him her true self. The pendant and chain he gifted sat snugly nestled between the valley of her breasts, and a prominent scar ran down the side of her thigh. No one escaped the Battle of Hogwarts without a souvenir.
She said bitterly, "Despite all I've accomplished, I'm still considered unworthy by most." His rejection of her only solidified the notion.
Draco moved closer, ran his middle finger down the healed scar and felt her breathing hasten. He secured the robe around her voluptuous body, reluctantly stepped away and responded appropriately, "You are a remarkable witch."
Hermione scoffed, "You didn't always think so."
Draco argued indefinitely, "My opinion of you changed years ago, but would you have believed it if I said it back then?" Many a night, he would wander onto the many terraces of the temple and stare into the starry sky free of air pollution and think about his ill-treatment of Granger and how someday he would make amends for his distasteful behaviour.
Of course, Hermione knew none of that except what she was familiar with. She answered thoughtfully, "Probably not. I hardly believe it now." Taking her hands in his, he lightly brushed her knuckles with an endearing kiss and promised, "I swear on my honour to keep you safe."
Hermione froze momentarily and stared at the platinum blonde head bent before her. It was hard to come to terms with the fact that it was Malfoy showing her such attention. After a while, she pulled her hands free from his grasp and sighed, "Umm, yes, well, we should leave, I suppose. It's getting late."
Draco cupped her face and pleaded for her to understand his predicament somehow, "Granger, have patience. When we do, it will be quite an unforgettable experience." It was a somewhat cocky statement, but one he believed would transpire.
Somehow, she doubted it.
Patience? Merlin! He made her sound like a desperate tart with an insatiable itch to scratch.
She averted her penetrative gaze and answered with a quick nod, "I understand, Malfoy."
Draco wasn't convinced. Granger was such an appalling liar. He raised a questioning brow and coaxed, "Do you?"
Hermione rummaged through her drawers in search of a bra, it wasn't an urgent need, but she desperately needed to focus on something. She found a silk bra and pulled it out before answering truthfully, "Not remotely, but I'm not going to force myself on you." She did not need to inflict herself upon a man who was not ready or, worse, not attracted to her.
Draco pursed his lips and grew annoyed by her answer and reaction. He had been frank, and she was unwilling to give him the benefit of the doubt, "You've taken what I've said out of context. That's not it at all."
Hermione shrugged and almost shoved him out of the room, "If you say so. Give me a few to get ready."
Draco backed away from the door before Hermione closed it, "Of course. I'll be right here."
She leaned against the door and willed her rapidly beating heart to still. This was an unprecedented turn of events, and Hermione was forced to admit that Luna had been right in her assumption that Malfoy was indeed waiting for the opportune moment to have sex. She heard his heavy footsteps heading towards the living room.
Dorian happily greeted the men approaching his booth, "Good afternoon, gentlemen." He was on his second helping of vanilla ice cream smothered in chocolate sauce with a generous helping of peanuts.
Kingsley was in no mood for polite pleasantries. He glanced at the vibrant colours embellishing the ice cream parlour and said in annoyance, "Cut the bullshit, Blackwood. We called this meeting days ago." Thomas had tirelessly tried to set up a meeting, but Dorian remained elusive, making excuses and blaming it on the situation.
Dorian tried to appease the Minister of Magic with genuine concern, "I cannot meet at the drop of her hat. There is a process, mate." He stuck his spoon into the bowl of melting ice cream and looked forlorn, "I'm sorry about the Muggles. I had no idea he was planning an attack."
He spat contemptuously, "The dodgy fuck keeps the important stuff to himself."
Kingsley leaned forward and hissed, "Did you fucking know he was a werewolf?" A bubbly waitress in a red and white uniform approached them and keenly inquired about their order. Harry scanned through the menu and swiftly ordered a banana split with only chocolate ice cream; Kingsley followed with a slice of ice cream cake topped with oodles of whipped cream. The server took the order down and went on her merry way.
Dorian licked his spoon clean and looked thoughtful, "I had my suspicions, but he masks his scent, not his accent. I've heard it before, but I must confirm it's him." The heavy accent was familiar, but it had been nearly a decade since he last heard it. It was imperative to tread lightly and not arouse suspicion.
"Is it Dolohov?" Harry asked impatiently. It would help their case to put a name to a face, even one as revolting as Antonin Dolohov. The Romanian butcher, as he was fondly referred to back in the day. He was a merciless fiend who murdered any in his path. Harry thought sadly of Teddy.
Dorian shook his head and gritted in frustration, "I can't be sure, but the bastard sounds damn near close enough."
"He's waging war against Muggles and us," Kingsley expressed great concern. His confidence waned as reports of attacks from across the world made it to his table and ear. The full moon had become their greatest adversary as the attacks happened in wolf form.
Dorian declared solemnly, "It's a war he will most likely win, Minister." What good was a wand when surrounded by werewolves? Sure, it would help take down one, maybe two, or three if you were lucky, but it would only be a matter of time.
Harry, who had been keeping a close eye on the surroundings, snapped to attention, "Not whilst we draw breath."
Dorian leaned forward, dropped his voice and stated the obvious facts for his declaration, "His pack is over four thousand strong. It's unheard of that so many wolves can live harmoniously, but he's achieved the impossible. They want what you are unwilling to give." It was a remarkable feat. Werewolves lived somewhat harmoniously within a pack, but the intermingling of groups had always been disastrous except for now.
He critically eyed Harry in his all-black ensemble and said knowingly, "You lot stand in their way of war against the Muggles."
Harry was beside himself with anger, "We stand in the way because it's fucking wrong." He was careful not to be overheard by the bunch of Muggles that occupied the wooden table next to them. There was no opportunity to cast a spell over them to safeguard their words.
Dorian scoffed openly and sneered, "Not to the thousands of werewolves worldwide. Wizards dug their graves by treating our lot poorly. We are always misjudged and treated like dogs." His words held a certain degree of resentment and poorly disguised contempt.
"Having a change of heart?" Kingsley inquired with a sceptical raised brow. He had been listening intently to Dorian's inspirational words. Bringing his hands together, he asked the most obvious question that was imperative to their cause, "And where do your loyalties lie?"
Dorian stuffed his face with a spoonful of vanilla ice cream and leered, "He promises freedom, but at what cost? The term freedom is subjective. I fought for a cause once and lost everything I held dear. I will not make that same mistake again, and I trust you will not go back on your word." Few knew about his pregnant mate. In a rage over his disobedience, Voldemort had forced him to watch as he struck her down with one spell and laughed over his grief.
Monsters such as Voldemort and his followers lacked empathy. Kingsley and his lot, for whatever reason, were approachable and willing to listen to reason. They used deadly force when necessary but not out of pleasure and cruel intent.
Harry was insulted and demanded, "Have I ever?" He was a man of his word and would remain so until his last breath.
Dorian muttered, "No." He wondered where Thomas was. It was implausible the veteran would miss out on the meeting, but Thomas had bigger fish to fry. He was tailing Julius Avery's every movement.
Kingsley gritted out, "We need to find a weakness. Something to cripple him." The waitress returned with their order and threw him a look of caution before setting down their bowls filled to the brim with homemade ice cream. It looked and smelled delicious.
Dorian grew weary of the Minister's behaviour, "He has none. You would be wasting your time. Focus on countering the attack that's headed in our direction. As they have united worldwide, you will have to follow their lead. It's the only way."
Kingsley knew Blackwood spoke the truth. Still, it irked him that they depended heavily on his intel. He never fully trusted the man willing to spy on his kind and aid in their possible demise.
"I heard about your meeting with Ezra, Cyrus and Edward," Dorian chimed in. Word had reached him of their unsuccessful attempt to sway three of the most prominent pack leaders in Europe.
Harry frowned, "It did not go as planned." It couldn't have gone any worse. It was a devastating blow to their cause to lose their support.
Dorian said thoughtfully, "Edward isn't keen on going to war. He does so to appease the others and ensure his pack's survival. Ezra and Cyrus will fight to the bitter end." Alpha Edward was a complicated soul, and unlike the other Alphas, he never exercised his right over women. He remained without a mate despite many she-wolves' attempts to seduce him. He relied heavily on his breeders to add numbers to the pack. It was long since rumoured that he was married when he was human and still undyingly loved his human mate.
Kingsley ate a spoonful of delicious soft-serve ice cream and stressed, "We need an inside man."
"What am I chopped liver?" Dorian cried indignantly. Hadn't he risked his life for the cause?
Kingsley rolled his eyes and stated, "A wizard, Dorian."
A sly smirk curved Dorian's lips, "He's keen on the Malfoy brat."
Kingsley replied eagerly, "I know! Thomas mentioned it."
Dorian injected a casual, devil-may-care shrug, "Maybe the pampered prat is the key?"
Harry shook his head and voiced his thoughts, "I highly doubt it. Lucius's name is in the mud. Malfoy is almost an Auror and engaged to Granger. They won't trust him."
Dorian was sceptical and countered, "If he plays his part convincingly, they will."
"No! It's too much of a risk," Harry shot down the idea with good reason.
However, Dorian was persistent. He pressed forward, "Take it from me. He's looking to add Malfoy to his collection of wealthy wizards." After a moment's thought, he included, "Malfoy is the wealthiest among the lot and will be the crowning jewel of his collection."
Harry refused to entertain such a presumptuous notion, "Malfoy is still a trainee. The man just returned from a ten-year hiatus. Let's find another way."
Kingsley said in deep thought, "He might be willing to do it." It was safe to assume that Malfoy was looking to redeem himself and replace his past malicious deeds with good ones.
Still, Harry adamantly refused, "It's got nothing to do with that. He's not ready mentally or physically to go up against an uprising or face the demons of his past."
Kingsley was taken aback by Potter's blatant dismissal of what seemed like a viable plan and made his thoughts vocal with a raised curious brow, "Since when do you give a shit about Malfoy?" The ice cream in his bowl melted to form a light coat, and he was in two minds about ordering another helping.
Harry took a deep breath and explained his main reason for hesitation, "He's set to marry Hermione. I won't put her in harm's way." Malfoy's involvement would automatically open Hermione's life to speculation and put a sizable target on her back.
Dorian whistled and became thoughtful. Kingsley agreed with Potter's reasoning and stared into his empty bowl. After a few moments of awkward silence, Dorian suggested, "Plant someone within the club. Julius Avery overlooks everything. The pompous prat is well respected and thought highly of by the Master."
Kingsley gritted out in frustration, "It's not that easy! We've tried for years."
Harry offered profound insight, "Avery’s been to see his father in Azkaban again. That's four times this month.” They kept a close eye on the imposing man’s comings and goings. He became a person of interest long before the Alpha King reared his ugly head.
“What does he do during the visits?” Dorian grilled curiously. Julius Avery was ruthless and dangerous. The man had a mean streak that was not to be trifled with. Not much unsettled Dorian, but the taciturnity in Julius’s cobalt blue eyes sent a shiver down his once-human spine. The man was charming and had a way with the ladies. They gravitated towards the tall, well-groomed wizard who seemed eager to please.
Harry answered solemnly, “The guards tell me that he mumbles incoherently and promises to have his sentence overturned while Avery stares into space. He leaves with the same promise each time.” The man clearly thought highly of his Death Eater father. Love was a powerful emotion; Harry knew this to be true from experience.
While sipping black coffee, Dorian asked, “Are we having him followed?”
Harry nodded curtly and frowned, “Yes, but a fat lot of good it's doing. He flipped off the Auror assigned to monitor his whereabouts yesterday.” He refrained from mentioning that Thomas was hot on trial and yet to be noticed. The seasoned Auror had the uncanny ability to blend into surroundings and appear incognito.
Dorian cursed aloud, “Fuck.” Muggles at the following table anxiously glanced over their shoulders at the commotion, and Harry offered a hurried apology and glared at Dorian for making a scene.
Undeterred, Dorian addressed Kingsley directly, “I keep telling you, Minister. These aren't a bunch of morons. They have a solid plan. He's sown a neat web of lies. Both sides believe him.”
He asked eagerly, “Can't you arrest the blokes I unmasked?”
Kingsley slowly shook his head and explained, “Not without putting you in grave danger and compromising our position. Besides, it will be your word against there's, and you're supposed to be fucking dead, mate.” He included, “However, we are having them followed. If they step a toe out of line, we will not hesitate to arrest them for the slightest infringement.”
Dorian chuckled and stirred more sugar into the bitter black concoction, “McLaggen got his pureblood arse handed to him at the last meeting.
Harry said in utter disbelief, “I cannot believe Cormac would stoop this low. Why would he do this?” McLaggen epitomised the most damaging aspects of the stereotypical Gryffindor characteristics as aggressive, arrogant, and self-righteous. Though brave, he was foolhardy rather than self-sacrificing.
He was also arrogant and pushy and felt a strong sense of entitlement. Regardless of his negative traits, Cormac proved himself quite brave and righteous, willingly joining his allies in the Battle of Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione, who had a brief fling with Cormac, had nothing positive to say but what drove a man to join a cause he loathed and fought against? It was mind-boggling, to say the least. Perhaps, he could be swayed.
Dorian hissed in disgust, “He's an arrogant git, and his punishment was well deserved. Goyle and he sent Granger some warning letter, and the Master was displeased by their actions.”
“That motherfucker….” The words slipped out of Harry’s mouth before he could swallow them. So, they were responsible for Hermione's threat, not to mention the detailed sexual exploits. The concern he felt earlier doubled and intensified. It was abundantly clear the men had some sick infatuation with Hermione, and that obsession could prove fatal. Hopefully, it was the impulsive ramblings of a few frustrated men.
Dorian gritted out, “Goyle is a nasty piece of work. He's brutal and enjoys causing pain. The bastard reminds me of Fenrir.” He cracked a smile and said, “I saw a bunch of women living it up last night. Granger and a foxy redhead were among the illustrious group.”
Harry stiffened, and his features contorted unpleasantly at the crude comment, “That redhead is my wife, arsehole.”
Dorian was slightly taken back. Potter was a pleasant-looking bloke, while the redhead was an untamed beauty. He declared with an amused expression, “You did good, Potter.” Kingsley averted his gaze and stifled a laugh. At the same time, Harry sulked and deviated the conversation back towards the grave issue: "We should relook at old files and testimonies against Voldemort.”
Dorian lost his patience and snapped, “Stop mentioning that fucking arsehole. He couldn't overcome a few students and take over a bloody school. He was as useless as my great aunt Gertrude; God bless her soul.”
Kingsley sneered, “You served him….”
Dorian grew resentful and reminded harshly, “I served my Alpha. You know very well that we are unable to disobey our maker.” He included some information he had previously forgotten to mention, “He's named the group the Knights of Walpurgis.”
Harry looked perplexed. However, Kingsley was well aware of the origin of the name and mused, “How original.” He dropped his voice an octave and spoke, “You need to confirm that the Alpha King is Dolohov. Do whatever you have to.” Dorian became serious and nodded in reply.
Kingsley rose to signify the meeting was over. He dropped a fifty-pound note onto the table and instructed with a slight smile, "Keep in touch, Blackwood." The meeting hadn’t yielded any new information, which infuriated Kingsley, but that was hardly Dorian’s fault. For him to learn more, he had to gain the leader's trust, and such an endeavour took time.
If they could prove the shrouded figure behind the killings was Dolohov, it would be reasonably easy to arrest him as a fugitive who evaded capture, but until they were sure, nothing could be done. Besides, capturing Dolohov wouldn’t be enough. They needed to shut down the entire operation.
Dorian's mouth curved upwards to form a wolfish grin, "You know where to find me. Tell the old man I sent my regards."
Harry replied with a distinctive roll of his eyes and sarcasm, "Thomas will be thrilled." He followed Kingsley out, and the harsh rays of sunlight greeted them when they stepped out of the air-conditioned parlour.
Hermione tiptoed around the room after a bath leaving a trail of water in her wake. While having a shower, she had thought obsessively about Malfoy’s confession, which rattled her nerves. She hadn't expected something so remotely uncomplicated as a reason for his refusal to avoid having sex.
Ten years for a man in his prime to swear off the physical act of coitus was somewhat surprising. Moreover, when it was Draco Malfoy. Sure, she had heard the many stories and Pansy's boasting about Malfoy's promiscuous activities, but they were merely young adults. What did they know about sex? Let alone good sex.
Malfoy could have been a terrible shag, but with nothing to compare it to, he would've automatically received praise from inexperienced girls who held him in high regard.
She shook her head in frustration, causing her wet curls to bounce, sending water droplets in all directions before reaching for her wand, waving it over the room, and uttering a single word to clear the mess she made.
Hermione fetched a flattering black dress from the cupboard, matching lingerie, and shoes. Her nipples were sore and irritable as the lace of her bra came in contact. She flinched but undeterred, secured it, pulled up the pair of knickers and stepped into the dress.
Glancing over her shoulder, Hermione frowned, "Bollocks." She reached back, grabbed hold of the zip and struggled to pull it up. She successfully pulled it above her arse and midway but failed to secure it at the top. She twisted and turned but to no avail. Without a clear picture, her wand and magical abilities were utterly useless.
Hermione stared at her reflection and concluded that she would require her fiancé's help. Slipping into her open-toed heels, she attached a pair of earrings to each earlobe, grabbed her bag, threw the door open and walked into the living room where Draco was reading a book about Ida B. Wells, an autobiography. What a fascinating and strong woman! He couldn't fathom being racially discriminated against based on one's skin colour, even though he had faced plenty of judgement at the temple. Master Chun had shielded him from the harsh comments and treated him no differently.
It was the first time he had felt utterly out of place and awkward but was it so different from the blood purity nonsense that dictated his former life? It made sense that Hermione would have it in her library.
So, engrossed in the book, he hardly noticed the woman before him trying to grab his attention.
Hermione cleared her throat to make her presence known, and once Draco tore himself away from the book and looked her way, she sheepishly requested, "Ahem, can you zip me up?"
Draco closed the book with an audible thud and surveyed the delectable creature requesting his help. A smug grin curved the corner of his mouth. He got to his feet and obliged, "With pleasure."
Moving closer, Hermione turned her back to him, pushed her hair out of the way and stood extremely still until he finished what was required of him.
Still, it was taking longer than anticipated. She felt his fingers trailing the length of exposed skin on her slightly freckled back, and his deep sultry voice washed over the sensitive shell of her ear, "You have the softest skin."
Hermione closed her eyes for a fleeting moment and enjoyed the dancing caress of his fingertips. After he secured the zip at the top, she flipped her hair and scolded, "If you aren't going to sleep with me, Malfoy, I would appreciate it if you didn't turn me on or touch me so sensually."
Draco sighed, but he was seething within, "Granger, I never said I wasn't going to have sex with you. I just want the moment to be perfect."
Hermione pulled at the hem of her dress and mocked, "You sound like a blushing virgin, Malfoy." She walked towards the main door without so much as a thank you. Draco picked up the bag of strawberries he had left on the counter and followed closely, making a mental note to finish reading the autobiography of Ida B. Wells when time permitted.
He pulled on his coat, grabbed her jacket and held it out for her to slip into, which she graciously did, but Draco scowled, "Excuse me for being a gentleman."
Hermione turned in his arms and looked at him squarely in the face with a roaring fire burning in the very core of her being. Draco took an involuntary step back and almost toppled over the umbrella stand.
Hermione dragged out her words, "I am not looking for a gentleman, Malfoy. I want someone to have the fucking balls to take me where I stand brutally and hard while making me scream and writhe in pleasure."
She frowned, and a flicker of disappointment flashed across her eyes, "I thought you would be that man, but obviously, I was wrong."
Draco swallowed hard as she leaned flush against him and sank her teeth into his bottom lip hard enough to draw a few drops of blood.
He recognised the rusty metallic taste of blood invading his mouth but stared down at her, enthralled by the fluttering of eyelashes and heavy breathing. Draco took Hermione's hand and squeezed hard, "Take us there, Granger." She would undoubtedly regret her words in the weeks to come.
Chapter 54
Notes:
To all the comments:- Thank you so much for the lovely feedback. I love them all! :)
Narcissa can barely hold back her emotions and looks to Bernard for comfort.
Sarah plots to kill her torturer.
Brunch takes an exciting turn inside Hermione's old room.
Enjoy Chapter Fifty-Four!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Malfoy Manor
"Dotty?" Narcissa called out as she stormed into Malfoy Manor, having returned early from her short stay at Bernard's. Max greeted her upon entry and jumped on her, and demanded attention.
Dotty dropped the feather duster in her grasp as the dulcet tones of the Lady of the Manor made it to her fine hearing. She rushed into the foyer as fast as her little feet would carry her and spotted her mistress impatiently pacing around the room.
Taking a deep breath, the tiny elf timidly approached Narcissa and squeaked, "Yes, madam?
Narcissa turned around and inquired with her hands on her hip, "Where is my son?" She had left early, hoping to have a late breakfast with Draco, but he didn't seem to be at home.
Dotty shifted her feet nervously and answered meekly, "Oh, umm, he left, mistress."
Narcissa felt her composure slip and frustration cloud her senses. She demanded, "Did you not receive my owl?"
Dotty cowered and barrelled into explanation, "I did, mistress, but master Malfoy left before I could inform him of your wishes." She had done all she could to stop him from leaving.
Narcissa sighed and soothingly spoke to Dotty, "That's alright. It's not your fault, dear."
The elf visibly relaxed and apologised, "Dotty is sorry, but master Draco seemed to be in a hurry."
Narcissa grew thoughtful and curious. Where would Draco rush off to on a Sunday? Perhaps, he had more Auror training or could it be something else entirely?
Bernard strode in with the Daily Prophet tucked neatly under his arm and raised a questioning brow, "What's the matter, Narcissa?" He could hear her from the other room and couldn't help but wonder what the commotion was.
Narcissa choked back a sob, "I haven't seen nor spoken to my son in days. I have much to share with him." Mainly about the dinner with Hermione's parents and what they should do to make them feel welcome. Her insecurities that he would leave and never return clawed their way to the surface, and the fear of losing her treasured child paralysed her with dread.
Placing the newspaper on the ornate table, Bernard closed the gap between them and spoke to his beloved gently, "Patience, my darling. Draco has a considerable amount of things to deal with at the moment." After a moment, he smiled slightly and quipped, "The lad will show up at some time, and you can speak to him to your heart's content."
Narcissa frowned at the hint of teasing in his tone and deliberately accused, "Do you think I smother him?" She saw nothing remotely amusing about the situation.
Bernard defended without a moment's pause, "Heavens no!" However, he thought it best to explain and offer some practical insight, "But, I must stress that he is no longer the boy who left. He's grown into a remarkable adult with a solid view of life."
Narcissa listened intently and replied with mild contempt, "And I had absolutely nothing to do with him becoming a good person. Under my care, he was arrogant, conceited and generally unpleasant." That wasn't entirely true. Draco had always remained a good and loyal son despite his many faults and downfalls.
Bernard argued with good reason, "Under Lucius, you mean? Cissy, my love, Draco would hardly be the man he is today if it wasn't for you."
Narcissa refuted, "I failed as a mother to protect him from so much." At the first sign of trouble, she should have taken Draco and fled England away from the darkness and death.
Bernard cupped her face and implored, "You had little choice in the matter. You did the best you could."
The tears she struggled to hold back streamed down her cheeks, "My best wasn't good enough! Everyone has a choice, Bernard, but I blindly supported my husband's tolerance of a deranged madman. It's a small miracle Hermione can stomach being in my presence. By all rights, she should despise me."
His heart broke at the honest declaration. Bernard pulled Narcissa into a bone-crushing hug and pleaded, "Hush now! I refuse to hear another word. Miss Granger cares for you very much, as does Draco."
Narcissa let her guard down, held onto Bernard and sobbed for a great many things and suffering over the years.
The Dollhouse Strangler's humble abode
Steady beams of sunlight fought their way through the tinted glass of the one window in the room and greedily licked the floor where they landed. Sarah turned on her side, hugged her legs to her chest, and pulled down the material of the t-shirt to cover her exposed behind.
The monster hadn't ripped the cloth off her body and violated her. They had watched the movie in companionable silence, and once it was over, he led her back to the room, handcuffed her to the bed to secure her imprisonment and gently kissed her before retiring without another word.
Shocked by his actions, Sarah stared at the closed door in anticipation, half expecting him to barge in and rape her brutally in celebration of their morbid engagement but not a creature stirred. After an hour of staring into nothingness and expecting the worst, Sarah felt her eyelids droop and sleep consume her.
The warmness from the sun that fell upon her cheek prompted her to wake. Rays of sunshine danced across the sizeable diamond in her possession. Though groggy with sleepiness, Sarah stared at the ring in fascination as it threw a myriad of colours onto the grey-painted walls surrounding her. It was an exquisite piece of jewellery that weighed her down far more than her restraints. She fought the urge to tear it off her finger and chuck it, but she was no mere simpleton.
Sarah knew if she did something drastic, it would result in dire consequences. He was treating her differently, allowing her some liberties, and now was not the time to act out.
She had to swallow the hatred, repulsion and fear and gain his trust. At the opportune moment, she would stick a knife in his throat without hesitation and relish watching him as he faded. She sighed in exhilaration, and her lips curved slightly upwards to form a genuine smile.
No. 12 Grimmauld Place
"Good morning, Sunshine," Harry greeted Ginny with a vial of hangover potion and a mug of strong coffee.
Harry smirked, "Fun night?" She had fallen on top of him once she returned and passed out fully clothed, reeking of alcohol and cigarette smoke.
Ginny struggled to sit up, but once she did, she heard loud happy voices, "Who is that?"
Harry smiled, "Teddy is keeping James company, and Ron is watching over them."
"Oh, fuck my life, Sunday lunch…." Ginny groaned and attempted to stand up.
Harry pushed her back down and reassured her, "Relax. I cancelled it, but I didn't have the heart to tell Teddy." He softened his tone, "You know how much he loves these gatherings."
Ginny acknowledged with a loving yet sleepy smile, "I know, and I adore having him."
"Why is Ron here? Is he hoping to meet Hermione?" Ginny asked with a raised brow. Her brother was obviously trying to make amends.
Harry nodded, "Pretty much." He sympathised with Ron's plight but more so with Hermione.
"Idiot," Ginny said superbly disdainfully.
Harry snorted and then said, "Go back to sleep. We've got the children under control."
It was an offer Ginny would not easily refuse. She slipped back under the covers and drifted off.
Brunch
After Draco's request that Hermione disapparate them to her parents' abode, they appeared by her beloved swing in the modest garden surrounded by the overwhelming fragrance of roses.
The landing wasn't as smooth as Hermione hoped, and they stumbled, but Draco caught her around the waist and held her firmly to him before her heels gave out, and she fell on top of the cut grass.
With the sun high in the sky, despite the changing seasons and unmistakable cool breeze that engulfed them, Hermione was forced to admit that Draco looked rather angelic with his pale skin and blonde locks blowing in the wind.
His eyes bore into hers, and for a fleeting second, she lost herself in them before clearing her throat, "Umm, we've arrived. You can let go, Malfoy."
Draco ignored her request and, in its place, implored, "Are you still upset with me?" Considering the minimal time passed since his declaration, it was a pointless question.
Hermione tried to wriggle free, but she was pressed to his chest with no space to move easily. However, she rolled her eyes and scoffed, "Over your refusal to have sex with me? Hardly. Please get over yourself, Malfoy." She wanted to scream and punch his face; of course, I'm mad, you insensitive lout.
Draco exhaled in frustration, "Granger…." How was he going to make this stubborn mule understand his predicament? Her intelligence was above par, but perhaps her sensitivity to the situation clouded her judgement.
Hermione injected rudely, "No, I don't want to hear any more excuses." She locked eyes with him and scoffed, "I don't get you, Malfoy."
Draco raised a brow perplexedly, "What do you mean?" He blinked, confused by her statement.
Hermione reminded him with smug satisfaction, "Before we agreed to get married for Narcissa's sake, you wanted to whisk me away for a night, remember?" Oh, he remembered that night. All too well.
Before his mother had a heart attack and the day after, Draco recalled suggesting they share one night of unbridled passion. A suggestion Granger had agreed to and then disregarded after they made the weighty decision to wed.
Gathering his inner courage, he reluctantly agreed, "Yes, I remember." This horrible misunderstanding was mainly his fault.
"What changed?" Hermione gritted out. It was a perfectly acceptable question. She was tirelessly trying to figure him out.
Draco struggled to find a good reason. Perhaps there weren't any, "I, umm,...." He failed miserably to string words together to form a plausible explanation.
Hermione interrupted callously, "Forget it. There are plenty of others who are more than willing to satisfy my needs." That was stretching the truth. The one man she would consider and tolerate beside Malfoy was institutionalised thanks to her.
Draco frowned and deliberately pulled her, if possible, closer so she could feel the elevated pounding of his heart against her flattened palm on his chest.
Unable to control herself, Hermione's fingernails dug deep into the soft fabric of his shirt as she hissed cautiously, "Let me go. My parents are waiting."
Draco smiled, and Hermione saw the corner of his mouth lift upwards in a signature smirk.
He drawled almost sensually, "All in good time." His eyes roved over her face and settled on her nose, and Hermione grew self-conscious about his actions. What was he playing at?
Her nose wasn't her most pleasing attribute, and though she struggled in vain to free herself from his suffocating hold, Draco held on for a bit longer and whispered, "The sunlight does your freckles justice." He touched the tiny point of her nose with the tip of his long finger and teased, "Like little drops of chocolate. It's quite cute, Granger."
Hermione scrunched up her nose and huffed, "Right. Thank you for the compliment. Now, if you are quite done with commenting on my features…." She pointed to the house with her free hand and insisted, "Shall we?"
Draco stifled a laugh, let her go and graciously obliged, "Certainly."
"Prat," Hermione mumbled while smoothing her dress and walking through the garden her parents painstakingly maintained. The grass-covered ground wasn't even, and she wobbled on her heels despite her best efforts to remain graceful. She heard a distinct snort and snarky comment, "Would you like me to carry you?"
Glancing over her shoulder at the man trailing behind her with a smug expression, Hermione threw him a dirty look and scowled, "No, thank you. I can manage perfectly well on my own."
Draco rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort, but the glass doors that led to the kitchen slid open, and Julia Granger walked out with a happy smile and warm greeting, "My darlings, how wonderful to see you."
"Mum!" Hermione gushed, and mother and daughter exchanged a quick, tight hug and air kisses. Draco came forward, and Julia pulled him into a warm hug that caused his cheeks to redden.
A stern elderly voice came from the kitchen, "Well, it's about time the two of you arrived. Your father's stomach has been growling for the past hour."
"Let's not exaggerate, mum." Richard Granger made his presence known with a distinctive tone of displeasure.
Hermione rushed into the neat kitchen space and threw her arms around her beloved grandmother, "Nana!" She inhaled the deep scent of jasmine talcum powder and sighed in contentment. Since she was a child, the smell almost always put her at ease and instantly calmed her rattled nerves.
Phyllis Granger gushed, "I've missed you, love." She hugged her granddaughter before looking past and turning her attention to the tall man hovering in the background, bestowing a look of adoration over them.
"How lovely to see you again, Draco," Phyllis greeted with a motherly smile.
Draco smiled broadly and slightly bowed in respect, "The pleasure is all mine."
Hermione kissed her father's cheek, and Richard smiled and playfully ruffled his daughter's hair while she protested and purposely moved out of the way. Meanwhile, Phyllis approached the nervous man, took his hands in hers and mumbled candidly so only he would hear, "Relax. You've already won over my son."
"Thank you for having me," Draco muttered, suddenly overcome with emotion. He had never known the love of grandparents, and at that moment, he envied Granger.
Phyllis patted his arm and insisted, "Think nothing of it and get used to it." Despite Hermione's many reservations about her fiancé, Phyllis trusted the once arrogant youth. He had such determination lurking underneath that it was hard for anyone to miss, except maybe Hermione. She wanted to believe the worst, so she did because it made more sense for her to hate the man than like him.
Julia smiled and radiated warmth. She gently nudged Draco forward, "Come! Would you like a cup of coffee?"
Richard came up from behind, clamped Draco on the shoulder and declared, "Ah, I think something a bit stronger might do the trick, Jules."
That declaration spurred Draco into action. He plunged his hand into the deep pockets of his coat and pulled out the rare bottle of wine that Narcissa would hopefully not miss and the boxes of fresh strawberries still in its plastic bag.
Hermione stared at the plastic bag dangling from his hand in disbelief, but before she could voice her thoughts, Julia injected, "Oh! You brought the strawberries. Thank you, sweetheart." She lovingly pinched Hermione's cheek as she passed and headed towards Draco.
Julia unburdened him by taking the bag and shot Hermione a cheeky grin, "To be honest, I thought you'd forget, considering where you were when I called." Hermione averted her gaze, blushed and muttered her confession out of the corner of her mouth, "I did forget."
"Ah, then we owe Draco our thanks," Julia responded amusedly. Richard frowned and addressed Hermione with a warning tone, "We will speak of your outings later."
Hermione said with a definite roll of her eyes, "Spare me the lecture, dad. I'm a grown woman who can do as she pleases."
"Oh, is that so?" Richard mused with dripping sarcasm but having heard enough, Draco thought it best to save Granger before she uttered another ridiculous remark. He stepped in between father and daughter to block Richard's path and shoved the bottle of wine into the older man's hands to distract him from scolding his offspring.
Caught completely by surprise, Richard almost dropped the bottle of red burgundy, and Draco sighed a breath of relief when his would-be father-in-law neatly grabbed the bottle by the neck and saved it from a gruesome death.
With a raised quizzical brow, Richard lifted the bottle for closer examination and gasped. Hermione peered over Draco's shoulder, caught sight of the slightly worn-out label and widened her eyes in surprise.
His hold on the bottle tightened, and Richard stumbled over his words, "Romanée-Conti 1945."
Draco glanced over his shoulder and caught Granger staring at him in calculated shock. The red wine bottle was unique and one of the most costly among rare blends.
Hermione mouthed, "Thank you."
Her eyes went to her father cradling the bottle like a newborn. After a few moments of silence, Richard composed himself and expressed with profound gratitude, "A vintage bottle of wine. Thank you, son. How about we open this beauty and let it breathe?" He didn't want to open it. He truly wanted to lock it inside his cabinet and throw away the key, but that would be terrible manners.
"Mr Granger, why don't you save it for a special occasion? We can always have something else," Draco suggested and hoped nobody would take offence. It was abundantly clear that Richard treasured the gift.
"Sounds good to me, dad," Hermione concurred, and Richard wholeheartedly agreed and inwardly rejoiced, "Of course. I will come back with another, more suitable bottle for us to enjoy."
Hermione whacked Draco on the arm when her father left the room and scolded, "Are you mental? Do you have any idea how expensive that bottle is?" She was aware of how wealthy the Malfoys were but could Draco be so woefully unaware of expenses?
Julia watched her husband scurry off in search of a suitable replacement and smiled gratefully, "That was nice of you, son."
Draco frowned at Hermione and retorted, "I am well aware of the cost, and you shouldn't bother yourself with minor details."
He returned Julia's kindness, "I am happy to oblige. A bottle of that stature deserves a happy home."
Hermione was livid, minor details indeed. She rolled her eyes and snorted, "Narcissa is going to Avada you."
Phyllis wasn't familiar with the strange word and quizzed with a raised brow, "Excuse me?" Draco nor Hermione got the opportunity to answer since Richard reentered with a bottle of red wine.
He beamed at Draco and invited, "Join me."
That was more than what Draco bargained for at the moment. He swapped a look of concern with Hermione, who merely showed her indifference with a casual shrug and followed her mother and grandmother over to the table laden with mouthwatering dishes of potato salad, roast chicken, plump sausages and an array of delectable salads along with freshly baked bread rolls.
Richard led Draco to the fully functional bar he had built himself. In the bright light, Draco could truly appreciate the craftsmanship. The last time he shared a drink with his future father-in-law had been on the day they met, surrounded by dim lights, and unfortunately, the details of the bar were obscured. He was reminded of the talented carpenters in Henan, Province. The artistry and dedication that went into creating such unique works of art could not be matched by the Western world.
Draco remembered a particular moment during his fourth year at the Shaolin Temple. The door to one of the smaller halls had suffered wear and tear over the years. Master Chun had trusted him to get it fixed and returned to the temple without delay.
Transporting the door had been no mere feat. It was nearly nine feet in height, but with great difficulty, Draco arrived at the shop with deep cuts on his hands from dismantling. The carpenter regarded him with suspicion and made his displeasure of a foreigner handling such a precious artefact evident. He spoke rudely but accepted the order. He and his ancestors before him had served the temple for generations.
Despite the man's crude behaviour, Draco maintained a level of respect and decency and handed him the note Chun had provided. The master probably anticipated that his disciple would run into discriminatory conduct. Still, the man read the letter, spat onto the street and scowled. He had some of his assistants lug the door into the workshop before starting work.
While watching the man work, Draco forgot about his brash attitude and marvelled at his hands' slow, precise movements as they glided almost sensually over the wood. He noticed the equipment was traditional and perfectly in sync with the woodworker who wielded them with such immense passion.
The loud sound of a cork popping tore Draco out of the daydream he had slipped into, and he blinked a few times to gather his bearings. Richard eyed him suspiciously, fetched two wine glasses, poured in the burgundy liquid and handed one over the counter to Draco, who took it graciously with a quick thank you and waited for further instruction.
Hermione sat at the table, popped a piece of finely sliced cucumber into her mouth and raved, "Everything smells amazing, mum."
Julia added salt and a dollop of butter to the mashed potatoes and smiled, "Thank you, darling. I'm so glad Draco and you could make it."
Phyllis helped herself to a glass of wine and offered Hermione one, but she promptly refused, and Julia chuckled. The wise old Granger matriarch questioned, "How are Draco and you fairing?"
Hermione sighed, "Good, considering the circumstances." She was tempted to divulge the latest development. Dear Nana, Malfoy refuses to sleep with me. The brief reckless thought disappeared as soon as good sense kicked in.
Julia weighed in, "You seem much more at ease in his presence."
Hermione reached over and helped herself to a bread roll. She was ravenous. Still, she shrugged and answered with her mouth full, "I guess."
Hoping to lighten the mood, Julia asked with a mischievous grin, "Are you looking forward to your little trip to Hawaii? It's next week, isn't it?"
Hermione swallowed hard and cringed, yet she replied with adequate enthusiasm, "Yes, it is. I am looking forward to it, I suppose. It will be good to clear the air and relax for a few days."
Phyllis studied her granddaughter's body language, which struck her as odd. She gave voice to her thoughts, "You look perturbed." Hermione wasn't particularly gifted at hiding her true self. Still, no one besides Malfoy knew of the cackling dark witch that lived rent-free in her mind.
Hermione responded cagily, "Hmm, oh, I'm not. Well, sort of." She didn't want to lie since a large part of her was looking forward to the trip, but the grave issues at hand kept tunnelling into her thoughts.
Phyllis raised a curious brow, clearly awaiting a further explanation, and Hermione obliged while moodily touching her engagement ring, "Work is hectic. We have significant issues to deal with and little to no answers on how to go about them."
Julia cut the edges off the roast beef sandwiches and checked on the quiche before replying solemnly, "I'm sorry to hear that, darling. The Magical world always seems rather complex." There were plenty of times Julia wished her daughter was spared magical abilities.
Hermione took a deep breath and insisted, "Mum, I need to place some protective enchantments over the house. It's for your own good, and don't worry, and it won't interfere with your day-to-day activities. It's purely for your safety and my peace of mind."
Julia frowned deeply, and Phyllis seemed less than pleased as she scooped out the perfectly done scrambled eggs with bacon bits onto a plate.
Hermione ignored her grandmother's stern glare and spoke directly to her mother in an authoritative tone, "And mum? Please don't tell dad. I really cannot handle any added stress." Her dad would grill her endlessly about matters he did not understand, leading to a needless argument she intended to avoid at any cost.
Phyllis reprimanded most severely, "I do not appreciate that tone, Hermione."
Hermione instantly regretted her tone of voice and apologised profusely, "Im sorry, Nana. I just don't want dad to worry." It was a half-truth, and she wanted to avoid confrontation above all else.
Julia pressed urgently, "Hermione, what's all this about? I'm more worried about your safety than ours." She didn't object to placing protective charms around their home as long as they would have their child and memories intact.
Hermione cut up a few button mushrooms to be sauteed with more force than necessary and reassured with a slight smile, "I'm fine, mum. I promise. It's complicated, and I swear I'll explain everything soon, but I need to do this for now." She carefully placed the knife on the cutting board and pulled out her wand from the handbag.
She got to her feet, closed her eyes and moved the wand in a complex pattern while muttering an ancient language. A gust of wind blew through the kitchen, causing the pages of the recipe books to flip rapidly on their own accord, and as Hermione's voice intensified, the swirling of wind around the space became more prominent, and Phyllis and Julia stood rooted to the spot and swapped looks of concern but said nothing. They would go into details later.
Once Hermione was satisfied that she had placed the spells successfully, she collapsed onto the chair and drank a full glass of water to quench her sudden thirst. Protective spells were draining but required immense concentration and dedication to master. There were plenty of incidents where the spell caster had suffered terrible nose bleeds and temporary paralysis because of poorly performed enchantments.
Draco felt the shift in the surroundings, and he stiffened. He placed his drink on the counter and looked towards the kitchen in a panic, but nothing seemed amiss. Vaguely, he could make out Granger hunched over the table through the sliding glass door that separated them. He assumed with the current threat to her life that she was ensuring her family's safety by placing protective spells and shield charms on the house and its occupants.
Oblivious to the situation, Richard poured himself another glass of wine. It was his third glass and Draco's second. Once the wizard was sure his future wife and protection detail were not in imminent danger, he picked up the glass and drained the rich liquid in one go.
Richard cleared his throat and inquired in an effort to start up a conversation, "How is work?"
Draco ran his fingers through his hair, and even though he gave the man before him his undivided attention, his eyes kept darting towards the kitchen. Only once he heard Granger's unmistakable laughter did he relax somewhat and answer, "Hectic. I'm finishing the final stages of training, and the Auror trials are coming up in less than two weeks."
According to their earlier discussions, Richard concluded that Auror simply meant policeman or man of authority in layman's terms. He was impressed and approved of his future son-in-law's career path as long as his precious daughter would not be left a widow at a young age.
Next, he asked the most obvious question, "Have you and Hermione set a date?"
Draco almost choked on his drink but kept his wits about him and replied, "Not indefinitely, but yes, we have an inclination of when we will take our vows." It was a vague and unsatisfactory answer, but Richard didn't pry. Instead, he inquired with a smirk, "Is she still being pig-headed about the ceremony?"
"Yes, she is, I'm afraid," Draco responded with a lopsided grin and thought of his poor mother and her wish to have an extravagant wedding for her only son.
Richard chuckled, but there was a sense of pride in his words, "She's my daughter. Once I set myself on a course, I will not deviate unless some calamity befalls me." The wine loosened his tongue, and he enjoyed conversing with Malfoy.
Draco smiled slightly, yet his eyes sparkled with admiration, "Hermione is more passionate about a cause than any person I know, and yes, she is stubborn, but that's what makes her stand above the rest."
Eager to stir the conversation away from their upcoming nuptials, Draco asked a more general question that could prompt many answers: "How is everything else since we last met?"
Richard helped himself to another glass of wine and shrugged, "We hardly lead interesting lives. My favourite football team, Liverpool, is on top of the league, so there's that, but work is dull as ditchwater."
He sighed in exhaustion, "I want to chuck it all in at times and retire, but I'm not a man to sit on my arse watching telly all day."
Draco gave a curt nod in agreement, "I understand, Mr Granger. You would get on well with my stepfather." He referred to Bernard as his stepfather even though he wasn't, not yet at least, but that didn't stop him from considering the kind, astute man as a father figure. He was undoubtedly sure that Richard and Bernard would get on exceptionally well. They were so similar in disposition.
Richard questioned with a sceptical brow, "Did you accompany her to the nightclub?"
Draco straightened and shook his head, "Sadly, I did not. It was an all-ladies outing." His tone mirrored his displeasure, and Richard noticed the shift in attitude. The elderly man gave his opinion, "I see. I also worry about her when she's out and about at late hours."
"I share your sentiment," Draco agreed without hesitation. He behaved like a child denied a treat and hated himself for it.
Richard included thoughtfully with a touch of sadness, "Hermione hasn't always had the easiest time making friends. She can be intense and tab bit bossy, but underneath all that is a heart of gold and a sharp mind." Her incredible knowledge of everything around them often put off the local school's children. They couldn't keep up, so they avoided her and excluded her from playtime.
Even though it affected her, she never complained and found refuge in reading about distant lands and faraway places with magical beings and knights in shining armour. Ironically, she found her proper place in a hidden world that brought the stories she read to life.
Draco smiled. It was genuine and heartfelt, "I'm aware, sir. Hermione doesn't intimidate me. I quite enjoy our banter." He enjoyed a whole multitude of things where Granger was concerned, and frankly, most were too indecent to utter, especially not to her father.
The glass door slid open, and Julia popped her head out and insisted, "Come in. You've indulged far too much, Richard. Besides, brunch is served." A mouthwatering aroma drifted towards them and swallowed them, triggering Draco's insides to knot painfully in hunger.
Richard carried his half-empty glass, as did Draco, and both followed Julia towards the dining table laden with cooked meat, plenty of baked goodies and fresh salads.
Hermione glanced at Draco as he came to stand by her side, his breath smelled faintly of wine, but his presence made her uncomfortable. It was a feeling she would have to put up it.
Draco let his eyes move over the dishes in appreciation. He beamed at Julia and raved, "Everything looks wonderful, Mrs Granger." He was used to lavish dishes and extravagant food items but never ones that were a labour of love. Back at the Manor, the elves did the cooking, and his mother hardly, if never, stepped foot in the kitchen. Such was her upbringing.
There was a richness that a homecooked meal possessed that could not be matched. Draco wondered if Granger would cook for him once they were married, whether they would cook together and create passionate memories among the pot, pans and utensils.
Richard smiled graciously at his wife of many years and praised, "Draco is spot on, love. You have truly outdone yourself."
Julia blushed and requested, "Please call me Julia, Draco. Will you do us the honour of playing a song afterwards?"
Draco clicked his heels together and bowed respectfully, "If that is your wish, I will be happy to oblige."
Phyllis pulled back a chair and sat down with a laugh, "My knees are shot. Please have a seat, everyone." The sound of chairs being pulled out drowned out the concern in Draco's voice as he moved close to Hermione, pulled out the chair for her to sit and whispered, "Are you alright?"
Hermione sat down, shot him a puzzled look and responded, "Yes, im fine. Why do you ask?"
Draco followed suit and answered out of the corner of his mouth, "You placed protective spells around the house."
Hermione grabbed the napkin off the table, laid it on her lap with more force than necessary, and gritted out, "I did. I will not let some misguided lunatic threaten or harm my parents. I took drastic measures when Voldermort was hunting us."
"What do you mean?" Draco questioned impatiently. He had no idea about what she spoke, but it sounded significant and painful.
Hermione was sure she had divulged one of her greatest regrets, and she voiced her unsure thoughts, "Have I not mentioned it?"
"Not that I recall," Draco replied, his interest piqued, and he couldn't help but wonder what drastic measures Granger had taken to safeguard her parents. He imagined a frightened Hermione Granger confiding her feelings in Weasley and Potter.
Hermione averted her gaze and muttered, "Let's talk about this later, Malfoy,"
Julia looked around the table anxiously and invited, "Please, tuck in."
The sound of food being served and the scraping of knives and forks against white China plates filled the space as everyone began to eat their meal in companionable silence.
A few moments passed, and Hermione swallowed the buttery chicken in her mouth, relished the taste and addressed the room in general, "Umm, Narcissa, that is Draco's mother has invited everyone for dinner at the Malfoy Manor."
Julia beamed at the bit of welcome information and spoke directly to Draco, who had paled and continued to eat his portion of frittata, "Oh, how wonderful. We finally get to meet your mother."
Draco dabbed the corners of his mouth with the napkin and lied convincingly, "Yes, she is looking forward to it." He didn't know his mother's true thoughts on the matter and decided a small white lie would benefit all.
Phyllis forked a tender piece of meat and inquired curiously, "When is it, dear?" She was already thinking about which dress to wear.
Hermione chewed slowly in thought and replied, "On Wednesday. Say about sevenish?" That seemed about right. It would allow for plenty of time for everyone to converse and exchange pleasantries.
Although, she secretly hoped they wouldn't get on too well, only be cordial enough to tolerate each other's presence.
Richard helped himself to a spoonful of potato salad and asked a vital question, "How will we get there? I assume we won't be able to reach it the Muggle way." He leaned back and eagerly awaited an answer.
Draco nodded and offered a reasonable explanation, "Well, no, the Manor is concealed from prying eyes. Only magical folk and beings can see it." Hermione added further insight into the matter, "We will side along apparate with each of you and Narcissa, or Draco will adjust the wards to accommodate strangers."
"We aren't strangers, darling," Phyllis injected, almost insulted by the implication.
Hermione smiled slightly and answered, "To Malfoy Manor, you are, Nana."
Such an odd statement threw off Richard. He voiced his thoughts, "You speak of this Mansion as if it were a living organism."
Draco cleared his throat and sought to set the record straight, "The Manor is quite old, but I guarantee it is not alive." Malfoy Manor was nearly seven hundred years old, and despite the many evil deeds that occurred over the years within the walls, it remained ghostless and somewhat livable. The architecture and surrounding gardens were breathtaking, and his ancestors had exquisite taste among more distasteful attributes.
Julia loved antiquity and learning about fascinating historical periods. She dabbled in reading ancient texts in her spare time. She smiled warmly and enthused, "Sounds interesting."
Phyllis casually asked while buttering a roll, "Have you two set a wedding date?"
"Umm, yes, as a matter of fact, we have," Hermione answered meekly. She had wanted to stir clear of the topic of marriage. Clearly, her family had other ideas. Taking a deep breath, Hermione readied herself mentally for the interrogation that was headed their way.
Richard asked with dripping sarcasm, "Marvellous. When is it? Are we invited to witness you show up in a fancy pantsuit to sign the marriage licence?" He was still livid over Hermione's selfish decision not to hold a function.
Unfazed by his future father in laws tone of displeasure, Draco kept his composure and replied pointedly, "Probably two weeks after we return from Hawaii."
Hermione nodded but included additional information, "It will be after Malfoy's Auror examination. Our marriage would be an unwelcome distraction when he needs all of his free time to dedicate to studying."
Draco glanced sideways at the woman sitting next to him and argued, "I am well prepared for the trials, Granger." Her lack of confidence in him was insulting and, quite frankly, disturbing. He wondered if it had anything to do with the outcome of their duel.
Hermione countered, "You have a rare talent, Malfoy, but the trials are not to be taken lightly," Next, she regarded her father and expressed sternly, "And Daddy, please. I told you there will be no wedding."
Richard cut up a piece of chicken furiously and frowned, "Yes, I remember. It's enough to make me boke."
Hoping to lighten the mood and deviate the conversation, Julia took it upon herself to do so and politely offered, "Draco, please help yourself to more chicken."
"Umm, thank you, Mrs Granger," Draco accepted the dish she held for him to take with a smile and served himself an additional piece of chicken breast. The meat was tender and delicious, and he had no problem having a second helping.
Before digging in, Draco looked down the table and spoke directly to the man seated at the head of the table, "Mr Granger, Hermione feels very strongly about this, and I support her reasoning. I don't wish to disagree with you, sir, but in this one instance, I am forced to support my fiancé's decision."
Hermione nearly dropped her knife and fork and choked on her food. She gawked at the blonde man sitting firmly by her side in disbelief. He had been doing so well with her dad, but surprisingly, Richard grinned and said after a seconds pause, "A wise decision to agree with your fiancé."
He added with a wink and amused expression, "It's not the correct one, but a wise one just the same."
Draco grinned but kept his mouth wisely shut and resumed his meal. He could feel Granger's eyes on him. She seemed grateful, or was it something else? He refused to look at her and give in to temptation. Instead, he focused on finishing the tasty meal before him. Think of the chicken, Draco. He silently commanded himself.
His moment of peace was shattered when he felt a foreign body move over his socks and up his trouser leg. Once it came in contact with his skin, it was reasonably easy to deduce what was creeping up his leg. He felt petite toes and the soft brush of moisturised skin. He was right. Granger was grateful that he defended her beliefs, perhaps a bit too much.
Ignoring her ministrations, Draco wiped off the thin layer of sweat that coated his upper lip, kept his eyes firmly on the peas and carrot that decorated his plate and discreetly moved his leg out of reach. What in the name of Salazar Slytherin was she doing? Had Granger lost all good sense? Her father was right there, and the man was certainly no idiot.
Hermione enjoyed Malfoy's discomfort. She rubbed the back of her neck and moved her chair closer to his. She took care to be as quiet as possible, but her parents and grandmother were engaged in a lively conversation about politics and wouldn't have noticed if she snogged Draco over the gravy boat.
She felt around under the table until her fingers touched Draco's thigh. He didn't disappoint with his reaction. He stiffened, almost dropped his utensils and went as rigid as a board but continued to ignore her and piled his plate high with more vegetables. Hermione trailed her hand slowly up his thigh and towards the inner region. Draco exhaled, shifted in his seat, finally acknowledged her, and shot her a warning look.
Still undeterred, Hermione moved her persistent fingers towards his crotch, and before Draco could utter a word of protest, she cupped his flaccid appendage. The sudden action caused him to clamp his thighs shut, trapping her hand in between.
Hermione let out a strangled "Ow" before withdrawing her hand and massaging the fingers from where his hardened thighs had crushed them. Draco coughed loudly to hide his discomfort, and Julia turned his way and asked in concern, "Are you okay, Draco? Would you like some water?"
Draco shook his head and assured, "No, erm, I'm fine. A piece of bread went down the wrong way." It was a poorly thought excuse since there wasn't a sign of bread on his plate.
Hermione reached over and made a false spectacle of being a doting fiancé. She tutted and then carefully dabbed his face with her napkin before cocking her head to the side and regarding him with humour, "Hmm, be careful, darling."
Draco pursed his lips while observing her little display and gritted out, "I'll keep that in mind, Granger." She would pay dearly for her little exhibition.
Hermione used the same napkin to dab the corner of her mouth delicately and exclaimed slightly snobbishly, "Oh Merlin, if I have one more bite, I will surely explode, mum."
Draco concurred with a happy smile, "I agree. I can barely move." He played along, but his mind was busy trying to devise a suitable punishment for Granger's indecent behaviour.
Phyllis snorted and wagged a warning finger, "I will have none of that. I have slaved for hours over my trifle, and I expect each one of you to have a hefty serving." Ah, so that was what the strawberries were for, Hermione thought candidly and replied, "Of course, Nana. A meal is never complete without stuffing our faces with a dessert you've made."
Draco was forced to agree and confess, "I have an out-of-control sweet tooth." He was pretty partial to trifles, but chocolate would be his first mistress.
Phyllis shooed them away with the rapid wave of her slightly gnarled hands, "Well, off with the lot of you. There's still a bit more to do." Richard grudgingly got to his feet and followed the others to the living room.
Julie caught hold of Draco's arm and requested, "Draco, would you mind playing us a song to pass the time?" It would certainly set the mood for coffee and fruit trifle later. Besides, the young man played so beautifully that she took immense pleasure in listening to him serenade them with a heartbreaking ballad.
Ever the gentleman, Draco took Julia's hand in his and placed a soft kiss on it before replying, "I would be honoured." Hermione watched intently as the man she was forced to marry mingled with her family and won them over with the slightest smile and action. If only it were that easy for her.
Hermione excused herself, not that anyone would notice her absence. She slipped away and went up the stairs as Draco sat down at the piano, opened the flap and cracked his knuckles.
She stole into her childhood room and breathed a sigh of relief. It was a risky stunt she had pulled at the dinner table, especially with her grandmother breathing down her neck. Nothing escaped Phyllis Granger.
Yet, she was surprised by Draco's refusal to acknowledge it or pull her aside and reprimand her severely for behaving poorly. With those thoughts in mind, her feet carried her to the bathroom, and Hermione stared at her reflection. She could hear Malfoy tickling ivories. He certainly had a way with the prestigious instrument.
The melody broke her heart and slowly mended it. It made her feel hot, bothered and overly emotional for unknown reasons. Hermione took her time in the bathroom, leaned against the sink, and random thoughts about her life popped up. After a few moments, the music stopped, followed by faint applause, and then it grew unnervingly quiet.
She heard the distinct sound of heavy footsteps enter the room, but since she was still in the bathroom behind a closed door, Hermione didn't have the faintest clue who it was. In a panic, she threw the door open in time to catch Malfoy locking the door. The audible click snapping the locking mechanism in place made her cringe, and a sudden burst of excitement rendered her speechless with anticipation.
Draco narrowed his gaze and drawled, "Did you think your behaviour wouldn't have consequences?" Hermione scanned the area for all possible means of escape, but Malfoy blocked the only one and, like a complete idiot, she had left her wand downstairs in her bag.
Instead of succumbing to the circumstances, she put on a brave face and scoffed, "Oh please, I'm quivering in my three-inch heels. Move!"
Closing the gap between them in less than three strides, Draco grabbed Hermione by the shoulders, pinned her to the nearest wall, and claimed her lips savagely. His advances hurt, his teeth grazed her skin, and his tongue forced entry to explore the expanse of her mouth.
Yet, her mind went blank, and Hermione weakly protested. Her words were strangled and lacked conviction, "Draco, stop. My parents…." His insistent lips moulding perfectly to hers muffled her words as he staked a claim with a searing passionate kiss.
With one hand, he took hold of her slender wrists, pinned her hands over her head, stared into her flushed face, and kiss swollen lips. Her breathing hastened, and her chest rose and fell with the raging hormones tearing through her body. With his free hand, Draco slid his hand underneath the dress and covered her cunt with his large hand. The material that protected her most intimate place was flimsy, and she could feel the heat from his palm seep into her skin.
Draco licked his bottom lip, his eyes sparkled with sinister intent, and Hermione warned, "Don't you dare, Malfoy." She knew what he planned on doing, and this was hardly the place, but he wasn't bothered, nor did he listen to a word she said.
Instead, Draco grinned, kissed her gently and whispered, "Evanesco." He only had to think about it, and it would be as he wished, but to say it was rewarding.
His fingers met bare skin and slight wetness, and Hermione squirmed. She threw her head back, closed her eyes and moaned. It was music to his ears. The erotic softness of her voice caused blood to rush South in appreciation of the insatiable woman in his arms.
He licked the shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue, bit down on the earlobe that held a fancy earring and rasped, "Silencio."
Draco pushed her further up against the wall, trapped her with his imposing frame, peppered her neck with wet kisses, and pleaded with husky tones of pure lust, "Scream to your heart's content. I want to hear you, Granger." He withdrew his hand from her pelvic region, brought it up between them to his face, and inhaled deeply, "You smell sinful. I wonder if you taste the same."
Without further warning, Draco let go of her hands, and they clumsily fell to her sides. He kissed past her stomach over the material of her dress until he kneeled in front of her. With slightly trembling fingers, Draco pushed up the skirt of her dress until it bunched around her waist and came face to face with her exposed vagina. He sensed her arousal. She smelled ravishing.
Hermione's fingers moved on their own accord and found themselves in his hair. Her fingers grasped the platinum blonde locks as he ran the tips of his fingers from her stomach down to her core. The short fingernails left a discreet caressing path of fiery intemperance down her abdomen. His breath hitched, and Draco swallowed as he saw the glistening wetness that would eventually welcome him behind their closed quarters back at the cottage for the duration of their marriage.
Try as he might, Draco couldn't resist any longer. It had been years since he performed oral sex. He pressed his lips clumsily to her most intimate place and eagerly ran his tongue slowly along the slit before placing a soft kiss on the top of her fleshy pussy lips.
Hermione gasped, but no distinguishable words followed. Her fingers tightened in his hair as she watched him intently. He stared back, not breaking eye contact—his intensity burning into her soul.
Tearing himself away from her glistening core, Draco ran his lips along the smooth skin of her inner thigh, placing airy kisses that made the skin tingle and pulsate. Turning his attention to the other, he relentlessly ensured no area of her body went untouched. While sucking on the delicate skin on her inner thigh, he slowly inserted a finger into her tightness and was greeted by a bit of friction that disappeared as her body responded to his digit moving within her.
Hermione did not expect that. Before long, she was dripping and moving her hips back and forth. She moaned aloud at the intrusion but welcomed his finger working inside of her. One finger became two as he continued his slow assault of widening her and preparing her for what would ultimately follow.
Draco withdrew his digits, and his long fingers grasped her buttocks. His fingers dug into the delicate flesh, and she leaned in keenly. Gently he swiped his tongue across her hairless pussy, he was rewarded with instant gratification as her fingers tightened their hold on his hair, and a low mewl of want left her lips.
Hermione maintained herself since their trysts were random, and she didn't want to be caught unprepared.
He could not wait to taste and gorge on her. His gaze shifted to her mound. He gently spread her labia with his fingers and paused to appreciate the gorgeous blush before moving his tongue skillfully inside the pink folds, licking the soft flesh before sucking on her swollen clitoris.
Hermione lost her footing, pressed her back harder into the wall and cried out. Oh, fucking hell!
What was he doing? She sincerely hoped he wouldn't stop. She felt every probe and stroke of his tongue as he relentlessly ate her out. It was surreal to have Draco Malfoys face buried between her thighs. His unique blonde hair tickled the underside of her belly, and she brushed the strands back and held them in place with her fingers while he persistently licked the expanse of her lady garden.
It was an exhilarating feeling to be tonguing Hermione Granger's cunt. The Wizarding World's Golden Girls juices dripping down his chin was erotically damaging. Somehow, he knew she would taste tantalising. The forbidden ones always did.
She was lost. All thoughts of her dreaded upcoming nuptials to a man she previously loathed vanished. The only thing to remain was the same man before her, bringing her to the crucial point of no return she ardently craved. Only Draco Malfoy could give her that blissful release.
He withdrew his tongue, and she let out a strangled whimper. Draco smirked against her smooth thigh.
The woman was undeniably flexible. She effortlessly placed a leg on his shoulder, spreading her thighs for better access. Oh, how he welcomed it. Grabbing his head, Hermione boldly pushed it flush against her wet folds. He lapped her juices willingly, wanting to taste her forever, but his throbbing erection threatened to rip through his trousers. It was getting fucking unbearable, but not before he gave his witch the release she ardently chased after.
Her clit was a swollen mass of pleasure. Draco pressed his tongue hard on it and sucked on her pulsating womanhood. Again and again, he felt her squirm. He fingered her heat, provoking it further. She was so close.
Hermione felt a warmness accumulate behind her navel as she hovered on the cusp of orgasm. She let out a loud groan as the intricately spun bundle of compressed tension shattered within her.
"Draco!" Hermione cried, not caring who heard her. She buckled under the weight of her release. His name rolled off her tongue effortlessly. Wave upon wave of unbridled passion was unleashed inside her as an earth-shattering orgasm tore throughout her body. Her slick fluids dripped down his lips and chin.
Still, Draco didn't stop until his witch was utterly spent. Pushing his tongue further, he fucked her tight little hole with it until her orgasm ceased.
"I can't wait. I want more…," Hermione whimpered as his tongue darted in and out of her cunt. It weakened her, and Draco saw her fall. He caught her and deeply kissed her full on the mouth, letting her taste herself.
He loved her taste. It was pure and untainted.
Hermione regained her composure and keenly clung to him, returning his kisses while undoing the button of his tailored trousers.
"Patience, my little dove," Draco reluctantly pushed her hand away and promised, but her patience was non-existent. She wanted to push him down on the bed, onto her sunflower-patterned bedspread, straddle him and fuck him without abandon.
Draco grabbed a handful of Hermione's hair, roughly pulled her head back and gazed into her flushed face, "Don't ever underestimate me." His low dominating tone sent shivers down her spine and her eyes clouded with unmistakable hunger for a man she vowed to loathe. He ran his thumb along her bottom lip, but Hermione took it between her lips and sucked on the tip.
Burying his head in the crook of her neck, he laid a trail of kisses down the smooth skin and grinned, "We best join your family before your father comes barging in through that door and shoots me in the face for violating his picture-perfect daughter."
Hermione laughed and mused, "Am I turning you on, Malfoy?" Considering the impressive tent in his trousers, it was a borderline ridiculous question, but one that Hermione felt validated in asking. Perhaps, to appease her ego and insecurities.
It was a modest home, but sound travelled fast, and the odd moving of furniture and noises made Julia and Richard look up at the ceiling in the direction of their daughter's old room, but Phyllis warned her son with a slightly knowing smirk, "Let them be, Richard."
Richard frowned with disgust, "Ugh, stop it, mum." He would give the couple ten minutes before fetching them for dessert. Julia giggled and washed the strawberries that would be used to garnish the trifle.
Using the back of his hand, Draco caressed Hermione's cheek and quipped, "Didn't have you pegged for a tease, Granger."
Hermione looked at him through hooded lids and drawled in a seductive low tone, "I don't like you."
His eyes fluttered shut, and Draco brazenly licked his lips and mocked, "Clearly." His lips still held a hint of her orgasmic fluids, but he wouldn't forget the taste or smell in a hurry. It reminded him faintly of rose and honeysuckle, probably from the body wash she used.
Oblivious to his thoughts, Hermione cocked her head to the side and said in a mild authoritative voice, "In fact, I can't stand to be around you."
Draco nodded in agreement, "Of course. I can hardly bear to be around you either, Granger." The blatant lie was worth it. Her face twisted unpleasantly, and she simmered in frustration. Granger could dish it out when it pleased her but couldn't take the abuse directed at her.
Hermione fought the urge to hurl an insult. Instead, she kept calm and grudgingly stated, "But, unfortunately, I find myself in a difficult position because I am very attracted to you sexually as any woman would be, I suppose."
Draco couldn't help the smug smile that split his face in half, "I'll remember that."
Hermione wasn't overly fond of his relaxed behaviour and argued, "You know very little about me. I'm not the same bookworm from Hogwarts." Even at school, she had a wild side that was well concealed from her peers and professors. She had done plenty of rebellious stunts at school, including setting Severus Snape's cloak on fire, forming an illegal Defence Against the Dark Arts class and trapping Rita Skeeter inside a jar for her unethical journalism.
Draco said thoughtfully, " You punched me in the face, Granger. Don't think I've forgotten that."
"Ah, yes. That felt so good," Hermione thought back and confessed happily. It had felt good, and Merlin knew the pointy-nosed arrogant Slytherin deserved it.
Draco smiled slightly and agreed, "I deserved it."
Hermione agreed wholeheartedly, "You did." If it weren't for the Time-Turner and Dumbledore, Buckbeak would be dead thanks to Malfoy's deliberate lies about the proud Hippogriff.
Draco raised a brow and probed, "Whatever happened to that Hippogriff?" He had no knowledge about the Time Turner and that, in one reality, Buckbeak had indeed been executed on a trumped-up charge based on his words.
Hermione summarised with a heavy heart, the mention of Sirius Black made her highly emotional, "Oh, he lived with Sirius, but, umm, after he passed, Harry inherited Buckbeak, and he's now living out the rest of his days with Hagrid at Hogwarts."
Draco sighed, "Ah, that's good to know." He recalled his father's harsh words and fury at being hoodwinked by the lowly Hogwarts Gamekeeper Hagrid. He averted his gaze and started to add more detail to the story, "Buckbeak trusted me enough to let me touch him, but I insulted him without just cause or a thought to the consequences. Perhaps, I goaded him into attacking me to teach Hagrid a lesson."
Hermione looked positively disgusted by his revelation. She took a step back and her features twisted in contempt as the events from that fateful day came crashing back to her. How could someone be so cruel?
Draco pleaded desperately, "But I swear to you, I'm not that same slick-haired git." He hoped against hope that she would believe him and offer him the benefit of the doubt though he didn't deserve it. At least he was trying to rectify and atone for his past misdeeds.
Hermione couldn't help but stare at the man before her. She was perplexed by his behaviour and confused by the words he uttered. They sounded genuine, he seemed to mean what he was saying, and his actions certainly proved he had changed. Still, why did she fear having feelings for him? Was it largely to do with public opinion and how she would be perceived? Did it matter? She liked Malfoy. Was that such a heinous oddity?
Closing the distance between them, Draco took advantage of her hesitation. He pulled her to him and, placing firm hands on her buttocks, he lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his tight waist and held onto his broad shoulders. He fiercely claimed her lips, and Hermione responded appropriately as he slammed her into the wall causing the nearest hung picture to fall to the floor and glass to shatter.
They broke apart and surveyed the damage. Shit. Draco exhaled and moved his hand over the broken glass, and the frame mended itself while Hermione hurriedly rummaged through her drawers for underwear. Luckily, she found one buried at the back, and though it was from her time at school, it fit perfectly except on the rear.
She pulled it up, secured it around her waist and piled her unruly curls on top of her head when they heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, they exchanged a look of panic, and once Hermione was decent, Draco wiped his mouth with an embroidered handkerchief he kept handy and threw open the door before Richard knocked.
Richard was about to knock, but instead, he withdrew his hand and raised a sceptical brow, "Mum asked me to fetch you both for dessert." Hermione hovered in the background, looking flustered and nervous.
"My apologies, Mr Granger. The time got away from us," Draco apologised profusely and glanced over his shoulder at Hermione, who had turned beet red and tried to hide her face from her father. It was a valiant effort but in vain since Richard knew they had been up to something, but he purposely ignored the obvious and said soberly, "Come on."
Julia and Phyllis were already enjoying a portion of trifle served with oodles of whipped cream and strawberries. With a hand at Hermione's back, Draco navigated her into the kitchen despite her protests, and they helped themselves to the gorgeously layered trifle with fresh fruit.
"Mmm, nice and juicy," Draco lucidly commented on the layers of succulent peaches that comprised seventy per cent of the trifle. Hermione glared sternly at the double innuendo he dared to utter. He got a bit of cream on his pinky finger and suggestively licked it off with a wink and roguish smirk.
Hermione said with a definite roll of her eyes, "Pillock." She scooped a hefty portion into a glass bowl and left the kitchen sanctuary with her intended in tow.
They returned to the living room and purposely sat away from each other. Hermione sat down and shifted her bottom to get comfortable, and when she looked up, she caught Malfoy staring at her with an indicative yet amused expression. He stuck the teaspoon with a generous helping of the whipped cream into his mouth and licked it clean.
Hermione frowned, literally gobbled the rest of her dessert, shot to her feet with the empty bowl firmly in her grasp and announced abruptly, "Well, this has been lovely, but we must be going."
"Oh? What's the hurry, darling?" Phyllis asked with keen interest.
Draco shrugged and responded casually, "I have nothing pressing to return to."
Hermione smiled for the sake of her parents and gritted out, "Of course you do. You have to study."
"Ah, yes, but that can wait, Granger," Draco mused and immensely enjoyed Granger's discomfort.
Hermione insisted in a no-nonsense voice, "You really shouldn't neglect your studies, Malfoy."
"Leave the poor boy alone, Hermione," Phyllis instructed sternly.
Hermione frowned and snapped for good measure, "Fine! Have it your way, but don't come crying to me if you fail!" She took her empty bowl to the kitchen, dumped it into the sink and held onto the side of the counter to calm herself by taking deep breaths.
Draco had watched Granger leave in a huff. He sighed, rose from his seat and spoke to the older Grangers calmly, "Hermione is right. I must get back to the books. Thank you for inviting me."
Richard got to his feet and patted Draco heartedly on the back, "It was good having you."
Phyllis and Julia headed towards the kitchen and found Hermione muttering to herself and washing the mountain of pots and pans with her bare hands without the aid of magic. Draco moved closer until his front pressed into her back and muttered, "We can leave, Granger. As always, you are right."
The fine hairs on her neck came alive at his closeness. Hermione swallowed hard, washed the soapy foam off her hands, slowly turned the tap off and turned around to find her entire family staring at her with candid yet meaningful expressions etched onto their face.
Julia came closer and handed her a towel to wipe her hands. Hermione graciously took it and smiled.
They exchanged a fond farewell, and instead of heading to the garden to disapparate, Hermione dragged Draco towards the main door. He let himself be led but asked curiously, "Where are we going?"
Hermione grinned, "To the supermarket. There's one around the corner."
After a brisk walk, they arrived at a moderately stocked supermarket bustling with people. Plenty of Muggle women regarded Draco flirtatiously and batted their eyelids provocatively, hoping he would speak to them and ask for a number, but he only had eyes for his witch, who seemed to be fuming over the unwarranted attention he received. Even though plenty of men considered her attractive, she was blissfully ignorant of the attention she received.
With hands in his pockets, Draco rocked on the balls of his feet and asked, "What's all this for?"
Hermione frowned, "Your sodding partner keeps complaining that I have no food at my flat, and since she's with me every waking second, I have no choice but to feed her."
Draco chuckled, "Well, she's not wrong, Granger." Abbott was entirely in the right. Granger had nothing that constituted remotely as healthy food at her flat.
Hermione pointed to the neat row of trolleys and instructed with a deep frown, "Just shut up, Malfoy, and grab that trolley." Draco stifled a laugh and obliged. He pushed the cart while Hermione placed essential items inside it. So engrossed in the objects, she rounded a corner looking for salad dressing and found herself to be alone.
Wondering where Draco was, Hermione retraced her steps and found him deep in conversation with a buxom blonde, flipping her hair and laughing. Hermione grinned devilishly and reached for a bag of dried prunes that were thankfully in the same aisle. Armed with the packet, she marched up to her fiancé and spoke sweetly, "Oh, forgive my intrusion, but darling, umm, will these help your little potty problem? It's been days, and I'm getting worried by the sounds you make in the toilet."
Draco stiffened and stared at the bag of prunes in embarrassment, with a blush creeping up his cheeks. The blonde grimaced and hurried off in the opposite direction. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest while watching the woman practically run away from them and grinned, "Well, that was fun." She weighed the packet in both hands and smiled triumphantly.
"That wasn't necessary, Granger," Draco scolded and suggested with a touch of vindictive pleasure, "I think Weasley will benefit from these since he seems to have a permanent stick up his arse."
Hermione became cagey. She tossed the bag of prunes aside and muttered, "I wouldn't know since I haven't spoken to him in days." Not for lack of trying on his part, Ron called at odd hours and messaged constantly, but she wasn't in the right mindset to forgive his harsh words. Ron's heart was in the right place. It was his mind that was everywhere else.
"Ah…" Draco acknowledged and refrained from making any crude, mocking remarks. It was plain from Granger's face that the incident had greatly upset her, and he had no intention of adding fuel to her suffering.
They went through the many aisles, and with Draco's recommendations, Hermione purchased enough fruits, vegetables and junk food to appease Abbott's ravenous appetite, but Hermione couldn't help but notice how much Draco knew about his Auror partner's likes and dislikes.
Burdened with numerous plastic shopping bags hanging from their wrists, Draco and Hermione exited the supermarket and walked a short distance to what seemed like a public lavatory. They needed a discreet location void of surveillance cameras to disapparate.
Draco pushed the door open and scrunched his nose as the strong urine smell hit him. Hermione followed close behind and almost gagged at the putrid smell. She coughed and criticised, "Merlin! This place is revolting." She didn't bother waiting for Draco's opinion. With some difficulty, she balanced the bags, took hold of his hand and disapparated them away. They landed on the plush white carpet in the flat and took a deep breath of fresh air.
Hermione dropped Draco's hand and strode towards the kitchen to keep the bags. Her wrists ached from the weight of the groceries. He followed suit, dumped his load on the counter and said in his usually sultry voice, "Hannah is probably outside. I'll take my leave."
Grabbing the bags one by one, Hermione put away the groceries while Draco helped himself to a glass of water and said with a slight smile, "I had fun today."
Draco returned the smile and replied earnestly, "So did I." Hermione took off her coat and heels, glanced over her shoulder and caught Draco staring at her unwaveringly. She brazenly let her hair down, causing the disobedient curls to fall down her back and face. She bit her bottom lip for good measure and threw him the most flirtatious of looks before heading barefoot into her room.
Maybe Granger was right. What was with his obsessive need for everything to be perfect when he took her to bed? So, what if it was clumsy and awkward at first? He would learn how to please her and bring her to a shuddering orgasm as he did earlier.
It hardly mattered back at Hogwarts. All discreet locations away from prying eyes had been fair game, and spur-of-the-moment feelings had dictated his libido. Even when it came to Renee, of course, she took the upper hand, being older, but he never refused and claimed her in a sizable broom closet of Malfoy Manor, his bedroom, among other more inappropriate places that would have Dotty and his mother reeling back in shock and horror.
There was a particular thrill to it, but why in the name of Salazar did he refrain from acting on his primaeval instincts around Granger? He knew she loathed being treated like a delicate glass flower, which wasn't his intention. If anything, he wanted to shatter the illusion and make her truly his.
He could still smell her, taste her, and he wanted more of the bittersweetness. He took a few steps towards the bedroom, intent on making his many desires and dreams about her a reality but a hard knock on the front door sliced through the act of his hardening cock painfully. He stopped mid-task, turned on his heel and threw the door open.
Looking fresh in laundered robes, Hannah grinned, "Did you have a good time?"
Draco frowned to clarify his displeasure and raised a sceptical brow, "You have impeccable timing. How did you know we were back?"
Hannah regarded him with a sour expression, "I have placed charms around her flat, so I'm alerted when she leaves or arrives, rookie." She emphasised the last word, so it struck a chord with him.
Draco took the hint, "Ah…." He was pushing it with Hannah and needed to stop before she hopped on the Malfoy is an arrogant wanker bandwagon.
Hannah looked him over and teased, "You look flustered. What ruffled your feathers, peacock?"
Draco faked a laugh and insisted, "Well, next time, wait till I drop you an owl or text message before you arrive."
Hannah scoffed, "Oh, I'm sorry if my job cut into your shagging time. Would you like me to leave?"
Draco intentionally looked towards Hermione's room and sighed, "No. The moments passed." It was a glorious moment of self-confidence before Hannah interrupted.
Hannah patted Draco on the shoulder and offered candidly, "Next time, hang a bloody tie on the door, and I'll take a long walk while you…," she made a crude gesture with her hands and supplied, "handle your business."
Draco hissed in annoyance, "That sounds wrong, and this isn't Hogwarts. Granger is not some random girl I want to fuck. She's….."
Hannah pouted and interrupted, "Special? The one?"
Draco rolled his eyes, "Fuck off, Abbott." Thwarted again, and just when he made up his mind to go ahead with it. He walked past Hannah into the hallway, and she asked with a raised brow, "Leaving so soon, Malfoy?"
Refusing to take the bait, Draco bowed as a gentleman would and answered, "Good day. Let me know if you need anything." Hannah laughed and closed the door, but another opened from within the flat, and Hermione walked out in a baggy t-shirt and comfortable cotton shorts. She spotted Hannah, and disappointment consumed her, but she swallowed it and put on a happy smile, "Ah, Hannah, I didn't know you arrived."
Hannah nodded and looked mildly embarrassed, "Yeah, a few minutes ago."
"Malfoy left, I presume," Hermione asked casually, but her voice cracked, and it wasn't missed by Hannah, who took it upon herself to apologise, "Yes. Erm, look, I'm sorry if I interrupted you two."
Hermione grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchen and reassured, "You didn't."
Hannah bemused, "He hinted otherwise."
Hermione waved aside the comment and acted unbothered by the unfavourable turn of events, "Don't worry about it. Nothing happened." Maybe it would have if Abbott hadn't interrupted, but now, she would never know.
She headed toward her room and informed, "I'm going to take a nap. Im knackered. The fridge is fully stocked, so help yourself."
Hannah gave an enthusiastic thumbs up, "Thanks. I'll watch a bit of telly." She plopped down on the sofa and switched on the television.
Hermione fell onto her bed, closed her eyes and reminisced Malfoy's tongue at her fragile core. For someone with limited experience, he knew exactly how much pressure to apply. Oh, Merlin, it felt deliriously good. The man was skilled in the fine art of foreplay. It was her favourite part, and she craved more.
Chapter 55
Notes:
To all the comments:- Thank you so much for the lovely feedback. I love them all! :)
A steamy session inside the DMLE Potions room.
Hermione confides in Ginny about Draco's lack of sexual expertise.
The gang leaves for Hawaii, and Theo is terrified of flying.
Astoria and Tracey babysit Daphne's children. Its harder than they thought.
Enjoy Chapter Fifty-Five!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Romanian Ministry of Magic
Darius Constantine, the Romanian Minister of Magic, stood by the window in his office wearing dark grey robes and a grim expression. Surrounded by dim light, he stared into the vast grounds that enveloped the ancestral building.
He heard the door opening and heavy footsteps hurrying in his direction. Still, Darius kept his focus on the dark grounds and swaying branches of trees that always looked more sinister by night.
The footsteps came to a halt, and Darius heard the panting and heavy breathing of his right-hand man, Stefan Andrei. Clearly, the man had run the whole way.
Darius exhaled to even his breathing, calmed his rattled thoughts, and asked in a morbid tone, "How many?" The men spoke in Romanian.
Stefan could barely keep the agony he was feeling hidden. He replied solemnly, "Only five have returned, sir."
Darius closed his eyes and let the disastrous news sink in. His fingers gripped the windowsill with more force than necessary as a surge of pure anger rose to the surface.
Opening his eyes, he turned around and demanded, "We sent nearly twenty men. How is it that only five have returned?" It was a small comfort that the men and women they employed for their defence department were unattached without the responsibilities of a family. They were married to the job, plain and simple.
Stefan pursed his lips and fought the urge to hurl an unforgiving insult. His boss's arrogance was unprecedented. He explained the events that occurred to the best of his knowledge, as it was reported to him by a saviour of the savage attack, "They were outnumbered, Darius. There is little they could have done against reckless brute strength. Even without their wolf, they are still powerful."
"Bastards. May their wicked souls rot in hell," Darius exclaimed, his voice shaking with unmistakable rage. He had buried more than his share of brethren thanks to the creatures that plagued their lives.
Stefan hissed ominously, "Yes." The wolves had plagued their lands for centuries, but they were never this bold except when the Lycan lords of old ruled over certain territories.
A sudden thought came to mind, and Darius questioned in alarm, "Where are the bodies of the deceased?"
Stefan slowly shook his head while nervously playing with the sleeve of his black jacket, "None have been returned."
Darius swallowed the bile that steadily rose and inquired morbidly, "Have they been taken prisoner? Are there any demands for their release?"
Stefan gritted out in disgust, "None. We have no way of knowing if they are prisoners or if they will be turned into werewolves at the next full moon." It was common practice. Werewolves turned those they thought would strengthen the pack and sentenced the rest to a life of servitude.
Though they were regarded as enslaved people, prisoners were not ill-treated and were often clothed, fed and provided comfortable housing. Still, the wizarding populace could not see past the stigma that being a werewolf presented. They feared the unknown beyond anything else.
Darius walked over to his large desk and spat out the words, "I rather they die than suffer such a gruesome fate."
Stefan pleaded, almost begging, "We need help from other nations. Put aside your pride, Darius and ask them for help." He had lost two dear friends in the latest raid. How many more lives would need to be sacrificed before their Minister saw reason and put aside his foolish pride?
Darius brought his hand hard on the table, sending its contents skating to the floor and defended his actions, "Silence. I will do what is best for my people. Besides, I have provided Kingsley with vital information."
Stefan grew wide-eyed in disbelief and stated firmly, "You have kept the truth about our struggle with werewolves a secret from the world. You fed them but bits of it that beg a million questions."
Undeterred, Darius insisted, "I told them what they needed to know. Nothing more or less."
Stefan wasn't having it, and he made his thoughts quite vocal, "They have weapons that can defeat them. Bullets coated in silver, among other things they would gladly share if they knew the truth about our situation."
Putting caution to the wind, he included bitterly, dragging out his words to solidify his point, “Your subjects cannot pay for your arrogance.”
Darius argued with good reason, "You think I do this on purpose? If I let Kingsley and his lot help us, we will be indebted to them for the rest of our lives. We will have to bend to their will and serve them like dogs."
A helping hand from the more powerful nations came with strings attached. Romania had looked after its matters without interference nor help from the outside world, but they had never before faced a formidable threat similar to one that the Alpha King brought to their doorstep.
Stefan disagreed and tried his best to convince the man who looked utterly defeated despite his tough exterior, “That is not true, Darius. I have met with Kingsley Shacklebolt, he is a brave and just man.”
Ignoring his advisor and friend, Darius addressed the most obvious question, “Was the Alpha among them?” He knew the answer would not be satisfactory. If they had caught the Alpha or a glimpse of him, Stefan would be breaking the seal on a matured bottle of scotch.
On cue, Stefan answered, his tone mirrored his restlessness, “No, he's still in England, as our Intel revealed.”
Darius sat down and raised a brow, “Recruiting animals to his cause?”
Stefan followed suit and nodded in agreement, “Yes, and collecting money. He needs funds to feed his army and keep them motivated.”
After a moment's silence, he added, “The massacre of non-magical beings is almost daily. We are under much stress from the President to stop these acts.” He recalled the tense meeting and shouting match from the last session. It took all his self-control not to whip out his wand and hex the pompous man who ruled over the Muggles.
Darius heaved a heavy sigh, “If only we could. Non-magical humans are a pitiful lot. Always whining and complaining about something and relying on others to bail them out.”
He asked thoughtfully, "Can we confirm it is Antonin Dolohov?"
In annoyance, Stefan shrugged and gritted out, "We can't be sure. His appearance changes, and he's no longer the man who served Voldemort, but it's clear his base is here even though he's primarily in England to secure funding."
Darius toyed with the heavy ring on his pinky finger that bore the seal of his ancestors and scowled, "The wizards in London are wealthy. He's playing a smart game by gaining enough trust for them to part with their riches. Bloody fools."
Leaning forward, Stefan tried once more to be the voice of reason, "We cannot win this war. We must unite as the beasts have." It pained him to admit the bitter truth, but to lose more men would be a loss they could not bear.
With a heavy heart, Stefan added further insight: "They have captured the forest. We cannot penetrate the boundaries or their defences." The forest had remained unoccupied for centuries. It was an unequivocal slap in the face to have its sacred ground defiled by mindless mutts.
He hung his head and muttered, "It's a grave, helpless situation." Surprisingly, Darius smiled slightly, it wasn't happy, but profoundly sad, yet certain hope lingered: "It is never lost as long as there is someone left to fight for the greater good."
Darius knew it was a pointless question but one he had to ask for the sake of procedure, "Are they willing to negotiate?"
Stefan sneered, "No! They expect complete obedience and the annihilation, or turning, of Muggles into werewolves."
"Simple," Darius responded with a sarcastic quip and mild snarl. He averted his gaze and requested, "Arrange a private meeting with Shacklebolt."
Satisfied that he had made some progress, Stefan sprang to his feet and nodded enthusiastically, "Right away, sir."
Darius stared at his reflection in the carved floor-length mirror and hissed, "They have won a small victory tonight. Let them bask in their glory. I will rip the corrupted heart out of the so-called werewolf King and feed it to my dogs."
Draco left Hermione's flat and appeared near the fountain and took a while to gaze upon the serene baby face of the angel custodian that sat on top.
He momentarily let his thoughts drift towards Granger and their shared moment in her old bedroom. Even in his youth, he had enjoyed the fine art of foreplay. He knew it was essential to make the woman feel good, to even beg for it.
Renee being older, had taught him well by letting him practice on her. She would guide and instruct him on where to apply pressure and where to let his gifted tongue stake claim. He was immensely grateful to the piano instructor's daughter.
Taking a deep breath of fresh air, Draco jogged up the stairs that led to the terrace and almost ran into Dotty. The flustered House elf squeaked and almost fell back in fear.
Draco spoke calmly with a charming smile, "Dotty, why did you try to stop me from leaving? I'm sorry, but I was late for an appointment."
Dotty gathered herself and barrelled into an explanation, "Oh, good, the master is home. Madam is waiting for you in the foyer with Master Bernard."
She pulled at her dress, hid a feather duster and took off with Draco following close behind, "Ah, she's returned."
Dotty looked over her shoulder and nodded rapidly, "Yes, sir. Please follow Dotty." They entered the foyer, where Narcissa and Bernard were seated and conversing.
Draco strode in and asked with a curious raise of his brow, "Mother, is everything alright?" Max rose from his place by the fireplace and ran towards Draco at breakneck speed before jumping on him and demanding his full attention.
With a smile, Draco complied by ruffling the German shepherd's fur and stroking his head until satisfied. Max was growing rapidly and resembled an arctic wolf.
Narcissa stopped mid-sentence and turned towards the sound of her beloved son's voice. She smiled brightly, "Oh, Draco. How lovely to see you."
Seeing him alive and well was her reason for living.
Bernard smiled, got to his feet and offered his hand, "How are you, son?"
After learning of his family's possible connection to the Dollhouse Strangler, he felt a smidge of guilt in Draco’s presence for withholding information. Still, until there was something more solid to share, Bernard refrained from mentioning anything.
Draco took the extended hand in a firm shake and replied, "Quite busy. The Auror trials are around the corner." Despite Granger's constant nagging that he study at every possible moment, he was confident that he would pass with flying colours.
"Your absence is understandable," Bernard responded appropriately with understanding.
Narcissa rolled her eyes, though her strict upbringing forbade her from resorting to such crude behaviour.
She ignored Bernard and inquired a tad bit firmly in her motherly tone, "Where did you rush off to in the morning? I sent word for you to wait till I returned."
Draco sat down and offered a viable explanation for his actions, "I left before Dotty could speak to me." Dotty sighed a breath of relief.
Narcissa frowned to make her displeasure evident, "I'm aware. What was so pressing that it required your presence? Was it a Ministry matter?"
Draco refuted, "Hardly. I accompanied Granger to her parents for Sunday brunch."
Narcissa smiled and teased, "My, that's twice in a row you've been invited. Things are looking up, I see."
Unconsciously, Draco licked his bottom lip and recalled Granger's most intimate place spread out for him to devour. It was a highly inappropriate image to conjure while speaking to his mother.
He pushed aside the erotic images clouding his vision and ability to speak and agreed wholeheartedly, "I suppose they are. The older Grangers are both warm and welcoming." The youngest was an insatiable thorn in the flesh.
"They sound delightful," Narcissa said with a twinkle in her eyes. She had always hoped for pleasing in-laws.
She cleared her throat and inquired sheepishly, "Did Hermione mention anything at all about her parents joining us for dinner this coming Wednesday?"
Draco frowned, his features contorted unpleasantly, "As a matter of fact, she did in passing. Why did you not inform me?"
Narcissa scoffed, "You've hardly been home."
Draco argued pointedly, "Mother, you could have owled and left a message. I don't particularly care for being blindsided by Granger."
Conceding defeat, Narcissa insisted, "I know, and I'm sorry, but I wanted to speak with you rather than put my thoughts and desires into a letter."
An endearing smile split Draco’s handsome face in half. He informed happily, "Anyways, no harm came of it. The Grangers are looking forward to it. Phyllis Granger, Hermione's grandmother, will also join us."
Narcissa replied enthusiastically, "Ah, Hermione's famous grandmother. I look most forward to meeting her."
She tapped her chin in deep thought and asked thoughtfully, "What do you suggest we prepare for dinner?" She hadn't the faintest idea about the Grangers' palette, except they enjoyed fine wine.
Maybe Hermione could be persuaded to offer some insight into what food to prepare, Narcissa thought wisely.
Draco chuckled and insisted, "Mother, I leave you to it. You have hosted plenty of events that have been the talk of the town, and this shouldn't be any different."
"This isn't a charity event or ball, but a meal to welcome the union of two families," Narcissa argued fiercely.
Draco laughed, "I highly doubt I can add any valuable input to menu items and so on." He purposely skimmed over the union of two families part. Granger did not share that sentiment.
Bernard vocalised his opinion and hoped it was enough to save Draco from his mother's clutches, "Draco is right, Narcissa. I'm sure it will be a splendid gathering of like-minded individuals who want the best for their children."
Momentarily putting a pin on the subject of menus, Narcissa inquired rather timidly and out of character, "You will join, won't you?"
Bernard hesitated, "I, umm, don't think my presence will be required." He wanted to join the proceedings and get to know the Grangers, but it was hardly his place to force an invitation.
Narcissa wouldn't hear another word and urged, "Nonsense. I insist you attend, Bernard." She reached over, covered his hand with hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
Draco gave voice to his opinion. He injected adamantly, "Mother is absolutely right. You are a vital part of this family, and we will be honoured by your presence."
Overcome with emotion, Bernard held his tongue while Draco included with a slight smile, "Besides, I have spoken about you at great length to Granger's father, Richard."
Bernard looked at the young wizard before him in admiration and gave a grateful nod of acknowledgement, "Thank you, Draco. I wouldn't miss it for the world."
"That's the spirit," Narcissa chimed in and instructed Dotty to brew a fresh pot of tea and serve it with chocolate cake and almond biscuits.
Narcissa regarded her son reading the morning paper and mused, "Now, let's address the matter of my missing bottle of vintage wine."
Draco looked up from the printed words of the Daily Prophet and cleared his throat nervously, "Oh, erm, I'm sure you misplaced it."
"I doubt it," Narcissa answered with a somewhat out-of-character sly grin.
Draco kept the paper aside, got to his feet and announced somewhat abruptly, "Well, I need to brush up on my potion brewing skills. It's the one section of the examination that worries me."
There were plenty of new potions with more potent results to learn, and although he knew how to prepare most, the latest invention of an advanced concoction of Dittany required the highest skill and concentration.
Bernard watched Draco leave and battled internally about whether he should share the little information he had on the murderer or whether it would help.
Luna poked her head inside the bright orange suitcase they had packed and exclaimed, "Theo, have you packed your entire wardrobe?"
Theo answered firmly, "I want to be well prepared." He was not misguided by the fact that he had indeed packed probably a year's worth of clothes.
Luna raised a brow, "Don't you think you're being paranoid, darling? There are enough clothes in here to clothe an army."
Theo argued stubbornly, "What does it matter? The enchantment I placed on the walk-in closet inside our suitcase allows me to take as much as I need."
Luna nodded reluctantly, "Yes, true, but it's unnecessary." There were shirts in various colours as far as the eye could see. Still, she knew Theo was a gifted wizard, but the enchantments he had placed on their luggage were beyond impressive.
Theo smiled slightly and quipped, "Oh really? Then why do I see a wide range of bathing suits and various dresses?" He wasn't the only one that packed more clothes than necessary. His wife was just as guilty.
Luna defended her actions by saying, "A woman must always be prepared."
Theo crossed his arms over his chest and scoffed, "Well, that's sexist. I have a great fashion sense and would rather over-prepare than be without a proper shirt for a particular occasion."
Throwing her hands up in defeat, Luna cried aloud, "Fine! You win."
Theo dropped a quick kiss on her cheek and chuckled, "Thank you, my darling."
Luna bestowed a look of pure love upon her husband and said, "Dinner will be ready in ten minutes."
"Wonderful. I'm famished," Theo perked up and rubbed his belly. He retreated to his private study and looked over the plans of his latest invention.
They hadn't spoken about babies and getting pregnant in days, choosing to talk about Hawaii instead and how much fun it would be.
Monday Morning
Harry hunched over his desk, deep in thought as he went over the mountain of papers and unsolved Muggle murders that werewolves could have committed. It would give him a rough idea of when the slow plan for werewolf domination originated.
A troubled couple approached Auror Amelia and requested to see Harry Potter, Head of the DMLE.
Harry heard the distinctive knock, but without paying it much attention, he called out an instruction, "Come in!" Hopefully, the person on the other side of the door heard him.
The door opened a crack, and Amelia informed in hushed tones, "You have visitors, Harry." She walked into the room looking upset and cautious.
Harry took in her odd behaviour and raised a quizzical brow, "Who is it?" Hardly anything fazed Amelia; like Thomas, she was dedicated and specialised in werewolves.
Amelia answered with a heavy heart, "It's the abducted woman's parents." She had lost a loved one years ago. Even though he was among the living, he was more beast than human, but the pain of losing him never lessened. It festered and consumed her heart, making it nearly impossible to love again.
Harry leaned back in his plush chair and massaged the bridge of his nose in exasperation, "Oh, joy. Don't keep them waiting any longer. Please send them in."
Amelia opened the door and stood to the side before graciously requesting, "Mr and Mrs Duncan, please come in. Mr Potter will see you now."
Harry smiled politely and shot to his feet, "Thank you, Amelia. You may leave." His clumsiness caused a file to fall to the floor and contents and gruesome pictures to scatter across the floor
He hurriedly dropped to his knees, picked up the contents and locked them away in his desk. A solemn-looking elderly couple came towards him apologetically, "We are sorry to barge in on you like this unannounced, but we couldn't sit by quietly any longer." The older woman with grey streaks adorning her full head of hair seemed on the verge of breaking down completely. She choked back an audible sob and waited for Harry to answer.
Harry gestured to the empty seats before him and invited, "Please have a seat. Of course, I completely understand. My doors are always open to you."
The couple sat down, and Mr Duncan, Sarah's father, asked with a tense edge to his voice, "Umm, has there been any progress?"
Harry dreaded the question, mainly because he had no satisfactory answer. He gathered his composure and replied solemnly, "We have an entire team dedicated to finding her." It was by no means a direct answer to the question he was presented with.
Mrs Duncan inquired in a trembling voice. She feared the truth, "Do you think she's alive?" She dabbed the corners of her crinkled eyes with a handkerchief, kept her hands on her lap and grasped the lace material with more force than she seemed capable.
Harry softened his gaze and answered with confidence, "Yes. I have every reason to believe Sarah is alive."
Mrs Duncan sobbed. Tears of frustration slid down her face as she cried, "Oh, Sarah. I cannot imagine the suffering he must be putting her through." She desperately wanted her child back. They were good, kind people who did not deserve such torment.
Mr Duncan took his wife's hand and gently patted it while speaking to Harry, "Sarah was always headstrong, even when she was a little girl. Tough as nails, if anyone can survive this ordeal, it will be her." His confidence hung by a thread, but hope was all he had left. He needed to believe his daughter was alive and not lying in some ditch somewhere.
Harry was overly sympathetic to their plight, "I wish I had better news." He truly wished he did and wanted nothing more than to catch the sadistic maniac.
Mrs Duncan composed herself and replied somewhat gratefully though there was irritation, "We know you are doing your best, Mr Potter."
Harry couldn't bring himself to look directly at the couple before him. Instead, he smiled slightly and said, "Please call me Harry." He felt his insides knot unpleasantly, he wasn't doing his best, and it gutted him.
"That bastard deserves to rot in hell," Mr Duncan grit out in anger.
Harry gave a curt nod of agreement, "I understand how you feel." He didn't. How could he know what it was like to have a child abducted? The very thought gave him nightmares.
Mr Duncan glared sternly and called Harry out of his prior statement, "Do you, Potter? Has anyone kidnapped your child?" He didn't wish the pain he was feeling upon his enemy.
"Stuart!" Mrs Duncan scolded and sought to make peace. They were hurting, but Harry Potter was the one man who could grab their daughter from the clutches of the Dollhouse Strangler and bring her back to them.
Mr Duncan's face fell in despair, and he apologised profusely, "Bah, my apologies. My mind is not straight. We haven't slept or eaten since she disappeared."
He closed his eyes, and a single tear slid down his reddened cheek as he spoke in absolute agony, "The light in our lives has gone out. Our sanity is hanging by a thread."
Harry opened his mouth to offer words of comfort, but a hard knock on the door drowned out his words. He internally rejoiced at the interruption and hurriedly called out, "Come in!"
The door opened swiftly, and Draco strode in confidently, "Potter, do you have a minute…" his words came to an abrupt halt as his eyes took in the distraught couple and Potter's look of helplessness.
Draco stopped mid-stride, surveyed the seemingly tense situation and apologised for his intrusion, "I'm sorry. I didn't know you had company. I'll come back later. "
Harry concurred, "Yeah, that would be best, Malfoy." Draco almost turned on his heel to leave when the scrapping of chairs and a woman's shaky voice made it to his ear, "No, that's quite alright. We've taken enough of your time."
Harry opened the drawer and pulled out a laminated black business card with bold silver lettering, and held it out for Mr Duncan to take. He was the closest, after all, "This is my personal number. If you need to contact me, please do not hesitate."
Mr Duncan took it but closed his hands around Harry's and pleaded desperately, "Thank you, Harry. Please, I beg you, bring my daughter home."
Harry promised with every fibre of his being, "You have my word that I will do everything In my power to make it a reality."
Mr and Mrs Duncan passed Draco and headed slowly towards the door. Once there, they held the door open, threw Harry one last look of desperation and reluctantly walked out.
The door shut behind them, and Draco inquired cautiously yet curiously, "Bad timing?"
Harry sighed, "Good, actually. I was running out of things to say. Those were the victim's parents." There was reluctance and pain when mentioning them. He felt like an utter failure for not finding their daughter and bringing the sadistic monster responsible to justice.
Draco understood immediately. He nodded in acknowledgement and said with renewed determination, "Ah, I've been looking at the pictures and the notes. The killer is intelligent enough to scrub the women down and leave them naked, but his calling card intrigues me. There's something there, Potter. I know there is. Nobody uses a wand and owl without some significance."
Harry purposely looked at the scattered pieces of parchment that littered his table and frowned, "Yeah, well, with a werewolf uprising and limited resources, the Dollhouse Strangler has caught a lucky break." He ground out in annoyance, "But how am I supposed to inform grieving parents that we are no closer to catching the killer than we were at the start?"
Draco listened intently but thought it wise to keep his mouth shut. Potter seemed to need to unload whatever burden he was carrying. On cue, Harry hissed, "My best men and women are searching the streets for any illicit activities related to this so-called Révolution."
Taking a step forward, Draco reassured, "We've fought madmen before, Potter. Good always has a way of coming on top."
Harry looked up slowly and made eye contact. He raised a cynical brow, "We? Stretching the truth, aren't we?" It was a cheap shot, but the truth nonetheless.
Draco answered grimly, "I'm well aware of my poor choices, but I am trying to do the right thing and atone for my past mistakes. I know you find that hard to believe."
Sitting back down, Harry regarded the tall blonde and hastily inquired, "What do you want, Malfoy?"
Draco came straight to the point without beating around the bush, "I need a couple of days off."
Harry wasn't surprised by the request, yet he asked the obvious, "Hawaii?"
Draco nodded, "Umm, yes." Surely Potter knew of the trip since his wife was accompanying them.
Harry waved his hand dismissively and granted permission without a second thought but with a slight warning. "Take it. I just hope it won't interfere with your Auror trials."
Draco chuckled, "Not with Granger breathing down my neck to study." He couldn't help his reaction and hoped Potter wouldn't take offence.
On the contrary, Harry laughed aloud and reminisced fondly, "Ah, she won't let up until you pass with flying colours. Try studying with her, it was a nightmare but, mind you, we learnt loads, and she helped with our assignments. Ron's more than mine. Anyway, she means well.
Draco was well aware of Granger's good intentions. He agreed and stated, "I know she does, but I'm confident about the trials." He refrained from asking further about the letter Granger received. Potter seemed to have enough on his plate at the moment.
Harry said thoughtfully, "I suppose you are. You were many things, Malfoy, but a mediocre wizard was never one of them."
He included after a brief moment, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I recall you getting pretty decent grades. I think Hermione mentioned it once, but I never paid much attention to it."
Draco concurred with a few insights, "I lost my way the first few years. Father was livid, but afterwards, I was second only to Granger. A fact that greatly irritated me." He recalled his father's hard slap across his face, sending him spiralling halfway across the room. It was the last time he performed poorly at school.
Harry said in a no-nonsense tone, "Always be aware of your surroundings. It's not a holiday. You are to protect Hermione by any means necessary."
Draco gave a curt nod of acknowledgement, "Duly noted, Potter. She is safe with me." He would safeguard Granger and return her safely to England if it was the last thing he did.
"On a side note, keep an eye on Ginny too," Harry pulled at his collar and added sheepishly. It wasn't on the agenda, but an extra set of eyes on his wife could hardly hurt.
Draco stifled the laughter that bubbled to the surface and heeded his boss's instructions, "Ah, I'll do my best."
"Dismissed," Harry said and returned to the reports on past unsolved murders. He fought the urge to share the origin of Hermione’s letter. It was too soon to trust Malfoy since Goyle had been a best friend.
Draco exited the room and felt a vibration emitting from his pocket. He plunged his hand in, pulled out his mobile, clicked the button and kept it to his ear.
"Draco?" Blaise's deep voice came through from the other end.
Draco responded, "Blaise, what's going on, mate?"
Blaise explained why he had called, "We are about to leave. See you on Friday."
The fact that his friends were leaving days ahead of him had completely slipped Draco’s mind.
He frowned and replied, "Of course. I'm looking forward to it."
An irritated, slightly hoarse voice could be heard, "These Muggles smell horrid. Can't we Portkey?"
Pansy scolded, "Shut it, Theo, and behave yourself. I swear you act like such a child."
Draco chuckled, "Do I hear Theo's dulcet tones?" His friend had unresolved issues regarding public spaces and germs. Back at Hogwarts, Theo would scourgify the toilet seat multiple times before sitting down to do his business.
Blaise rolled his eyes, "His germophobia is rearing its ugly head."
Theo queried impatiently, "Is that Draco?"
Blaise answered reluctantly, "It is."
Theo grabbed the phone and spoke into it urgently, "Chuck your fucking job and join us right now."
Draco mused, "Have an enjoyable time. I'll bring a bottle of scotch with me on Friday."
Blaise took back his phone, smacked Theo on the back of his head for good measure and spoke to Draco, "See you, mate."
Draco smiled and replied, "Have a safe flight, Blaise." Part of him wished he was leaving with them, but unlike them, he had a job to think about, a position that mattered greatly to him and, to a lesser extent, Granger to consider.
He ignored Michelle, who was trying to grab his attention and headed directly towards Hannah, who was munching on a greasy sandwich.
Ministry of Magic healing facility
Hermione walked into the white-washed building and hesitantly approached the receptionist. The place was spotless, and everything seemed to be in place.
The woman who handled the front caught sight of Hermione entering the building. A wilting plant caught her avid attention, and she shot a quick spell at it to rejuvenate and appear healthy and well without anyone being the wiser.
She got to her feet, plastered a welcoming smile, and greeted enthusiastically, "Good morning, Madam Undersecretary."
Hermione smiled slightly, dropped her voice an octave and muttered, "Please. You don't need to do that. This is an unofficial visit." She had somehow convinced Hannah to take a long walk despite the many warnings that her presence would not be welcome.
"Of course, Miss Granger. What can I do for you?" The woman offered eagerly. She was curious as to why the Undersecretary visited. Was she seeking help for some addiction, or could it be to see a patient? The latter seemed most probable.
Hermione cleared her throat and politely requested, "I am here to see Terry Boot."
The woman smiled and hailed a Mediwitch with a single press of a button. A woman in a pearly white uniform and neat bonnet came around the corner, stood by Hermione and awaited further instruction. She had a calm, motherly demeanour like the Ministry of Magic’s own Matron, Doris.
"Please take Miss Granger to see Terry Boot. Room 205," The receptionist instructed with a happy disposition.
The Mediwitch led Hermione down a surgical clean passageway while making small talk, "Terry is a lovely boy. He's a bit cranky but such a good soul."
Hermione kept her mouth shut and intently watched patients playing cards, taking medication and talking to their designated counsellors.
"Is he a friend?" The Mediwitch asked Hermione with the curiosity and innocence of a child.
Hermione smiled and replied, "Yes, I suppose he is." They stopped by a mustard-coloured door, and over it hung room number 205 in brass.
"Well, here we are," the Mediwitch informed Hermione and followed up with a quick, "I trust you can find your way back, dear?"
Hermione nodded, and once, the older woman disappeared from her line of sight. She took a deep breath to calm her rattled nerves and knocked on the door.
Terry's unmistakable rough voice came from within, "Yeah, come in." Hermione momentarily froze, but gathering her bravado, she turned the knob and opened the door to find Terry wearing a Ministry-issued blue uniform and lying on a comfortable makeshift bed with one hand behind his head and reading a book.
The book obscured the view of his visitor. He brought it down, caught sight of the familiar face and stared in calculated shock. She was the last person he was expecting.
Terry sat up and found his voice while Hermione nervously scanned the surroundings. He hissed in a low warning tone, "I don't want to see you, Granger."
Getting to his feet, he towered over Hermione. Terry was tall, not Draco Malfoy tall, but more than the average height.
He fixed her with a deep look of loathing, or was it pain and scowled, "You have some fucking nerve." Granger had bigger balls than most men, he would give her that much credit.
At first, Hermione took in the stack of books and notepads and gave the perturbed man in the room her undivided attention. Holding her head up high, she said calmly, "Please, Terry, sit down. I did what I thought was best for you."
Terry narrowed his eyes and advanced, causing Hermione to back away from the door in alarm until her back hit the wall.
He was inches away from her body, and when he raised his hand to strike, Hermione closed her eyes and moved her head out of harm's way, but instead of causing her bodily harm, Terry punched the wall instead and yelled, "You put me in here to avenge your fucking boyfriend." Flecks of spit randomly flew out of his mouth. He was frothing mad.
Hermione trembled but gathered her strength and fired back, "Of course not. You needed help. I wasn't about to sit twiddling my thumbs while you were so obviously ill." She wondered if anyone outside had heard his outburst.
Terry regretted his actions. He had not intended to frighten the woman he was desperately in love with. He spoke slowly, almost pleading, "I'm not going to hurt you. I could never harm you." However, he wanted her to leave and made his desires vocal, "Say what you came to say and leave."
Hermione swallowed hard and inquired, "How are you?" It wasn't the smartest of questions, and apparently, Terry felt the same way since he started to laugh somewhat maniacally and gritted out, "How the fuck do I look?"
Full of determination, Hermione disregarded his behaviour, moved towards the small table crammed with books and replied, "You look like you're healing."
She slowly pulled back a wooden chair and requested, "Please can we sit down."
Terry sighed, pulled out a chair and sat down. He ran his fingers through his long hair and mused, "I've been clean for almost two weeks. It's doing my head in, but reading helps me escape from what a loser I am."
Hermione lowered herself onto the seat and argued pointedly, "You are not a loser, Terry. Far from it. We all have demons that we deal with in one way or another."
Terry rolled his eyes and openly mocked, "Maybe for us mere mortals, but certainly not you."
Hermione exhaled. If only he knew about the cackling cunt that skipped around her mind, "You would be wrong in your assumption, Terry."
She kept her hands on the table, the engagement ring in plain sight. Terry gazed at it, and his features twisted unpleasantly. He was instantly reminded of her relationship with Malfoy. Still, he reached over, took her hands in his, drew small circles over her skin with his thumb, and said, "You did the right thing by suspending me and chucking me in the loony bin."
Hermione frowned, "It's a facility, not a loony bin, Terry. Be respectful."
Terry kissed the tips of Hermione's manicured fingers and gushed, "I've missed you." The books helped, but so did her face. He dreamt of her often, and his feelings grew exponentially.
"Listen, about what I said the last time we spoke…." Terry started to speak, he needed her to understand that he didn't confess his love in the heat of the moment, but Hermione injected, "Don't stress about it. Let's talk about that after you come out. Concentrate all of your energy towards becoming better."
Terry hung his head as her words sunk in, saying, "I've said this before back at school, but you did belong in Ravenclaw." He knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was right.
Hermione smiled, "I ended up in the right house." She couldn't imagine being in a house other than Gryffindor. Her eyes roved over Terry. He didn't look his best, but there was life and determination in his eyes, which gave her hope that he would recover fully.
"The DMLE needs you," Hermione said truthfully. Terry was a talented and hardworking Auror, and Harry needed him in his ranks. After a moment's silence, she included, "There's so much happening."
Terry nodded, "Yeah, so I've heard. Michael told me bits, but I can't do much from here."
Hermione glanced at her watch; it was a quarter to eleven Am. Where had the time gone? She wanted to spend more time with Terry and ask him about his treatment and programme, but unfortunately, her schedule would not allow such a luxury.
Terry noticed her shift in mood and questioned, "You have to leave, don't you?" She had barely spent fifteen minutes with him.
Hermione sighed in exasperation, "Yes, I do. I have an appointment at eleven thirty." The downside of her job. Never-ending meetings and ungrateful characters always seemed to want more than she was able to give.
Terry leaned back in the chair and smiled, "That's okay, I understand. I never thought you would come by."
Hermione argued, "Why wouldn't I? I meant to come by sooner." That was the truth, but her cowardice at how he would react kept her away.
"Will you visit again?" Terry asked eagerly. He truly hoped she would.
Hermione smiled and promised, "Yes, I most certainly will."
Terry cocked his head to the side and quipped sarcastically, "And is Malfoy okay with it?"
Hermione hissed in frustration, "I don't give a rats arse about what Malfoy thinks." Her actions and decisions were her own, Malfoy was forced upon her, and she wouldn't live her life by his rules. Just the mere thought of having to listen to him made her angry.
She locked eyes with Terry and insisted, "I will see you soon."
Terry grinned, "And I'll be here waiting, Hermione."
Hermione took her hands out of his grasp, even if he let go reluctantly. They both got to their feet, and when she closed the gap to give him a quick hug, he cupped her face and lightly brushed his lips with hers.
His lips were chapped and rough, but that wasn't what caused Hermione to freeze. She stiffened, and a bold word lit up inside her mind like a beacon.
Malfoy!
Terry seemed puzzled by her reaction and bestowed a look of curiosity upon her. Hermione awkwardly stepped back and stumbled. She smiled as she left the room, hurrying down the passageways and outside to where Hannah was waiting.
Hannah stubbed out a cigarette and raised a brow, "How did it go?"
Hermione brushed back her hair and showed indifference, "Better than I anticipated."
Hannah wasn't wholly convinced, "Are you sure?" She could easily see through Hermione's lies.
"Of course! Come on, we have work to do," Hermione firmly said and tucked a tendril of loose hair behind her ear.
Hannah grinned broadly, "I want to grab a slice of cake first." She had already had breakfast but craved something sweet.
Hermione critically ran her eyes over Hannah's slender figure and asked with dripping sarcasm, "Where do you put it all?"
Hannah laughed aloud and shrugged, "I have a hearty appetite and a fast metabolism."
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Fine. I could do with a cup of black coffee myself."
They entered a cafe on Diagon Alley. It was relatively new and had a few popular Muggle brews and an array of delectable chocolate treats and cakes.
Hannah wasted no time ordering a double fudge cake with an extra helping of vanilla ice cream.
At their table by the window, Hermione moodily stirred a single spoonful of sugar into the black coffee. It was bittersweet, like Malfoy, she thought suddenly.
A tall unknown blonde man walked by and disappeared into the crowd; Hermione straightened and scanned the throngs of people. She was sure it was Draco.
"It's not him," Hannah said while munching happily on the three-layered moist cake.
Hermione openly scowled but said nothing in defence. She drank the scalding cup of coffee and burnt her tongue in the process.
The gang were getting ready for a 17 Hour flight, with one stopover in Los Angeles.
After navigating through customs and immigration, the illustrious group was escorted onto the plane and led to the first-class cabin.
Theo visibly relaxed as the luxurious setting greeted him as they did the rest, except he was more vocal about his feelings.
He sank into his seat and breathed an immense sigh of relief, "Now, these seats are comfortable."
Luna handed over her bright pink bag to the steward, who graciously took it from her and stowed it in an overhead locker before promptly returning with glasses of champagne and roasted peanuts.
Theo took his flute and clinked his glass with Luna, who was too interested in looking out the window to pay her husband any attention.
Daphne leaned back into the seat and relaxed, "Mmm, these seats are divine. Beats travelling by Portkey."
Blaise tapped his fingers on the armrest and nodded in agreement, "Flying first class does have its perks." They didn't travel much by aeroplane, preferring to use Magical modes of transportation than Muggle, but in this instance, Pansy had insisted.
Daphne glanced over her shoulder at Pansy, and Neville locked in a passionate embrace and giggled, "Pansy always did have a certain flair about how she did things."
Blaise tossed a few peanuts into his mouth and held out a champagne flute for his wife to take, she did, and they clicked glasses and shared a sweet kiss.
Daphne's voice cracked as she asked, "Do you think the children are fine?"
Blaise reassured, “Of course, darling." His tone lacked conviction, but Daphne didn't notice. He thought back to the emotional parting between mother and son. Adam had thrown a proper tantrum, holding onto his mother, but Astoria had managed to calm him down by promising a bowl of ice cream. Surprisingly, Carrie had pouted and refused to speak but withheld the waterworks, and Tracey had taken her to the swimming pool.
The Captain's reassuring voice came over the speaker. He spoke briefly about the altitude and time of arrival, among other things that hardly anyone listened to.
The plane took off, and once the seat belt sign was turned off, Theo resorted to a bit of light reading while Luna slept. A gaudy bright yellow sleep mask covered her eyes, and she snored lightly.
Theo lazily flipped through a magazine and instructions on how to react during an emergency. His breathing hastened, and he requested a scotch and downed it in one.
As the hours rolled by, a bought of slight turbulence made the plane drop a few feet from its current altitude, but despite the Captain's reassuring words to the passengers that all was well, Theo held onto the armrests of his seat tight and prayed to Merlin. Luna slept through the entire ordeal, blissfully ignorant of her husband's panic attack.
It was going to be a long flight. Theo knew they should have Portkeyed.
Most employees had left for the night, but Hermione was still working. She had other matters pending besides the Dollhouse Strangler and a potential werewolf uprising to handle before leaving for Hawaii.
Disgruntled witches and wizards needed their petty issues regarding land, new legislation and renewal of documents to be processed. If she had to read through another document on boundary fences, she would scream.
Purposely pushing aside the documents scattered haphazardly across her desk, Hermione took off her glasses, massaged the bridge of her nose and sighed with exhaustion.
She wondered if Harry was around. A quick glance at the clock told her it was after work hours but not astronomically late.
Hermione wandered into the DMLE in search of Harry. He mainly worked late, and she craved an intellectual conversation.
A few Aurors greeted her, but Harry’s room remained shrouded in darkness, a clear sign that he had left for the night or was away following up on a lead.
As Hermione was about to leave, a tall, distinguished figure with unique blonde hair wandered into another room carrying a beaker of a pinkish substance and mumbling incoherently to himself. She was unmistakably sure it was Malfoy this time, her heart skipped a beat, and she scolded herself for reacting in such a childish manner.
What was Malfoy still doing here? Studying, perhaps?
It dawned on her that he had come out of the potions room and headed towards the room that housed the supplies cabinet. Curious, Hermione quietly walked in and found the place deserted except for a cauldron on a slow boil with an odourless concoction simmering inside.
The long wooden table that held cauldrons of all sizes was placed so that it faced a large blackboard, leaving anybody seated there unable to see who entered.
Hermione peered into the cauldron and frowned. From the appearance of the potion, Malfoy seemed to be brewing an advanced version of a Draught of Living Death, a potent sleeping draught, sending the drinker into a deathlike slumber, but it wasn't quite right.
However, the colour threw her off. It wasn't pale pink as it should be. Hermione took hold of the ladle and slowly stirred. She had hardly completed an oscillation when a large hand with a signet ring on his pinky finger and a black bead bracelet on his wrist covered her hand completely with his and applied enough pressure to make her stop stirring.
Hermione felt his warmth and his front press into her back. When had he entered? She hadn't heard a sound.
The protruding buttons of his uniform dug into the flesh of her back uncomfortably. Of course, he easily towered over her, but with such ease, he bent to her level and whispered in her ear, "You're doing it wrong."
An involuntary shudder snaked down her spine, and Hermione meekly argued, "I doubt that."
Draco rasped, "Like this." He moved her petite hand in a figure-eight pattern and added an extra ingredient, a vial of salamander blood, with his free hand. The concoction turned bright red and shimmered in the dim light.
Hermione didn't have the faintest clue what she was helping create.
His peppermint-smelling breath fell on the shell of her ear, causing her knees to weaken and her voice to crack, "What is this?"
Draco explained slowly, his sultry tones invading the peace, "It's a newer variation of Wiggenweld but more powerful."
Hermione was utterly taken aback. She had gotten the potions mixed up. How horribly embarrassing. Granted, it had been a few years since she had to brew up anything other than a hangover potion, but to be bested by Malfoy was mortifying.
Draco ignored the waves of disappointment emitting from his fiancé. He snaked a hand around her waist, held on tightly, inhaled the sweet scent of her hair and rasped, "Working late?"
Snapping back to her senses, Hermione scoffed, "Clearly."
Refusing to let the other go, they stirred the potion without pause. Draco gently bit her earlobe and mused with a teasing tone, "Why are you down here? Did you miss me?" Against his better judgement, his heart soared at the revelation that she might have sought him out after what transpired at brunch.
The tip of his nose digging into the sensitive skin behind her ear was ticklish, and Hermione couldn't suppress a girlish giggle that tore out her mouth.
She gathered her wits, kept her eyes on the bright red potion in the cauldron and replied scornfully, "In your dreams, I had no idea you would still be here. I came by to see Harry…."
Draco interrupted with smug superiority, "And you saw me and couldn't help but wonder what I was doing. Isn't that why you're in here, meddling with my assignment?" Granger was never any good at minding her own business.
Hermione let go of the handle and turned in his arms, intent on giving him a piece of her mind, but she found herself trapped between the table and his broad chest.
Merlin, his hypnotic eyes. Why did she lose herself in them?
She defended her actions fiercely, "I was not meddling. I was trying to rectify it."
Draco smirked, "You almost ruined it."
Hermione bit her bottom lip and looked mildly ashamed, but Draco tipped her chin, forcing her to look at him and whispered sensually, "You cannot help but gravitate toward me. You might call it curiosity, but I call it a passionate yearning you cannot escape."
Swallowing the lump that formed in her throat, Hermione muttered, "I was trying to help."
Their lips were almost touching, and Draco grinned, "Thank you for your diligence, Madam Undersecretary."
Without prior warning, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and kissed the tender pulse point causing Hermione to throw her head back and sigh in contentment. Her fingers wound themselves keenly around strands of his platinum-blonde locks.
Yes! Her internal thoughts screamed in jubilation. She pressed flush against him and surrendered to his ministrations. There was particular erotica that came from being intimate in one's workplace.
His fingers trailed down the unbuttoned, exposed front of her shirt. Draco whispered almost in agony, "Why do you seek me out, Granger?" His voice was heavy with want.
Even though she wasn't quite sure anymore, Hermione replied with the truth, "I came to meet with Harry."
Draco sighed and argued validly, "Yet, you're in my arms." Could her subconscious mind have led her to him?
He kissed the luscious corner of her mouth and declared, "I meant to stop by in the morning."
Hermione closed her eyes and responded meekly while eagerly waiting for him to claim her lips, "Ah, you don't need to drop by to keep me company." She was defiant to the bitter end.
He brought out the pendant and chain she wore. The jade glistened in the darkness, and the silver dragon protecting its precious jewel shone against the dim light.
Draco weighed the pendant in his palm and said, "I'm glad to see you're still wearing this."
Hermione raised a questioning brow and asked, "It's beautiful. Why wouldn't I?" He had asked her this before with the same tone of surprise.
Draco let the pendant go and returned it to its rightful place between the valley of her full bosoms. He peered into the cauldron and shrugged, "Because I gave it to you."
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest when she was sure he would not pursue her any further and argued, "That doesn't change the fact that it is a stunning and meaningful work of art."
"It is beautiful but pales compared to you," Draco teased, and Hermione frowned, "My apologies for disturbing you. You should get back to work." She wasn't what you would label beautiful, attractive and sexy even, in a naughty librarian sort of way but hardly beautiful.
Draco looked at Hermione through hooded eyes and responded, "I welcome a distraction in your form."
He asked pointedly, "Where's Hannah?"
Hermione picked up a jar with a floating crocodile heart and answered, "She's upstairs with her nose buried in files. She hardly needs to follow me about the Ministry of Magic."
Draco became serious, his voice mirroring his impatience and annoyance, "Ah, any leads on who sent the letters?"
Hermione slowly shook her head, "Not that I'm aware of." Harry hadn't divulged anything. It seemed a trivial matter considering everything else that was happening around them.
Returning the jar of slimy fluid to its rightful place, Hermione backed away towards the entrance and said, "Well, goodnight, Malfoy."
Draco lazily regarded her while leaning against the sturdy table with his feet crossed at the ankles, hands in his pockets and a satisfied smirk on his face.
Hermione was entirely drawn to the rogue strand of pale blonde hair that fell carelessly over his forehead.
He drawled, "Have a good one, Granger. I'll see you soon."
She couldn't help but ponder but left without another word.
Hermione returned to her office with wobbly legs and heart pounding in her ears. She grabbed her glasses, stuffed them into her handbag and headed out the door.
Ginny. She needed Ginny. They hadn't spoken since parting ways after clubbing, and she desperately needed to talk with her auburn-haired best friend about the reason behind Malfoy's hesitation to have sex.
Minutes later, Hermione was standing outside No 12 Grimmauld Place. A sudden streak of lightning illuminated the skies, and a deafening rumble of thunder closely followed it.
Hermione knocked on the door and prayed that Ginny would open the door before she got drenched in the imminent downpour.
Sure enough, a few seconds passed before Ginny, dressed in a pair of joggers and Holyhead Harpies hoodie, opened the door while scratching her head.
She seemed happy to see Hermione. A bright smile split her pretty face, "Ah, what brings you by?" It was unlike Hermione to appear out of the blue without so much an owl or phone call, and Ginny immediately tensed as a thousand possible scenarios flashed before her eyes.
What if something had happened to Harry? Oh Merlin, please let him be safe. Ginny felt her palms bead sweat and breathing hasten. She stared at Hermione as if she were a ghost.
Hermione overlooked her friend's shift in mood and instead sarcastically replied while taking off her coat, "Can't I stop by to check up on you?"
Ginny relaxed and breathed a huge sigh of relief. She regained her composure and mused, "Well, obviously you can, but it's unlike you to come by on a weekday. Isn't the big family dinner tomorrow?"
Hermione had blabbed about the dinner in her drunken state and revealed her many anxieties about the family meeting.
Hermione took off her shoes, massaged a foot and shook her head, "No, it's on Wednesday."
She rolled her eyes and muttered sarcastically, "And I'm looking so forward to it, I can barely contain my excitement, but that's not the reason behind my visit."
They walked to the kitchen, and Ginny raised interestedly, "Hmm, I see. What's the matter?"
Hermione plopped down on the small wooden chair and frowned, "I don't know where to begin."
Ginny grilled, "Has it got something to do with Malfoy?"
Hermione scowled, "Every little thing seems to involve him these days."
Ginny walked over to the cabinet, glanced over her shoulder and invited, "Wine?"
Hermione agreed wholeheartedly, "Yes, please."
She inquired after a moment's silence, "Where's Harry?"
Ginny busied herself with taking two wine glasses and a bottle of burgundy from the top self. She brought them over to the table and shrugged before replying, "Working late as usual. He's got a lot on his plate these days."
"Don't I know it," Hermione offered moodily. Her earlier assumption that Harry was out following a lead was justified.
Ginny sat down, poured two glasses, pushed one towards Hermione and raised, "Well, what's got your knickers in a bunch?"
They clinked glasses, and Hermione tried to explain without sounding too much of a desperate tart, "Umm, Malfoy and I spoke about the no sex thing. To be fair, I spoke, and he got bloody awkward before blurting out the truth."
That bit of information piqued Ginny's keen interest, "The truth? Whatever does that mean?"
Hermione took a deep breath and exhaled before stating the truth Draco had confided in her, "Malfoy has not had sex since he left London."
Ginny's jaw dropped, and all she managed to get out was a surprised, "Oh…."
Hermione said candidly, "My reaction exactly." She stifled a laugh. Ginny's utter look of disbelief was hilarious. If only Malfoy could see her, he would die of embarrassment.
Finally coming to her senses, Ginny laughed aloud, "Come off it, Hermione. Maybe he's lying. He has to be."
However, Hermione remained serious and stated plainly, "He has no reason to fib, Ginny. It does make sense since he was at a Monastery. There likely weren't many opportunities."
"I guess," Ginny said thoughtfully. She fetched a cheese platter for them to share.
Hermione explained further that she had researched the matter, "Buddhist monks are celibate, and even though Malfoy wasn't one, he lived as one for nearly ten years."
Ginny grew rather wide-eyed with disbelief, "Ten years without any action! The poor, deprived man." She could not believe Draco Malfoy had practised abstinence. It made zero sense.
Hermione grabbed the sides of her head and groaned, "It's doing my head in."
Ginny was perplexed by Hermione's disappointment, "Why? Are you concerned he won't be able to perform?" She knew Hermione wasn't opposed to sleeping with Malfoy, they had even bet on it, but her reaction went beyond any minor physical attraction.
Hermione realised she wasn't coming off too well and sought to rectify the situation tout suite, "Maybe. What if the sex is lousy?" It was a genuine concern.
However, Ginny was crafty. She popped a bite-sized piece of cheese into her mouth, savoured the taste and inquired casually, "Does it matter if the sex is lousy?"
Hermione let down her guard and argued, "Of course, it matters."
Still, Ginny kept up her facade of indifference and insisted, "Why is it so important? Aren't you planning on divorcing him after the mandatory three years?"
She added with interest, "Besides, you can have a lover to cater to your needs or refrain from sex. It's frowned upon but not illegal, am I right?"
Hermione frowned and leaned back in the chair. She shook her head after a brief moment's thought, "It's not in me to cheat but to refrain from sex? For three years?"
Ginny asked pointedly, "When was the last time you had sex?" She knew Hermione was going through a dry spell. Thanks to Ron and her job, men in general (besides Terry Boot) treated her like a fragile rose to be kept on a glass-encased pedestal.
Hermione munched on one of the larger pieces of cheese and nodded miserably in agreement, "Point taken, but I can't be an unfaithful wife. It will hurt my public image."
Ginny took a sip of wine, rolled her eyes for good measure and quipped, "Goodness, we can't possibly have that."
"It's no laughing matter, Ginny," Hermione scolded while surveying the remaining contents of her glass. She found nothing amusing about the situation.
Ginny pointed out, as she had many times in the past, "You care too much about others' opinions."
Hermione argued with good reason, "I'm the Undersecretary. I have to set a positive example." She regularly got letters from young women with admiring words and asking for advice about their aspiring careers. Occasionally a pre-teen would write to her asking for relationship advice or help with a situation at Hogwarts.
Ginny countered with an amused expression, "Why don't you first give Malfoy the benefit of the doubt before labelling the man as an unsatisfactory shag."
Hermione was about to retort when a voice they knew filled the space and travelled towards them from the living room, "Ginny! Are you home?"
"Oh Merlin, is that Ron?" Hermione hissed. Bollocks. She wasn't done avoiding him.
Ginny frowned and muttered in mild annoyance, "I believe so. What the heck is he doing here?"
Hermione almost rose to her feet and abruptly announced, "I'm leaving."
Ginny stopped her from getting up, forcibly pushing her back into her seat. She lectured, "Sit down. You will do no such thing."
However, Ginny pushed back her chair, rose to her feet and quipped, “To be continued, that is unless you want to ask Ron his opinion?”
Hermione’s features contorted unpleasantly, “You're a sadist, you know that?”
Ginny smirked, “It's one of my many pleasing attributes.”
She ignored the revolted look Hermione bestowed upon her and called out loud enough for her brother to hear, "In here, Ron."
They heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. It grew more prominent as he got closer. Ron emerged wearing a casual blue button-down shirt and jeans and carrying a bag of what looked unmistakably like sweets, "Ah, I brought over some candy for Jam….."
He abruptly stopped when he spotted his ex-girlfriend sitting at the kitchen table with his sister. A strangled, surprised, "Oh!" Left his lips.
Hermione downed her glass of wine and waved unenthusiastically, "Hello, Ron."
Ron gave a lopsided grin but didn't reply. Instead, he turned to Ginny and said, "I didn't know you had company." It sounded mildly accusatory.
Ginny was having none of it, and she scolded, "Well, you would have if you contacted me before appearing unannounced."
A blush stained Ron's cheeks, and he muttered miserably, "Right, my apologies. I'll, umm, leave then."
Ginny rolled her eyes and scolded the duo for acting so poorly, "Oh, for Merlin's sake. Will you two stop behaving like bloody children?"
She pointed to an empty seat and firmly instructed, "Sit down. I'll check on James and make some tea."
Ron knew better than to argue and kick up a fuss. He sat down and silently regarded the woman sitting next to him, who seemed to be studiously ignoring him. After a few moments, he couldn't bear the silence any longer and asked, "So, err, how have you been?"
Hermione refilled her glass of wine and answered, "Good. Busy, but can't complain much." Instead, she couldn't bring herself to look at him and concentrated on the burgundy liquid sloshing about inside her glass.
Ron curtly nodded, "Ah, yeah, Kingsley requested an early shipment of Peruvian darkness powder."
Hermione held her tongue and merely concurred, "Yes, I know. I was the one who suggested it."
Ron was hurt by her behaviour and asked, "Why didn't you contact me about the order yourself?"
Finally, Hermione acknowledged her ex-boyfriend and hissed her displeasure, "Please don't act naive, Ron. You know very well why I've been avoiding you."
Ron hoped to keep his temper under control, but he would never be able to unsee Malfoy fondling the woman who was supposed to be his wife. He pushed aside the lewd images and gritted out in frustration, "I'm sorry, Hermione. Seeing you with him is, err, difficult for me. Especially the touchy bits, it's hard to imagine you with anyone but mostly with Malfoy."
Hermione abundantly clarified her opinion: "It's none of your business, and Malfoy and I aren't a couple."
Ron wasn't too happy about her attitude and made it a point to get the message across, "He's vile and disgusting. He hated us, you above all. How can you stomach him touching you so intimately?"
Hermione felt her temper rise. His conduct was tiresome: "I don't need to explain my actions to you."
"I'm just worried about you, Hermione," Ron said, hoping to appease her.
Hermione sighed, "I know, but I'm a big girl capable of making my own decisions even if they are bad sometimes."
Ron looked ashamed and remorseful, "I'm sorry for what I said. I never meant it."
Smiling slightly, Hermione replied, "I know you didn't, but it hurt my feelings, Ron." She knew Ron's bark was worse than his bite, but that didn't give him the right to regard her as an evil whore for being sexually attracted to Malfoy.
Ron looked downcast and confessed, "I know, and I wish I could take back what I said."
"You need to let this go, Ron," Hermione advised sternly.
Still, Ron refused but came to a compromise, "I can never come to terms with you agreeing to marry him, but I will, however, pretend like that part of your life doesn't exist."
Hermione exhaled, "It doesn't work that way, Ronald." This back and forth annoyed her.
“Please, Hermione. I can't change the way I feel overnight. I need more time.” He didn't need more time. He only said that to appease Hermione. It would never happen.
Hermione conceded defeat and said with a definite roll of her eyes, “Fine, whatever. Take all the time you want.”
Throwing caution to the wind, Ron reached over and covered Hermione's hand with his. He was grateful that though she shot him a mild look of surprise, she didn't withdraw her hand, which made him feel worse about the situation.
He was careful not to touch the hand with the exquisite engagement ring that had shifted colour to pale pink. He squeezed her hand and asked sheepishly, “Friends?”
Hermione couldn't help but smile, “Always.” She wished she could harbour a grudge against him for an infinite amount of time, but this was Ron, he was childish, immature and right git, but he was also charming, brave and passionate.
Ron reached into the bag he brought along with him, pulled out two chocolate bars and offered, "Do you want some chocolate?"
“Yes, please,” Hermione agreed wholeheartedly and took the chocolate eagerly.
She tore off the wrapper, bit into the sugary goodness and asked, “So, how's Tracey?”
Ron paled but answered positively, “Oh, she's good.” He vividly recalled their strained marriage and how at present, his wife was giving him the cold shoulder. She barely spoke two words to him and slept in an entirely separate room. They lived together mostly like unfriendly roommates because they had to and divorce was off the table until the mandatory three years unless Tracey could prove that Ron was physically abusive towards her.
Ginny reentered with bowls of cashews and grapes and asked, “Have you two settled your differences? Because if you haven't, that simply won't do.”
Ron opened his mouth to retort while Hermione continued siping the wine without making eye contact. Still, Ginny placed the bowls on the table, interrupted her brother and hurled sharply, “Ron, who Hermione sleeps with, is none of your business, so for everyone's sake, grow up and be a good husband to Tracey because Merlin knows she's been extremely patient with your temperamental arse.
“Tracey is overreacting,” Ron defended weakly. He ignored the stern glares the women shot his way and stuffed his face with cashews.
Ginny scoffed, “That's utter shite. Let me elucidate. Dear stupid brother, no woman likes her husband lusting after an ex.” Hermione flinched and shifted uncomfortably. She wasn't particularly keen about the direction the conversation was headed.
Ron argued defiantly, “I'm not lusting after anyone. I am concerned. There is a difference.”
Hermione spoke up and pleaded, “Can we please speak of anything else?”
Ginny understood Hermione's plight and redirected the conversation toward one of Ron’s favourite topics, food. She spoke somewhat directly to her youngest brother and asked, “Whatever it is doesn't matter. Are you staying for dinner?”
Ron replied with a profound air of cockiness, “Depends on what you're making.”
Ginny recited what was on the menu for the night and mused, “Roast beef sandwiches and chips. Does that please your highness?”
Ron patted his belly enthusiastically and nodded vigorously, “Count me in.”
Ginny raised a curious brow, “Hermione?”
Hermione muttered, “Yeah, sure.” A sudden thought about whether Malfoy had dinner popped into her mind, and she shooed it away. It wasn't her business or concern whether he ate or not. Her behaviour was completely inappropriate.
It dawned on Ginny that Hannah hadn't accompanied Hermione, and she was curious as to why, “By the way, Where's Hannah?”
Hermione searched the bowl for the largest cashew and responded, concentrating on her task, “She's off for a few hours running some errands.”
Ginny grilled, “And Harry is okay with that?” She was confident her husband had no idea about Hannah taking time off her protection detail to run personal errands.
Hermione smirked, “What he doesn't know won't hurt him.” She hoped Ginny wouldn't spill the beans and jeopardise Hannah’s job. She backtracked her words and stated, “She should be back shortly. It's not like she went on holiday.”
As if on cue, the doorbell rang, and the sound carried to all corners of the house's first floor.
Hermione breathed a sigh of immense relief and said, “Speak of the devil.” Ginny retained an amused expression and went to let Hannah inside. They returned shortly, and Hermione greeted the second Hannah entered wearing her signature Auror uniform, “Evening, Abbott.”
Hannah looked around the table, smiled in greeting and apologised, “Sorry about that. I had to meet Corner and pick up a pack of smokes quickly.” She hadn't met Michael, but it always sounded important when someone met with a colleague, especially in their line of work. It could mean the difference between life and death.
Hermione quipped, “No harm, no foul. I'm still in one piece.”
Ginny asked Hannah genuinely, “Do you want a sandwich?”
Hannah sat down and accepted the offer eagerly, “I won't say no to that.” She caught sight of Ron looking sulky and in deep thought. She patted him heartedly on the back, “Ron! Didn't see you there. How are you?”
Ron snapped to attention and answered without much enthusiasm, “I'm good.”
He added curiously, “Hermione, why do you have Auror protection?” When they were dating, he recalled the odd instance when Harry would assign an Auror to tail her when her life was threatened.
Hermione waved aside his question with a candid reply, “Oh, just a silly precaution.”
Hannah chimed in, “Yeah, she's the Undersecretary. Kingsley thought it's best to have his right-hand woman well protected.” It wasn't a complete lie. Kingsley valued Hermione’s safety perhaps above his own.
Ron wasn't convinced and asked in alarm, “What's going on?” He looked to Ginny for answers, but she shrugged and shrewdly stole away from the group to start making sandwiches.
Hermione massaged her temples and responded tiredly, “I'm not at liberty to share, Ron. Sorry.”
However, Ron failed to get the hint and pressed undeterred, “Why? I bet Harry will tell me.”
Once again, Hermione grew tired of his overbearing attitude and sought to put him in his rightful place and discourage any further questions, “Well, you are welcome to try your luck, but this is Ministry business and not for civilian ears.”
Ron pursed his lips and let her statement sink in. it stung that she was treating him like some outsider when he could've been an Auror if he hadn’t wanted to help George with the shop. Taking a deep breath, Ron retorted, “Right. I understand but promise me you'll be safe.”
At that precise moment, an owl soared through the window, distracting them all and landed on the counter next to where Ginny was cutting the crusts off several slices of bread. It was a large barn owl who puffed out its chest and hooted importantly to gain Ginny’s attention.
The thick ivory-coloured letter bore the wax seal of Hogwarts, and the familiar reminder piqued everyone's interest.
Ron was the first to ask, “What's going on?” He wondered why he suddenly felt uninformed and entirely out of the loop.
Ginny gingerly took the letter from the owl's beak and tossed it a sizable treat. It hooted once more in gratitude and flew out the same window. Wiping her hands on the dishcloth, Ginny flipped over the letter, read the recipient, and announced for all to hear, “Ah, it's from Madame Hooch.”
She ripped apart the envelope, hurriedly read the contents and frowned, “Oh dear.”
Hermione inquired at once, “What's the matter?” She hoped it had nothing to do with Hagrid.
Ginny sighed and explained, “She's taken a tumble during practice and wants me to teach the children while she's on the mend.”
Ron’s eyes sparkled in interest. He asked abruptly, “When is it?”
Ginny read the letter once again and replied, “This Thursday.”
It was the day before they left for Hawaii. Hermione worried that Ginny might suffer some godawful injury that would prevent her from going. Pushing aside such negative thoughts, she encouraged, “Well, that shouldn't be too strenuous.”
Ginny tossed aside the letter and nodded in agreement, “Yeah, it sounds like fun. I haven't gone by Hogwarts since the last time she asked me to stop by to train some first years. Besides, it'll be lovely to visit Hagrid.”
Ron’s earlier enthusiasm plummeted, “Blimey, that does sound like fun, but unfortunately, I've got a large shipment of bloody Skiving Snack boxes arriving, and George is away with Angelina on holiday.” He sounded utterly miserable.
Hermione sat up straight, glanced at Hannah and smiled broadly, “We’ll go with you, Ginny. It's been absolutely yonks since I visited Hogwarts, and quite frankly, a visit to Hagrid is overdue.” She had been meaning to go by, but something or other crept up and stopped her from visiting their dear friend.
“Brilliant. It's settled then,” Ginny raved.
Ginny and Hermione burst into song, “Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, Teach us something, please…..”
Immediately, Ron covered his ears and said disdainfully, “Argh, the conception of that song is probably Dumbledore's darkest hour.”
Greengrass Manor
Astoria put aside Adam’s folded clothes and asked Tracey, who entered the room, “Are they asleep?”
Tracey collapsed into a chair and sighed deeply, “Yes. Finally.”
She raised a brow in question, “Did Daphne call again?”
Astoria shook her head, sending her long black hair cascading down her back in elegant ripples, “No, she must be somewhere over the Atlantic by now, but honestly, I don't know how she does it. I'm exhausted.”
Tracey tiredly waved her wand and offered, “Wine?”
Astoria refused, “I doubt that's wise while babysitting.” She didn't think it was prudent to partake while looking after the children.
Tracey had second thoughts but argued weakly with a plausible explanation, “A glass of wine won't hurt. Besides, I instructed Charles to keep an eye on the naughty scamps.”
Astoria took her stance and refused to budge from it. She replied, “Help yourself, Trace. I need to check on my beauties before retiring for the night.”
Tracey grimaced, “Again with the snakes. You need a healthier hobby and cuter pets.”
Blowing a kiss at her beloved step-sister, Astoria disapparated with a quick, “Be back soon.”
She arrived on the other side of the grounds and illuminated her wand. It was darker than a whale's belly, and Astoria wondered where her snake handler had gone. She called out his name, “Ramesh?”
The Indian man dressed in white emerged out of the thick brush with an adolescent cobra in his grasp and replied with a happy smile, “Yes, Miss?” He waved his wand with his free hand and muttered a spell that caused the serpentarium to flood with light.
Ignoring the poisonous reptile he held firmly, Astoria inquired about one of her latest additions, “Has the green boa constrictor finally eaten? It's been days, and he's not touched his food.”
Ramesh returned the cobra to its rightful place and smiled, “Don't worry, madame. I fed him some fresh chicken. He took to it instantly.”
Astoria was beyond grateful, “Thank you, Ramesh.” She had made the right choice in hearing the skilled man. His expertise in handling dangerous reptiles was unprecedented.
Reaching into an enclosure, she picked up a California King snake which was wholly harmless but exquisite. It lazily slithered down her arm, allowing its black and white patterned tail to coil around her jewelled fingers.
After a brief moment of admiring one of her most beautiful specimens, Astoria bid Ramesh goodnight and returned to find Tracey cradling Adam, reading him a story. At the same time, he snuggled into the crook of her arm and yawned with a thumb firmly planted inside his mouth.
Astoria sighed. It was going to be a long week before Daphne returned.
Chapter 56
Notes:
To all the comments:- Thank you so much for the lovely feedback. I love them all! :)
The gang arrives in Hawaii, and they love it already.
Some sweet bonding between Draco and Hermione over delectable dishes of sushi.
Sarah learns more about her captor. Trigger warning.
Tracey and Ron have a heated argument.
Draco has a surprise visitor.
Enjoy Chapter Fifty-Six!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Waikiki Beach, Marriott Resort and Spa, Honolulu, Hawaii
After checking into their respective rooms, Pansy strolled over to the expansive glass separating them from the sun's warm rays. She commissioned the finest suite at the Waikiki Beach, Marriott Resort and Spa, nothing but the very best for Mrs Longbottom.
She peered out, and her eager eyes fell on the beautiful stretch of beach and clear blue ocean that lay before them infinitely.
Surrounded by the comfort of air-conditioning, Pansy sighed, "The room is simply amazing, and look at that view…." She pointed toward the sea in awe.
They were given a traditional Hawaiian welcome. Lovely ladies dressed in authentic attire presented each with an elaborate necklace of sweet-smelling flowers. At the same time, a gentle breeze blew through the lobby bringing with it the unfamiliar smell of salt air.
It was indeed a breathtaking setting. The group was far too pale for lack of exposure to the sun, while everyone around them was a gorgeous bronze with bright, happy smiles displaying flawless white teeth.
Such a welcoming sight filled them to the brim with happiness.
Theo had nearly bent over in half to accommodate the short woman, who held onto the wreath with both hands and looked at him as if he were a giant. Embarrassed, Theo blushed and closed his eyes until she was done placing the ring of flowers around his neck.
Keeping her eyes on the scenic view, Pansy remembered Draco’s request when they spoke days earlier and questioned, "Neville, dear, did you book the rooms Draco requested?"
Neville waved his wand over the brown suitcase, and it flipped open, presenting his neatly folded clothes and black swimming shorts. He pulled out a light blue linen shirt, smiled at his wife, and responded, "Yes, two deluxe rooms. Unfortunately, there weren't any rooms available on the same floor."
"Oh?" Pansy pouted in disappointment. She had it in her head that they would occupy an entire hotel floor and have an endless party till all hours of the night.
Neville smiled with an air of reassurance, "Malfoy is on level three." That was just a floor above them. It wasn't like he was on the other side of the hotel.
Pansy accepted thoughtfully, "Ah, that isn't bad, but I do admit, it's rather strange that they are not sharing a room."
Neville enlightened evenly, "Well, they aren't a conventional couple, Pans. I'm shocked Hermione agreed to come in the first place." He had been momentarily stunned when Pansy confided that Hermione would be joining the trip. It was a pleasant surprise, of course, but unusual.
"I suppose you have a point," Pansy settled without much hesitation. Neville had a solid point. It was somewhat surprising Granger gave in to Draco’s request, but she knew from experience that he could be charming when the need arose.
Pansy became dreamy-eyed and overcome with emotion, "But maybe they will learn to love each other as we did."
Neville chuckled, "Hermione isn't nearly as forgiving as I am. Besides, her history with Malfoy isn't exactly pleasant." Saying their past was uncomplicated was an understatement. They hated each other's guts, plain and simple.
Pansy could hardly disagree. She had been there and contributed to that hate, but things were different now, and she made her feelings abundantly clear, "Yes, darling, but Draco’s different now." He truly was. At times even she had a tough time coming to terms with his drastic personality change.
Hardly convinced, Neville simply shrugged, "Hmm, maybe, but it's going to take a while to undo the horridness he inflicted upon her." He couldn't quite imagine Hermione being intimate with Malfoy in a proper state of mind. The very image made him want to vomit his lunch.
Pansy sighed, "True." She took her husband's hand and all but dragged him towards the extensive windows and raved, "Now, let's stop talking about them and focus on this stunning destination."
Neville couldn't help but agree at the beautiful sight before him. Taking a deep breath, he uttered, "Pictures don't do it justice."
Pansy put her arms around him and snuggled before praising, "Thank you for bringing me here. It's gorgeous." She couldn't have wished for a better husband than Neville. He put all her expectations to shame by doing far more than she could possibly imagine.
Letting go of her husband, she surveyed her whitish hands and arms and grinned, "I plan on getting nice and tan." She couldn't wait to lounge in the sun and feel the warm rays of the sun fall on her body.
Neville couldn't help but smile at her childlike excitement and said, "You deserve a break. Working with your father isn't easy, and my grandmother can be a handful."
Pansy laughed softly, "Daddy is an old bear. Your grandmother, on the other hand, is unpredictable, but I think she's warming up to me." Their last encounter made Pansy hopeful of bridging the massive gap with Augusta Longbottom.
"She knows you love me," Neville reacted confidently. His grandmother wasn't pleased with Pansy as his wife, but fairly grudgingly, she respected her for being headstrong and opinionated.
Pansy kissed Neville gently and gushed, "I do love you, Longbottom." She did love him with all her heart.
She suddenly remembered another being she held dearly, her costly Persian cat, "Do you think Augusta has tossed out Caramel? She hates my baby."
Neville laughed aloud but regretted his actions since Pansy seemed genuinely concerned. He cleared his throat and comforted, "I gave the house elf strict instructions to not let Caramel out of sight."
Pansy breathed an immense sigh of relief, "Thank you, my love." She slipped on thick black framed Chanel sunglasses and enthused, "How about we change and go exploring?" I can practically feel Theo’s hyperactivity seeping into our room through the walls."
Neville chuckled and headed towards the bathroom while Pansy searched for an appropriate shirt and shorts.
In the comfort of his room, Theo was beside himself with excitement. Dignity forgotten, he pressed his face to the glass and gawked at the ocean sprawled before them for as far as the eye could see.
Luna came out of the bathroom, looking paler than usual, and sat gingerly on the bed. She regarded her husband's childish excited behaviour with an amused expression and reminded, "Please apply sunblock, my love."
Theo brushed her warning aside and said confidently, "I'm fine. I'll place a charm over myself. I am quite smart, you know?"
Pulling a pillow close to her, Luna smiled lovingly and teased, "Sometimes too much for your own good."
She looked out the window and cautioned, "Please, darling, the sun looks lethal." Hawaii was gorgeous. Sun-kissed beaches and bright blue skies.
Theo pulled out a white shirt and suggested eagerly, "I promise I'll put some on later. Shall we grab the rest of the gang and go sightseeing?" He couldn't wait to start exploring, but something about his wife's odd behaviour threw him off. She wasn't her usual quirky self, and it bothered him.
Luna hugged the pillow to her chest and yawned pointedly, "I'm a little worn out, darling. It was a rather long flight."
Theo raised a questioning brow, "You slept through the entire trip, Luna." He wasn't exaggerating. She had only awakened during meals and proceeded to shovel food into her mouth rapidly and again woken at their transit stop in Los Angeles.
"I'm just a little tired," Luna replied in exhaustion while she got between the sheets and closed her eyes in contentment.
Theo was no fool. Despite his immature nature, he was pretty intelligent and knew when something was amiss. Closing the distance between them, he sat on the bed, touched Luna's forehead to ensure she wasn't running a temperature and implored, "Hmm, are you sure you're okay?"
Trip be damned, he would swim back to England if Luna was ill and wanted to head home. He suggested wholeheartedly, "I can stay back, and we can order room service."
"No, my love. I will be fine," Luna assured after she opened her eyes and saw him looking at her in deep concern with a frown forming on his face.
Sensing her husband's hesitation, she insisted, "You carry on, love. I'll catch up."
Theo was still in two minds about leaving, but Luna urged him to go and reminded him, "Oh and remember, no magic, so leave your wand behind."
Eyeing his beloved wand resting on the table, Theo moped and made his displeasure apparent, "That's the only fucked up part about this holiday." He detested having to hide the fact that he was a wizard.
Luna mustered a genuine smile, "Have fun. I'll see you later."
With a heavy heart, Theo pulled on the white shirt and shot his wife a sad look before leaving their room's luxury.
Not a second passed as Luna pushed back the duvet and made a mad dash to the bathroom. She almost fell to her knees and violently threw up, colouring the porcelain white inside the commode with vomit.
Luna was pregnant, but after finding out, she decided to keep it from Theo until they returned to England. She had only found out two days ago, and it gutted her to keep such joyous news from her husband, but she had her reasons.
Despite them speaking about having a child, she knew Theo wasn't a hundred per cent onboard, and because of his strained relationship with his father, he had plenty of reservations. Most importantly, she kept it from him for the moment for fear of putting a damper on the trip. He had been looking forward to it for weeks.
Blaise pulled the black t-shirt he was wearing over his head, tossed it onto the bed and hugged Daphne from behind before peppering her neck with kisses. His lips met the cool steel of the necklace she wore. It was an anniversary gift, and a beautiful family picture was inside the locket.
"Mm, breathtaking, isn't it?" Daphne said in satisfaction. She closed her eyes, mewled and focused on her husband's eager hands roaming under her silk blouse.
Blaise couldn't agree more. This destination holiday had the makings for a memorable trip. He turned his wife around and claimed her lips in a searing kiss, and Daphne keenly returned his enthusiasm.
A loud knock at the door pierced the passionate moment, and the couple broke unwillingly apart and stared at the door as if it had done them a great injustice.
The banging intensified, and before Blaise could open the door, Theos dulcet tones came from outside, "Open the door, mate. Pansy and Longbottom are already at the bar."
Blaise threw his head back in frustration and groaned, "I knew we should've gotten rooms on separate floors. He is not going to give us a moment's peace."
Daphne giggled and adjusted her silk blouse, "Don't be horrid." She liked Theo and considered him highly entertaining. He was the sort of person who could make a trip worthwhile.
Blaise grudgingly walked towards the door, dragging his feet and taking his time. He looked over his shoulder at his wife opening a suitcase and grumbled, "We might as well have brought along the children."
"Blaise!" Daphne scolded and pulled out a sleeveless sky-blue cotton dress and matching sandals.
Blaise threw the door open violently and gritted out in unmistakable irritation, "What do you want, Nott?"
Theo ignored the annoyed bare-bodied man and insisted, "Put a shirt on. Let's go grab a drink." He pushed past Blaise, strode confidently into the room, and flashed a boyish smile at Daphne.
Blaise followed the tall man into the middle of the room and mused, "Where's Luna? Did you finally manage to drive her away?" It took a special someone to put up with Theo and his antics.
Taking an apple out of the fruit basket, Theo bit into it and replied with reduced enthusiasm, "Hilarious. She's resting." Luna’s overall demeanour worried him, and he made a mental note to speak to the concierge about arranging a visit with the hotel's in-house doctor.
Blaise queried with a definite sarcastic roll of his eyes, "And didn't you think we might be doing the same?" It was a long, draining flight, and while the place was spectacular, he was dead on his feet and could do with a nap.
However, Theo felt nothing and bounced about like a gangly rabbit. He wiped the sweet nectar off the corner of his mouth and frowned, "Don't be an arsehole. Come on!"
Daphne picked up a wide-brimmed sun hat and beamed, "Well, I'm game. A drink sounds wonderful after over seventeen hours on a plane."
"That's the spirit, Daph," Theo applauded, picked up the shirt Daph laid on the bed for Blaise and tossed it at the olive-skinned man, who caught it with ease and slipped into it with a defeated and exhausted sigh, "Fine. Let's go."
Ron watched as Tracey entered the common area of their flat. She wore a flattering white blouse, grey trousers, and hair pulled back into a neat tight ponytail.
She ignored his existence and instead searched frantically for probably her phone or wand. It had been days since they had a civilised conversation, but after her disappearing act last night, he felt compelled to say something.
Clearing his throat, Ron gulped coffee and spoke, "I didn't hear you come In last night." Despite each being confined to their rooms and not talking much, Ron only got a good night's rest once Tracey was home safe and sound.
Tracey stopped what she was doing, crossed her arms over her chest and regarded the man before her sceptically, "I wasn't aware that you were keeping tabs on my comings and goings."
Ron frowned. The tips of his ears turned bright red, "You hadn't returned by one am. I was worried. I called you multiple times." He said somewhat pained, "Hate me all you want but please, let me know you're safe."
His behaviour surprised her. He sounded almost genuine. Yet, she scoffed, "You don't need to concern yourself about me." She was tempted to hurl an unforgivable insult but held her tongue.
Ron narrowed his eyes and questioned, except it sounded more like a demand than a request, "Why didn't you answer your phone?"
Tracey regarded him squarely and, on purpose, responded cagily, "I was with a friend." Her answer was vague enough to spark interest. She had been with Astoria, baby Adam and Carrie. Ron had no idea she was babysitting Daphne’s children.
A deep frown formed on Ron's face. He was visibly dissatisfied with her answer, and even though he struggled to keep his temper at bay, he failed miserably, "A friend? Past midnight?"
Ignoring his seething glare, Tracey resumed the search for her phone and replied without a clue of interest, "Yes."
Her indifference was causing some strong reactions to rush to the surface, and against his better judgement, Ron gnashed out, "Are you having an affair?"
A sarcastic hearty laugh filled the space, Tracey's usually pretty features twisted unpleasantly, "That's bloody rich. What if I am?" How dare he ask such unjust questions when it was he who was moping about thinking about his ex-girlfriend?
Ron hissed in his most menacing manner, "I forbid it." He wasn't helping his cause by appearing to be a controlling git. There was no justification for Tracey to take a lover. True, he cared deeply about Hermione and behaved erratically with things regarding her, but they weren’t having an affair.
Tracey straightened, looked him in the eyes and smiled, almost devilishly, "Oh, do you? Well, you're right. I've decided to take a lover for the duration of this miserable marriage." Saying the last bits out loud hurt her. She was unhappy because she cared about her husband and possibly even loved him.
Ron reeled back in disbelief. She was lying. There was no other plausible explanation. He muttered in doubt, "What? I don't believe you."
Tracey knew her emotions were dedicating her actions. She insisted harshly, "Go cry to Hermione. Don't wait up for me and don't call. You have no right after the way you've treated me." That was a bit unfair since he had not ill-treated her, but the emotional scarring he caused was enough.
Ron cried in outrage, "Like bloody hell. You are my wife, and I care greatly about you and this marriage."
Having finally located her phone inside her bag, Tracey groaned in frustration at her stupidity, but she heard his heartfelt words, and instead of appeasing her, they had the reverse effect.
She fired at him without remorse, "You have a lousy way of showing it. Goodbye."
Ron swallowed his pride and pleaded, "Tracey, please, I thought we could have breakfast together and talk."
Tracey eyed the table for the first time, and her eyes fell on the eggs, sausage and toast plates. Her heart clenched at the gesture, but she wouldn't give in so quickly, "Please don't force yourself to tolerate my presence, Ronald. Have a good day."
Ron was surprised by the ache in his chest as he watched her leave, closing the door behind her with an audible bang. He wondered if he was having a heart attack or simply mind-numbingly jealous.
Secluded part of London
The man rolled off Sarah and stared at the ceiling with a happy grin plastered across his face.
Sarah turned away, grasped her soiled bedding and pulled at her restraint. He still kept her chained like some animal while he violated her. She thought he would allow her some freedom after the so-called engagement and movie.
He cupped a supple breast, pinched the nipple and drawled, "Are you hungry, my dear?" She had the most voluptuous bosom. It filled the palm of his hand, and he fought the urge to suckle on the rosy pert nipple. His mother had refused to breastfeed him, but he would take what was rightly his birthright from Sarah.
"No," Sarah answered meekly. She couldn't possibly keep down any food after having sex with the repulsive creature. She wondered how at his age, he managed to stay virile. He was clearly in his late forties.
The monster moved his hand down her body, caressed her flat stomach, and gushed, "When you're pregnant, you will need your strength, my darling." He had given his plan some thought and sought to get married at a Muggle registry office. Any two bums off the road could be persuaded with money to stand as witnesses. She would deliver their child at the nearest hospital, and they would live happily ever after.
He imagined a little boy or girl with magical abilities. A child that would call him father and how he would bestow the affection denied to him on his offspring. He would love his child unconditionally.
Unable to keep his excitement hidden, he placed a slobbery kiss onto Sarah's chapped lips and gushed lovingly, "You will be a wonderful mother."
Sarah fought the tears that threatened to spill over her cheeks. She pursed her trembling lips and said nothing.
Oblivious to her discomfort, her torturer spoke calmly with enthusiasm, "If you promise to behave, we can go into Muggle London and pick up some appropriate clothes."
Sarah grew wide-eyed but hid her excitement well. It wouldn't work in her favour if he sensed her eagerness. She saw a way to escape his clutches, but it was vital she played her cards right and remained submissive until the opportune moment.
"If you think it is necessary," She replied without enthusiasm.
He grinned like a Cheshire cat, "I do, darling. We must keep your beautiful body hidden from the world. It is mine to view and enjoy." Her obedience and compliance to his plans pleased him.
Sarah swallowed her disgust for him and forced a smile before lying convincingly, "I am yours to do as you please." Enjoy it while you can, you sick fuck. I will kill you with my bare hands before this ordeal is over, her internal monologue raged.
She inquired without skipping a beat, eager to stir the conversation away and satisfy her curiosity, "The others, what did you do to them?"
The man stiffened and battled internally whether he could divulge the details, but they were about to become man and wife. He couldn't keep secrets from her. Besides, he hadn't done anything wrong.
He took a deep breath and said slowly but confidently, "They hated me, like my mother. I did them kindness by sparing them years of pain at the hands of ungrateful men. I couldn't keep them with me when you were the one I truly wanted. It would have been cruel."
Sarah knew he killed them, but his last words made her feel guilty. Was their death somehow her fault?
She heard the screams through the cracks over the weeks that stretched into months. Yet how was it possible that he roamed free? Of course, she had no way of knowing how precisely clean he had been while disposing of the bodies without a shred of evidence.
He was smart. No fibres and no fluids were left on the women. The papers and Aurors labelled the cause of death as asphyxiation by strangulation, but only he knew it was true passion that killed them.
He gave Sarah his undivided attention. His good eye sparkled with undying affection, "I loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you. How passionate you looked while helping witches at Madame Malkins."
His attitude turned shady, "But Sarah, I disapproved of your nightly activities in Muggle London. It was unbecoming behaviour of an elegant lady."
She was a wild one, unlike the rest.
He was a purist. Modifications infuriated him, that's why he chose untainted women, and he was lucky to deflower the first two victims. Still, Sarah and the one before were not virgins, and though it infuriated him, he didn't let it cloud his primary purpose.
Oh, how they screamed as he entered them repeatedly. He hated his pathetic face. His mother had altered his appearance, and there was no pardoning such an atrocity. She had paid in spades for what she did, but it wasn't enough.
He had no intention of being careful with Sarah as he had been with the rest. She was his intended. His future wife and he wanted her to reek of him.
Sarah shuddered. A shiver went down her spine as she recalled her handsome casual boyfriend and her friends. She had an enjoyable life until it was snatched cruelly away from her by a sex-crazed monster who alleged he was in love with her.
He hissed ominously, "Lovely girl like you had no place clubbing and behaving like a whore. I watched you for days, but you didn't give me a second glance."
Instantly, his demeanour changed, and Sarah panicked. Oh Merlin, what had she done? He became angry, grabbed her face and forced her to look at him and his grotesque scar.
She started to cry and wriggle free from his grasp, but he moved closer, so his breath ghosted over the sensitive skin of her cheek and rasped, "You love looking at me now, don't you?"
Without waiting for an answer, he kissed her hard, bit her lip savagely and licked up the blood that rushed to the surface. Sarah gasped for breath, but he was just getting started. Prying her legs apart, he pushed his cock into her bruised, throbbing vagina and fucked her brutally.
Sarah went rigid and numb. Shouldn't she be used to his treatment by now? Evidently, she wasn't. Biting the inside of her cheek, she laid still and let him finish. A strangulated groan left her lips.
Hopefully, he would let her use the bathroom to relieve and cleanse herself from his filth, but the following words out of his mouth chilled her to the bone.
"Look at me. Tell me you love me, mother."
Ministry Of Magic - Tuesday Morning
Hermione tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and rose as the door opened and Hannah walked in. It was half past ten, but she had an important meeting with the Muggle Prime Minister. She smiled warmly in greeting, "Oh, good morning, Hannah. Are you ready to leave?"
Hannah looked undeniably guilty but delivered the news with an amused expression, "Actually, I came by to tell you that Malfoy will accompany you. I have an urgent meeting with Harry."
Hermione frowned and made her displeasure abundantly clear, "What? Why?"
Hannah shrugged casually and smirked, "I'm sorry, Hermione. Boss's orders. I'll see you later."
Draco swept into the room with a slight smile and cocky greeting, "Good morning, Madam Undersecretary. You look lovely. Green brings out the seriousness in your eyes."
Oh, bloody marvellous. He had heard her childish outburst.
Hermione smoothed her skirt though it was unnecessary and attempted to be polite to a certain degree, "Malfoy, what a, umm, pleasant surprise." Being around him would require every bit of professionalism and self-discipline she could muster.
Hannah rolled her eyes and punched Draco playfully on the arm as she strode out with her Auror robes billowing behind her.
Hermione was sure she heard Hannah whisper something candid to Malfoy because his lips curved upwards to form a sensual smile, and he tugged on her ponytail teasingly, but she couldn't quite hear what was exchanged from where she was standing.
Well, Hannah and Malfoy seemed to be getting along splendidly.
Draco closed the door behind him and regarded the attractive woman in a tight black pencil skirt, green blouse and high heels. He would never have pegged Granger as the type of woman to wear such uncomfortable-looking footwear, but clearly, he was mistaken.
He stepped closer and self-assuredly bent to brush her lips with his when Hermione leaned back, away from his touch and stopped him from progressing by covering his mouth with her petite hand
She scolded, "What do you think you're doing?"
Draco straightened and asked, perplexed, "I thought that was fairly obvious, Granger."
Hermione calmly explained, yet in a tone of smug superiority, "Well, you're on duty, so walk behind me, stay out of my way and pretend like you don't exist."
Draco exclaimed with a definite roll of his eyes, "It's going to be a fun day, isn't it?"
"Oh, loads," Hermione quipped sarcastically.
He ran his fingers through his hair and grinned, "I look forward to following you."
Hermione blushed and insisted, "That's not necessary." She hated the whole bodyguard experience, Hannah made it tolerable, and Malfoy made it uncomfortable because of the crackling sexual tension that encompassed them.
Draco smirked and said with alluring conviction, "I meant as a courtesy. I will do my utmost to keep you from falling in love with me." He enjoyed teasing Granger. Her reactions were entirely predictable.
On cue, Hermione scoffed, playing right into his hands, "Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. I could never feel anything more than a sexual stirring towards you." Liar, liar knickers on fire.
Draco stifled a laugh, "So you keep saying."
He let his eyes roam over her form unashamedly before stating in a dark undertone, "While we are on the topic, that is a very tight skirt that leaves nothing to imagination. Must you wear it?" He could see the outline of her thong, and while he enjoyed it, perhaps behind the closed doors of their bedroom, he wasn't keen on others ogling her bottom.
Hermione instinctively covered her buttocks with her hands and admonished, "Stop looking at my arse, you incorrigible lout."
Draco glared sternly, "I was simply stating the obvious." Whatever was she thinking wearing something so tight and somewhat revealing?
Regarding the prudish blonde, Hermione scowled, "I'm perfectly capable of picking out my clothes without your opinion." Who the ruddy hell did he think he was?
Undeterred by her obvious distaste for his opinion, Draco crossed his arms over his chest and argued relentlessly, "I know exactly how other men think, and unless you want to appear in their sexual fantasies, you will change into something more appropriate."
Hermione did not take kindly to his demanding manner or dominating nature. She would not simply yield to the unjustified whims of a man, "I will? Are you commanding me?"
Draco shrugged and answered evenly, "If that's how you see it." He wasn't trying to dictate her clothing choices, but her skirt was highly inappropriate in how it hugged her backside and thighs.
Holding her head high, Hermione refuted and blatantly refused to give in, "Not all men are sexual deviants. Kindly refrain from speaking your mind so frankly."
They stared at each other, too stubborn and pigheaded to look away first. Ultimately, Draco knew he was fighting a losing battle. What did he care if she wanted to flaunt her arse?
"Have it your way then, Granger," Draco said, conceding defeat. Her absolute tenacity to have it her was staggering and highly annoying.
Hermione smiled smugly, "Thank you." It was a small victory, yet she felt self-conscious about her attire after his criticism. Malfoy wasn't some idiot. His words held some merit.
Draco's sultry voice invaded her thoughts, "Did my mother contact you?" He knew she would have to discuss the much-anticipated dinner and possibly the menu.
Hermione snapped to attention and replied sharply, "Yes, she did. Dinner is at promptly seven pm."
That morning, Narcissa had called at quarter past six am and rattled off something about a lean and tender filet mignon, mildly spicy seafood risotto, skewed grilled prawns and citrus-infused seabass with garlic lemon butter sauce and incessantly questioned whether her parents had any food allergies or specific preferences.
She had almost had a heart attack when Hermione quite seriously mentioned her parents and grandmother were strict vegetarians and would not touch meat nor be around it.
Narcissa gasped and blamed her son for a good five minutes for not telling her before Hermione chuckled, rubbed the sleepiness off her eyes and groggily confessed she was joking. Although, she had thoroughly enjoyed Narcissa going off on Malfoy.
Draco regarded her worried expression and questioned, "Are you alright? You don't seem enthusiastic about dinner."
Hermione sighed, "Well, I had hoped we would get married and divorced without the hassle and fuss of family meetings, dinners etc., but your family and mine seem to have other ideas, and I am completely overruled."
She added solemnly, "I don't want anyone to get hurt." A crushing surge of emotions rose to the surface and threatened to drown her in them.
Draco closed the gap between them, peered into her distraught face and reassured, "Must you overthink matters. It will be fine. I'll be over at six pm to escort your parents and grandmother to the Manor."
"That sounds like a good plan," Hermione retorted. She bit her tongue and inwardly thought, plans can easily change.
Ignoring her earlier instructions to remain professional, Draco ran a long finger down the soft skin of her cheek and drawled huskily, "Have you thought about me since brunch? Is that why you visited me last night?"
Hermione's breathing elevated, she bit her lip, and his soft caresses almost caused her to shut her eyes and surrender. Still, she defended, "I told you I came to meet Harry. You just happened to be there, and I haven't given much thought to what transpired at brunch. I've had plenty of pressing matters to attend to."
The truth was she thought of his gorgeous head buried between her thighs often since it happened, and each time a bolt of electricity shot up her spine and her clitoris throbbed.
Draco ran the pad of his thumb along her plump bottom lip and fought the urge to sink his teeth into it. He tipped her chin and teased brazenly, "Such an appalling liar. I've thought about you and how your face looks when you orgasm, especially while lying alone in my bed at night." Her flushed face framed by messy hair tassels was an image he wouldn't forget in a hurry.
Hermione didn't dare to back down. She cocked her head to the side and mused, "It's only been a day, Malfoy."
"Hmm, true, but I want more," Draco rasped and pressed his body flush against hers before edging his fingers up under the thin material of her skirt with one destination in mind. The sensual act caused Hermione to hold onto him for fear of falling.
She straightened, pushed him away and said unconvincingly, "I, well, erm, we should get going. The Muggle Prime Minister is waiting for me."
Draco stood aside and bowed graciously, "After you, Madam Undersecretary."
"Turn around," Hermione instructed firmly.
It seemed ridiculous to toss him out when he had seen her partially naked and had his tongue buried deep inside her most private place.
Draco raised a quizzical brow, "Why?" She was clearly up to something.
Hermione twirled her finger midair and made her wishes abundantly clear, "Do as you are told, Malfoy."
Rolling his eyes, Draco turned his back on her and impatiently waited for whatever she was doing to pass.
Pulling out her wand, Hermione muttered a simple transfiguration spell while moving the beloved stick of vine wood over the bottom half of her outfit. The tight skirt disappeared only to be replaced by stylish trousers to match the blouse and heels
Once satisfied with her appearance, Hermione triumphantly said, "You can turn around, Malfoy. I'm done."
"What is the meaning of these tiresome games you play, Granger?" Draco started to say as he turned around and stopped mid-sentence after seeing the trousers that now covered her previously exposed legs.
As his eyes travelled over the black material wrapped snugly around her shapely legs, he couldn't help but grin and radiate smugness.
Hermione loathed the look on his face. She wagged a warning finger, "Not another fucking word."
A sly smirk lifted the corner of Draco’s mouth as he drawled, "I wouldn't dream of it."
Hermione pushed past him, grabbed a handful of Floo powder and stepped into the large fireplace built to accommodate a large adult.
She hastily instructed when he didn't attempt to move towards her, "Well, come on, Malfoy. We haven't got all day."
Lazily, Draco approached the fireplace and took his place by her side. He deliberately put his arm around her waist and brought her closer, much to her dismay. He particularly hated travelling by the Floo network. It gave him a stomach ache, and the smell of the powder was repulsive.
Hermione unclenched her fist, and the powder fell to the ground as she clearly said the name of their destination. They disappeared in a puff of emerald-green smoke.
Draco stepped out of the fireplace first, his breakfast churning in his stomach. He dusted the remaining specks of powder off his Auror robes and smiled slightly at the man coming towards them with a surprised expression etched onto his face.
Hermione stood at the back and sealed the Floo network behind them. She was in no mood for untimely interruptions; besides, as a rule, they closed the right of way after using it for fear of others abusing the passageway to cause or inflict harm on the Muggle Prime Minister.
Michael's face relaxed. A week's worth of stubble adorned his face, "Malfoy. Where's Abbott?" He asked rather interestedly.
Looking presentable in a black suit, crisp white shirt and blue tie, MI5 Special agent Evan Blair approached the group and requested with a grin, "Yeah! Where's the spirited lass? She's got excellent banter."
Malfoy addressed the man's query, "Abbott is with Harry Potter for the first part of the day."
Evan nodded in acknowledgement but kept his astute eyes trained on the newcomer, who was a foot taller than him with hardened eyes and an air of inimitable confidence.
He spoke directly to Draco, "I don't believe we've met."
Hermione stood by Draco, made her presence known and cordially introduced, "This is MI5 Agent and head of the Prime Minister's staff, Mr Evan Blair."
Hermione smiled slightly, "Evan, meet Draco Malfoy. Auror in training. He's one of our most promising recruits."
Draco extended his hand in greeting, which Evan took without hesitation in a hardened grip hoping to intimidate but unfortunately didn't have the desired effect.
Evan said with forced politeness, "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise," Draco replied with equal civility. He could immediately sense Evan was not a fool. The man seemed to know his job and was probably quite adept at it.
Turning his focus to the only woman in the room, Evan smiled broadly, "Always a pleasure, Hermione."
Draco mused, "Interesting." His deduction was only heard by Hermione, who discreetly elbowed him in the ribs before moving towards the Prime Minister.
Owen Dunbar wasn't particularly bothered by the new face among them and addressed the young Undersecretary, "We welcome these little updates, Hermione. Have you apprehended the main culprit?"
He motioned for everyone to sit down, pushed his gold-rimmed spectacles further up his nose, and gave their magical counterparts his diligent attention.
Hermione sat down and replied solemnly, "I'm afraid not, Minister. However, we are working towards uncovering several leads."
Owen sighed in exasperation, "Ah, that's disappointing."
Evan injected, hoping to take the heat off Hermione, "The Prime Minister was being followed. Corner and I arrested the suspects and took them into custody."
Michael nodded in agreement and added firmly, "We have secured them in a closed cell."
Owen voiced his opinion, "They look completely normal. If they passed you on the street, you wouldn't pay them any mind."
"I agree with the Prime Minister," Evan chimed in. The werewolves in their custody were young and unable to shift shape as they wished. They would rely on the full moon to reveal their true self.
Michael gritted out, "Trust me, Evan, there's nothing remotely normal about them."
Evan said in an impressed voice, "They are a loyal bunch. They wouldn't crack under the most strenuous questioning."
"Have you used excessive force?" Hermione probed. She needed more details. The diplomatic side of her screamed in protest.
Evan glared. He didn't take kindly to what she referred to and fired back without a smidge of remorse, "Only when needed, Granger. We need to break them."
Hermione argued pointedly, "Do you honestly believe a bunch of lowly individuals can offer you anything on the leader?"
Evan pursed his lips in thought, but when he opened his mouth to offer a sensible retort, he was interrupted by Draco, "The Alpha will confide his plans to his inner circle and no one else. If he is indeed a fallen Death Eater, he will follow a few of Voldemort's mannerisms." He had stood quietly, heeding Granger's warning by blending into the background and mimicking a piece of furniture, but enough was enough.
"You've given it some thought," Evan replied sceptically. This new addition to Hermione's security detail intrigued him. Something was mudding the waters that he couldn't put his finger on.
Draco gave his answer a brief moment's thought and confessed, "I used to be one. I know how they think." Voldemort trusted no one with his hidden desires and proper plans except perhaps Bellatrix, considering their sick, twisted relationship.
As the words flew out his mouth, Hermione closed her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose in exasperation, and Michael stiffened. Why would Malfoy even think it was acceptable to mention his dark past? Especially among people who still feared Voldemort.
Evan raised a brow and asked suspiciously, "A werewolf?" Did they have a tame wolf amongst them?
Owen threw Draco a look of pure mistrust and sank further into his chair to appear less of a target.
Draco stepped forward and revealed the bitter truth, "No, I was a Death Eater."
Owen's jaw dropped to the floor, and Evan narrowed his eyes and almost reached for his handgun, but Michael attempted to calm the tense situation, "Evan, stand down, mate. You don't know the whole story. Malfoy is one of us, and I will stake my reputation on it."
Draco couldn't help but feel newfound respect for Corner. He had made the stupid decision to offer too much information to strangers prompting Michael to defend him.
Hermione barrelled into explanation, "Mr Malfoy was forced into compliance by Voldemort who compromised the safety of his mother to ensure obedience."
Unconvinced and thoroughly mortified, Evan questioned Hermione in genuine concern, "You have a known Death Eater on your protection detail?" It sounded accusatory above all else.
Hermione was growing tired of everyone's behaviour. She would have a strict word with Malfoy after the meeting, but for now, she spoke to everyone in general, "Draco was cleared of all charges against him when we were seventeen. Mr Malfoy's past is highly irrelevant to the current situation."
Michael nodded in complete agreement, "Granger is right. Let's get back on track."
Evan threw Draco a look of disapproval and pulled out a mugshot of one of the men they arrested from a file, placed it on the table and jabbed at it with his finger repeatedly before practically hissing, "I feel this one will confess. He's been whimpering in his cell and calling out to an invisible entity."
Hermione stared at the picture. The assailant looked young and afraid. Even if they were on opposite sides of the law, she felt a smidge of sympathy and informed in a low yet carrying voice, "They need raw meat to sustain them, or they will die, slowly and painfully."
"I'll have the chef whip up a selection," Evan scowled. He couldn't comprehend how Hermione could feel sorry for these creatures who maimed and mutilated without a second thought.
Owen frowned. He didn't say much, fearing he would sound ridiculous, but he agreed wholeheartedly with Evan.
Hermione tried to reason with her difficult, opinionated audience, "Evan, put your arrogance aside and think clearly. You need to gain their trust, and this is certainly not the way to do that."
Evan was a man who hardly allowed his emotions to dictate his actions but seeing the bloody remains from the attacks and consoling affected families drastically changed his opinion.
He replied bitterly, "Don't tell me to treat them kindly, Hermione. I have grieving families ripped apart by their actions. I don't have the luxury of being civil to a bunch of murderers."
Draco wasn't keen on the MI5 agent's unhinged tone of voice. There was a harshness directed towards Granger that he simply could not allow. Stepping forward, he warned in a consistent style that wasn't meant to be threatening but was, "Lower your tone, mate. She means well."
Evan wasn't about to sit idly by while some hotheaded novice instructed him on how to conduct himself. He surveyed Draco and fired unapologetically, "Mind your own business. Nobody asked your opinion."
Draco kept his wits about him and quipped, "She is my business." Evan, mate, you don't know the half of it, he thought candidly. Draco realised he respected the senior, more experienced agent despite getting off on the wrong foot.
"Enough!" Hermione intervened and shot Draco a dire look of warning.
Once again, Micheal came to the rescue, "Blair, mate, you know Granger has a valid point. We can unlock more if we show these bastards some compassion, even if it's fake."
Owen concurred, "It might be wise to listen to Miss Granger. After all, she has more experience dealing with monsters than we do."
Hermione didn't particularly care for the Prime Minister's choice of words, yet she held her tongue, not wanting to aggravate the situation and reacted fiercely, "You would be wrong not to heed my words, Evan. I am not the enemy."
Evan softened his gaze and replied, "No, you are much more."
Michael distinctively rolled his eyes and looked at Draco to catch his reaction, but surprisingly the platinum blonde stared intently at Evan but didn't appear to be angry or out of sorts.
Hermione exhaled and addressed the men in the room beside the Prime Minister, "I would like a few private moments with the Minister. The rest of you, leave." She instructed in a no-nonsense tone of voice.
Disregarding her instruction, Draco moved closer to stand behind her seated form and said decisively, "My orders are to remain by your side at all times, and I'm sorry, but you do not have the authority to override them and dismiss me so easily."
Hermione fumed and internally raged. I'm going to kill Hannah and then Harry.
When neither Evan nor Michael made any real effort to leave, Owen offered with a reassuring smile, "Speak freely, Miss Granger. You are among friends."
Hermione exclaimed, overruled and against her wishes, "You force my hand."
Owen raised a brow, and like the others, he leaned forward and keenly waited for the Undersecretary to begin speaking.
Hermione cleared her throat, ignored the rest and asked Owen directly, "The Minister of Magic would like to know how Michael has been performing on this assignment."
"What?" Michael asked in utter surprise. What the hell was going on?
Hermione shot him an annoyed look, "You asked to stay, Corner."
Michael shifted uncomfortably in his seat and pulled at his collar. He should've listened to Hermione and left when she instructed.
Even though he was taken aback by the untimely question, Owen answered without hesitation, "Well, I certainly have no complaints. He has been a valuable addition to my staff, and I will be sad to see him go when the time comes."
Michael almost blushed but managed a grateful reply, "Prime Minister, thank you for those kind words of confidence."
Having secured a satisfactory answer to her question, Hermione abruptly got to her feet and announced, "Thank you for your time, gentlemen. We will take our leave."
"Until we meet again. Hopefully, you will bring better news next time," Owen replied, somewhat mildly frustrated.
Hermione smiled, "I certainly hope so, Prime Minister." The doddering old sod. She was glad to have ended the meeting since her patience was wearing thin.
Evan and Owen nodded curtly before exiting the room leaving the one witch and two wizards alone to talk amongst themselves.
Michael rounded on Hermione the second the door closed, "What was that all about, Hermione?"
Hermione beamed, "Harry has put in a good word for you." They had been studying Corner and his dedication to the job for months.
"For what exactly?" Michael asked curiously. He hadn't the faintest clue.
Hermione stated the obvious, "You are being considered for a promotion." How was it possible that he hadn't caught on? Maybe Corner wasn't as sharp as they gave him credit.
Michael was shocked by the revelation, and it was apparent from the look on his face, "Oh, I'm a little surprised, but what about Terry?"
Hermione became cagey with her reply, "Terry is not a candidate, Micheal. That's fairly obvious." The little stunt they pulled on Malfoy almost took Michael out of the running. Still, Terry's addiction to cocaine and erratic behaviour while under the influence earned him demerits on his permanent record.
Michael sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck and retorted, "I suppose. We joined together, and it will be awful if I get a sodding promotion and he doesn't."
Hermione felt her heart clench. She genuinely felt horrible for Michael and his predicament. The two men were close, much like Harry and Ron.
She touched his arm and said with understanding, "You're afraid to leave him behind."
"He's my best mate," Michael confessed with pain lacing each word. Boot was more than a friend. He was a brother, partner and confidante. Since the beginning of Hogwarts, the two had been inseparable.
Hermione inconspicuously eyed Malfoy out of the corner of her eye, dropped her voice low and hesitantly inquired, "Erm, have you been to see him?"
Draco pretended not to hear, but his fine hearing picked up the finer details of the conversation against his wishes.
Michael answered at once, "Of course!"
He raised a sceptical brow in question, "Have you?" Surely, she hadn't after what transpired between them and especially not after she had him committed.
Hermione hesitated but responded truthfully, "I did." She wondered if Malfoy heard and whether the news would upset him, but he remained emotionless and focused on the surroundings. Besides, she was free to visit with whomever she pleased and hardly needed his permission.
Draco heard word for word, and though her intentions were well intended, he couldn't help but feel the serpent's angry, jealous head that lay dormant in the dark pits of his being rear its ugly head.
Michael insisted, oblivious to the eavesdropping former Slytherin, "And how did he take it? You two didn't exactly part on the best of terms." He glanced at Draco obediently standing a few feet away from them by the fireplace for good measure.
Hermione recalled the brief encounter and unexpected kiss.
She lied somewhat convincingly, "He took it well enough."
Michael breathed a sigh of relief but issued a dire warning, "I don't want you messing with his head. He's doing okay, mending. Terry doesn't need distractions."
The uncharacteristic raised voice caused Draco to glance in their direction and move swiftly to Hermione's side.
However, Hermione stood her ground firmly and regarded Michael head-on, "Believe it or not, Corner, I have Terry's best interests at heart."
Michael ran his fingers through his hair and frowned, "I'm sorry, I know you do. It pains me to see him suffering." Merlin, he craved a cigarette.
Momentarily forgetting the company he was in, Michael pressed forward, "I told him, over and over, to get you out of his head, but no, he insisted that you felt the same way."
Hermione flinched. The words Michael uttered hurt. Maybe she had led Terry on and unknowingly given him hope that someday they would be a couple.
Meanwhile, Draco stiffened. This conversation was starting to make him exceedingly uncomfortable and try as he might, he couldn't shake the feeling.
An awkward silence engulfed them, and Hermione sensed the shift in Malfoy's deposition. She calmly said, "We best get going, Michael and keep up the good work."
Without warning, Draco closed his fingers around Hermione's right upper arm, and despite the scorching look she gave him to unhand her at once, he frogmarched her towards the large fireplace.
Michael watched them with an amused expression as Draco grabbed a handful of Floo powder with his free hand and threw it to the ground with more force than necessary.
They disappeared in an elaborate puff of emerald smoke.
Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office
"John?" Arthur Weasley tried to snap his subordinate out of the daydream he had slipped into.
Perkins rolled his eyes and tossed a ball of rolled-up paper at John's head. It hit him on the back and had the desired effect because John snapped out of the daze and looked ashamed of his behaviour.
"What the hell is the matter with you?" Perkins asked irritably.
Rearranging the parchments around him into relevant piles, John avoided eye contact and busied himself. He thought about her constantly.
Arthur smiled, "Everything okay, lad?"
"Yes, sorry, did you want something?" John asked in a flustered state.
Perkins scowled, "The file, you stupid bloody tit." He couldn't understand why Arthur kept around the useless sack of shite.
"That is enough, Perkins!" Arthur cautioned.
John almost tripped over his feet in his haste to hand the file to Arthur. He apologised profusely, "I'm sorry, Arthur. It won't happen again."
Arthur took the file with a slight sincere smile, "No harm done, son." He liked John and wanted to get to know him better, but unfortunately, the shy man remained a recluse.
John returned to the files on his desk and began reading the latest Misuse of Muggle Artefacts case and committing the information to memory.
Perkins shook his head, stuck his quill into the almost empty ink bottle and muttered under his breath, "Nutjob."
Draco let go of Hermione's arm the second they arrived inside her office. He stepped out of the fireplace, dusted the remaining particles off his robes and mused, "Well, that was entertaining."
Hermione glared sternly, "Don't ever manhandle me." She rubbed the place on her arm his fingers had dug into and grimaced. It hadn't hurt, he had been careful of that, but his treatment of her made her feel like some impudent misbehaving child that needed correcting.
Draco glanced over his shoulder in time to catch her blowing air down her blouse because the messy Floo powder had gotten into nooks and cracks for which it was not intended.
He grinned knowingly, "Ever? That's disappointing."
Pushing past him, Hermione marched over to her desk and reprimanded, "You know perfectly well what I mean." She poured herself a glass of cool water and drained it.
"I regret my behaviour," Draco apologised while closing the distance between them.
Hermione argued pointedly, "You undermined my authority." It had been embarrassing to be put in place by a recruit.
Draco countered effortlessly, "I was doing my job." His instructions were to remain by her side at all times. Potter was his boss, not her, and he intended to follow through on orders.
Hermione studied Malfoy for a brief moment and asked in outrage, "What the hell were you thinking bringing up the whole Death Eater thing?"
"Not my smartest moment," Draco adjusted the collar of his jacket and admitted sheepishly. He could not fathom what propelled him to blurt out the truth about his previous occupation so bluntly.
Hermione added salt to the wound without consideration, "It is by far the stupidest thing you have done, Malfoy, and that includes trying to poison Dumbledore."
Draco paled if that was even possible. He didn't like being reminded of his past misdeeds. Still, he embraced his mistakes and made his thoughts abundantly clear, "Duly noted, but I will not hide my past. I was taught that embracing it will set you free."
Hermione seethed, "Your temple teachings won't work in the Ministry of Magic, Draco. This is politics." He had much to learn about placating politicians and knowing what to say without offence. You couldn’t just speak your mind in the political circuit. She had learnt that the hard way.
They stood in silence. There wasn't much to say. Draco awaited further instruction when a silent growl from her stomach reminded Hermione that she had skipped breakfast in her haste to arrive on time.
She thought it best to push aside the unpleasantness and redirect their attention towards something meaningful.
"I'm hungry. Shall we grab an early lunch?" Hermione asked before reaching to grab her handbag.
Draco smirked and put forth a splendid suggestion, "Chinese?" He knew from past experience that she was partial to the tasty cuisine.
Hermione tapped her chin in thought, contemplated what she had a craving for, and answered after a brief moment, "No, I am in the mood for some sushi. There's a great place around the corner."
Draco boldly teased, "Are you asking me out to lunch, Granger?" He was toying with a lioness and enjoyed every eventful moment of it.
Her earlier anger evaporated as a sense of playful banter presented itself. Hermione tilted her head and quipped good-humoredly, "No, but you are paying."
A hearty laugh escaped Draco’s lips, "I'm almost certain you earn more than me. I'm nothing but a lowly bodyguard." He was wealthy, which was common knowledge, but he did not earn a Galleon in the Malfoy vault at Gringotts. Although his wages weren't impressive, job satisfaction made him pull on the suit daily.
Hermione rolled her eyes and replied disdainfully, "Fine! I'll pay if you're going to moan and whine about it." She figured he wouldn't have any Muggle money with him.
"I wouldn't dream of letting you settle the bill," Draco said, leaving no room for argument. It would be an insult of the highest sort, and he regretted goading her into such a statement.
Grabbing the sleeve of his Auror jacket, Hermione pulled him towards the door, "Come on, let's go. I'm starving." He was impossible to move on her own, but thankfully he allowed himself to be dragged without fuss.
They breezed past Brenda, who flashed a bright smile of approval at them. She dreamily thought of Michael and what she would cook for dinner before returning to filing the many papers scattered across her desk.
It was a chilly afternoon, and having forgotten her jacket in the office, Hermione hugged herself as she stepped onto the crowded street with many Muggles going about their business. She felt a firm hand on her back, and warmness seep through the material of her blouse. The pleasing sensation infused her skin and coated her whole with toasty warmth.
Having accomplished what he sought out to do, Draco dropped his hand to Hermione's waist and kept it there while she navigated them through the hustle and bustle of passers-by to the restaurant that was within sight.
A smartly dressed, mature Japanese man opened the door with a gracious bow and enthusiastic greeting, "Good afternoon! Do you have a reservation?"
"Oh, I'm afraid not,” Hermione responded, looking uncertain.
The Manager checked the large book before him and reassured her, “It is okay, Madame. We have plenty of tables available.”
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and requested with a timid coy smile, “Umm, can we be seated in a private room?"
Draco was surprised by her request. He raised a curious brow, but Hermione didn't see. She was too busy admiring the miniature garden, blooming yet trimmed Cherry Blossom bonsai tree and beautiful Koi fish swimming peacefully in the pond.
The kind man smiled, "Of course, Miss. Please follow me." He picked up two hard-covered menus and gestured for them to follow him.
Draco looked around in keen interest as he followed the Manager. He was impressed by the interior decoration. Whoever had seen to the designs knew what they were doing.
Pastel shades of white, red and pink adorned the seating areas they passed, and elaborate hand-painted pictures of Geisha girls, golden Koi fish and a large black and white depiction of a fierce Samurai warrior hang on the entire wall to the left.
The restaurant was busy, and they were lucky to get seating without a reservation. The manager stopped by a sliding door, smiled politely and requested, "Please, take off your shoes." It was common practice. Carpeting and shampooing cost a small fortune.
Hermione delicately slipped out of her high heels and bent to pick them up. Draco was used to being barefoot. He spent the entirety of his time at the Shaolin Temple without shoes. He took them off without hassle and pushed them to the side with a black socked foot.
Pleased by their willingness to follow instructions without fuss, the manager slid the doors open, revealing a comfortable private dining area.
What greeted them was a Zashiki, a traditional Japanese restaurant seating arrangement featuring a low table set on tatami flooring that was elegant and decorated with unique Japanese flower arrangements to offer a luxurious dining experience.
Hermione entered, followed closely by Draco. It was such an intimate setting that he couldn't help but ponder why Granger would opt to be completely alone with him unless public sexual acts excited her.
The manager invited with a twinkle in his eyes, "Would you like to order Sake?"
Draco respectfully refused, "No, thank you." However, Hermione remained silent. She was in two minds, but it was the middle of the day, and there was a ton of work to get done. She sensibly decided against it and took the menu's from the man's hand.
He closed the door behind them and left them in peace to go over the menu. Draco sat cross-legged on a comfortable cushion and waited for Hermione to follow suit. She sat across from him, and once she was comfortable, he said in an enthralling manner, "Ah, this is a nice place. Quite authentic."
Hermione blushed for whatever reason and nodded in reply, "Hmm." Merlin, she had lost the ability to speak.
Draco regarded the squirming woman and mocked playfully, "Why the privacy? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me, or perhaps it's something more?" He slowly extended his folded leg to brush up against hers under the low table.
Hermione couldn’t help the girlish giggle that left her lips.
She moved slightly away and murmured, "Stop it. And, no, I am not embarrassed to be seen with you."
Tucking a loose curl behind her ear, she added hesitantly, "I just thought it would be nice to be alone."
Draco looked around intentionally and concurred, "And I agree. This is much more pleasant than sitting in the outer areas." She had undoubtedly made the right decision.
They scanned the menu and ordered an array of items to share themselves. Surprisingly their tastes and likes were extraordinarily similar. Hermione recalled dining out with Ron. It was an absolute nightmare because they could never agree on the items to order and always ended up with a mountain of uneaten food to take home.
A waiter knocked loudly before entering. He diligently took their order and rushed out without uttering another word.
They sat silently, each caught up in their thoughts until Draco shattered the peace by asking, "Did you date Evan?" It seemed like an interesting topic to touch on.
Hermione stiffened and cleared her throat before answering, "In a manner of speaking. It was one date, and I never called him back."
Draco chuckled, "You seem to be leaving a trail of broken hearts." He dropped his tone an octave to a dangerous husky low and included, "But rest assured, I will kill him if he touches you again."
"What?" Hermione cried in outrage. She couldn't believe her ears, yet something ignited within her and clawed its way to the surface.
Draco surrendered before she hexed him, bringing his hands up in defence, "It was a joke, Granger. Relax!" He leaned forward to smell her perfume and drawled, "But, your eyes did light up at my mock display of possessiveness. Do you enjoy it?"
Why did he have to notice every little thing? It was infuriating.
Hermione laughed nervously and fired back, "Don't be repulsive."
“Do you care about him?” Draco asked and watched her face closely. He was curious as to how she would react.
Hermione sighed, “He’s a colleague. Nothing more or less, Malfoy.”
The waiter and a helper brought their order, carefully placed the delicately arranged plates of food and fled again, hoping they hadn't interrupted. Most couples occupying private rooms were often snogging or feeding each other bits of sashimi.
The area filled with a delicious smell causing Hermione's stomach to knot with increased hunger pangs. Using her fingers, she picked up a tightly packed avocado roll and quickly tossed it into her mouth.
Draco drank water to lubricate his parched throat and insisted, "Truthfully, Evan seems like a very well put-together bloke."
He inquired curiously, "What happened?" He could understand why she ended things with Weasley, but Evan was an intellectual equal, it seemed odd.
Hermione eyed the crispy crab rolls with a drizzle of spicy mayonnaise sauce, a fusion dish and shrugged in reply, "Nothing happened, Malfoy. We didn't have chemistry or a spark between us." At least on her part. It took some doing to get her hot and bothered under the collar, and somehow the man in her company managed it without so much as lifting a finger.
Taking his polished wooden chopsticks, Draco expertly picked up a mix of different sushi rolls, placed them gingerly on his plate and encouraged, "Well, if you ever want to date him in the future, you have my blessing. He can keep up with you, look after you and certainly put you in your place." His heart didn't agree with the words that seamlessly left his mouth because the magic in his blood boiled in retribution.
The uncomfortable feeling almost made him drop his chopsticks, but he merely passed it off as nothing more than slight discomfort when Hermione looked at him weirdly and asked in concern, "Are you alright?"
Draco nodded and drank a full glass of water to tame the burning sensation reaching his throat.
Hermione scoffed, "I'm glad you approve, but I'm not some invalid that requires a man to look after my needs."
"Some needs, you mean," Draco muttered rather mischievously while munching on a delicious sushi roll. The delicate meat sandwiched between rice and seaweed was incredibly tasty.
Hermione menacingly pointed the sharp end of her fork at him and issued a dire warning, "Shut up and eat your salmon roll."
Draco eyed her critically, "Please tell me you're not going to use a fork to eat sushi?"
Hermione purposely stuck her fork into the nearest crab roll and argued, "What? I haven't mastered the use of chopsticks." It wasn't some extraordinary life skill she required daily.
Unlike him, Draco snorted, but it suited the situation: "Yes, I recall from the time we had Chinese at your flat."
"That feels like months ago," Hermione munched slowly, savouring the taste and said thoughtfully.
Draco adeptly picked up another roll, carefully dipped it into the soya sauce and wasabi mix and shrugged, "Hardly." He ate the piece whole, and the flavours exploded in his mouth.
Hermione quipped, "Yeah, barely a month or so since you waltzed back into our lives and wreaked havoc." He had sent her life spiralling out of control and evoked complicated feelings that even she didn't know she possessed.
Draco grew reminiscent, "My Master Chun used to say, everything happens for a reason though it might not seem so at that exact moment."
"He sounds like a wise man," Hermione replied in interest. She wanted to meet this Master.
Draco gave a curt nod in agreement, "He is." He learned so much from Chun, not only about Kung Fu but life in general. The Master had such a proficient way of teaching. He was hailed as one of the finest instructors to grace the Shaolin Temple.
Abandoning the fork, Hermione used her fingers to pick up a plump, tightly wrapped salmon roll and inquired nosily before popping it into her mouth, "Do you miss them? Your life there?"
Draco laid his chopsticks neatly on his plate and thought about her question. It was an easy one to answer, "Yes, I do. It was calm and peaceful, but I miss the gentle breeze surrounding you early in the morning while watching the sunrise. There is nothing that can remotely compare in London." In his first weeks at the temple, he had woken early each morning to witness the beautiful sight.
"Do you want to go back?" Hermione queried somewhat anxiously. What if he did? Where would that leave her? In peace, perhaps.
Draco smiled slightly, "At times, but I will visit." He averted his gaze and invited wholeheartedly, "I would like you to accompany me when I do."
His request caught her a touch off guard, but Hermione perked up, "Hmm, I might take you up on that. I've read much about China but never had the chance to visit, even diplomatically." It was a country rich in culture and history.
"Diplomatically?" Draco questioned with the rise of a quizzical brow.
Licking some sauce off her fingers, Hermione nodded, "Yeah, I take the odd tour abroad in Kingsley's stead. Some leaders prefer my voice of reason to the Minister’s demanding nature." The French Minister Pascal, for example, requested her specifically. The vile old toad.
She confided dreamily, "I last visited Austria. It's a lovely country but dull. It wasn't for me." However, it might have been enjoyable with a special somebody. It was such a picturesque and romantic nation.
Draco asked in interest, "I see. Did you visit the museums?" He was almost one hundred per cent certain she did.
Hermione regarded his question with an amused expression before answering, "I always do. It's the high point of my trip."
"Of course. I should've known better," Draco said with a knowing grin while reaching over the salmon rolls to pick another crab roll. It didn’t take a genius to conclude Granger was a museum-goer and avid history enthusiast.
Hermione knew he meditated. He had offered to help her chase away the nightmares by claiming the soothing technique worked wonders for him.
She was curious about its workings and sought to clear her doubts, "Does meditation help? I've read about its healing properties."
Draco munched on a fresh piece of Nigirisushi and elucidated, "If it is done correctly, yes, it helps. I was a wreck when I arrived at the footsteps of the Monastery. It was quite by chance I found such a place even existed."
What? Hermione's internal thoughts screamed. Still, she kept her voice even and probed, "How so? Care to elaborate."
Draco exhaled and began to explain, "During our imprisonment, someone had left behind books about Kung fu and the Shaolin Temple in one of the rooms, and I strangely felt instantly drawn to them."
Hermione found the occurrence downright bizarre, "That is odd. Who would have access to such material? More importantly, who did they belong to?" She was reminded of Harry’s mysterious potions book that belonged to the Half-blood Prince, who ironically turned out to be Severus Snape.
Draco shrugged, "Your guess is as good as mine, Granger. There was no name or scribbling on the pages." Whoever the books belonged to treated them with the utmost care. The pages were worn with use but not abused.
He explained further without pause, "After reading through the text, I decided that if I were acquitted, I would seek refuge at the Shaolin Temple. Honestly, it was a fool's dream. I never thought I would have the strength to carry it forth."
"Yet, it became an eventuality," Hermione said with profound wisdom. His time away had miraculously changed him or brought out his true self. It was hard to say just yet.
Clearly, he was not done telling his story. Maybe it felt good to unburden himself, and Hermione certainly didn't mind. She listened intently to every word he said, "It was a decision I took with a heavy heart, knowing I would have to leave mother behind, but one I do not regret in the slightest. She understood my actions at the time far better than I did."
"Narcissa is quite perceptive," Hermione said fondly.
Draco continued solemnly, "I needed discipline, focus, purpose and a way to chase away the nightmares. Voldemort made me torture innocents. Whenever my eyes closed, I would hear their pleas and cries for help." He vividly recalled the begging and pleading.
Hermione swallowed hard and injected gravely, "I know what you mean." An involuntary shudder shook her as old memories came back to haunt her.
Draco picked up another salmon roll, paused halfway to his mouth and grilled, "Have you had any nightmares recently?" The concern in his tone was evident.
"No, thankfully, I haven't," Hermione replied at once. She was spared Bellatrix's taunting because her mind was preoccupied with work, among other things. Besides, the dark witch crept up on her when least expected.
Draco reached over the plates of food and covered her hand with his. You could barely see hers under the vastness of his palm, "My offer to help you conquer them and rid yourself of the burden is still open, Granger."
"Please, let me do this for you," he implored desperately.
Hermione felt a tightness in her heart and an overwhelming burst of emotion towards Malfoy.
She composed herself and replied warmly, "I appreciate it, and thank you for opening up past wounds to help me see reason. I know it's not the easiest thing to do."
Looking at him evenly, she included prudently, "As for helping me deal with my nightmares, perhaps after we are married and living under one roof."
Taking his hand back, Draco smiled, "Well, that makes sense, I suppose."
He admitted his true feelings without fear of ridicule, "I need you to know that I feel comfortable revealing my dark past to you." He had never been the type to confide his true feelings to anyone, but Granger seemed approachable and understanding for some reason, having suffered a similar fate.
"I feel the same way," Hermione put her pride aside and confessed. If he could be open without prejudice, so could she.
They exchanged meaningful glances, and Draco was utterly tempted to call in sick at that second, whisk Granger off to the nearest hotel and surrender himself to her completely. It wasn't about the physical act but coming together and understanding mutual suffering. At that moment, he realised he was ready to have sex. It was the right time.
On cue, Hermione bluntly stated, "You have a talented tongue." It was highly inappropriate, but since they confessed feelings, she might as well add what happened at her parent's brunch to the blend.
Bloody hell. Could the woman read his mind? She wasn't using Legilimency. He would've felt her presence inside his head if she was.
Draco almost spat out the chewed-up food. Instead, he wiped his mouth, cleared his throat, swallowed the lump that formed and mused, "Oh, umm, thank you?" How does one react to such a bold statement? It baffled him.
Evidently, she was just getting started. Hermione pressed forward quite adamantly, "For a man who kept it in his trousers for nearly ten years. How is it that you are so good at that?"
Salazar! What the fuck?
If cards on the table honesty were what Granger was after, then he, Malfoy, would gladly oblige. Draco sat up straight and smirked, "I had a good teacher."
"Excuse me?" Hermione probed. She was sure she heard him wrong. Did the man say teacher?
Draco sighed and explained his puzzling words, "My piano instructor had a daughter. She was a few years my senior and French. Renee left England after Snatchers murdered her father."
"Oh, how horrifying," Hermione gasped.
Draco averted his gaze with a frown, "I haven't seen her since." He hadn't thought about Renee in years.
Hermione widened her eyes with realisation, "Merlin! Was she your first?"
Draco declared amusedly, "That is quite personal, Granger. I wouldn't dare ask you such an inappropriate question."
Hermione rolled her eyes and sarcastically quipped, "You wouldn't ask because it's so obvious." Everyone in the wizarding world knew she had lost her virginity to Ron. It had been sweet and tender, exactly how it was supposed to be for first-timers.
She leaned forward and insisted, "So, was this Renee your first? Go on, Malfoy, cough it up." It certainly sounded like it. An older woman, and a younger man, sounded like a rip-off from Mrs Robinson.
Draco pursed his lips and wondered if he needed to answer, but knowing Granger, she would never let up until he did. He took a deep breath and confessed, "Yes, she was, you nosy Parker. Happy now?"
Hermione grinned, "How did it happen? Did she seduce you?" She had no clue why it was essential or fascinating, but she wanted to know more about Malfoy being deflowered. It was rightly pathetic.
Draco didn't quite like what Granger was instigating and made his thoughts vocal, "She wasn't some woman in her thirties. I was fifteen, and she was seventeen."
"Oh, interesting," Hermione said thoughtfully with a devilish grin. She was acutely aware that she was older than him.
Looking superbly disdainful, Draco reluctantly confided, "Well, if you must know, it was during the summer holidays, my parents were away at some function, and Renee invited herself over as she often did."
Hermione stuffed her mouth with the last remaining tuna roll and listened intently.
Draco stared into the distance as he recalled the lewd details of that fateful night, "We had bottles of Firewhiskey, and one thing led to another, and before we knew it, my trousers were around my ankles, and she was on top of me. I will never forget her face as she bounced off my….."
Hermione nearly choked on her food. That bit was more than she bargained for, "Argh, stop! That is way too much information."
"You did ask," Draco quipped and bit into a Dorayaki they ordered earlier for dessert when the waiter arrived with water bottles.
Hermione frowned and made her displeasure apparent, "I didn't ask what position you were in."
Draco chuckled, "I must admit that I bragged about it for a year. Losing it to an older girl is every teenage boy's wet dream." The boys in Slytherin had been green with envy, but unlike most of them, he was blessed with good looks and the ability to pleasure a woman.
"Was it special?" Hermione grilled without a faint hint of subtly. For a girl, it was that special day you give something precious to a loved one, but what was it like for a man such as Malfoy?
Draco laughed. He couldn’t help himself; it was a drunken mistake, "Well, it was special because it was my first time, I suppose. But we've been doing other stuff for ages, just not the main deed."
"Weren't you a bit young?" Hermione queried, pretty judgemental.
Draco ignored her and answered truthfully, "Not really. Renee knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it out of me. I simply implemented her teachings on other girls, and voilà!" Renee taught him to use his tongue to his advantage using slow strokes and gentle caresses.
Hermione scrunched up her nose and wondered what kind of girl Renee was. She grilled nosily, "But wasn't she upset?" Teenage girls weren't big on sharing boys they were intimate with.
"About?" Draco raised a questioning brow. He wasn't quite sure to what Granger was referring.
She lowered her voice and muttered, "You sleeping with others."
Draco stifled a laugh, "Oh, we weren't exclusive. It was a bit of fun, Granger. If Renee was jealous, she never exhibited any signs of it and thank Salazar for that."
He studied the woman before him and asked frankly, "Why the sudden interest in my past sex life?"
Hermione blushed and defended her line of questioning, "No interest. I was just curious."
Licking his luscious bottom lip, Draco drawled huskily, "Hmm, if you say so, Ma Cherie."
Hermione blushed, "Right, well, erm, we best head back to work." She pushed the warmth that crept up her thighs away. Not here and certainly not now.
Draco rested his hand on his stomach and grumbled, "Yes, let's. I can barely move. I hardly eat so much."
A timid knock on the door interrupted them. It was the server from before. He walked in and inquired politely, "Can I get you anything else?"
Hermione shook her head and requested, "Please bring us the bill."
The man bowed and exited. He returned shortly with a black cover with a white receipt inside, which Draco took from his hand, fished out a credit card, and presented it to the waiter.
Hermione argued, "Let me pay, Malfoy." She tried to stop him, but he was having none of it and held the cover out of her reach.
Draco refused sternly, "Don't be difficult, Granger. This is where I put my foot down. Besides, Bernard gave me a credit card, and this seems like the opportune moment to break it in."
After settling the bill, they rose from their seated positions, and Hermione nearly lost balance as the blood circulation to her legs had been minimal after sitting cross-legged for over an hour, but of course, it had little to no effect on Draco.
They thanked the man in charge for the delicious food and pleasant experience and headed out.
Once out on the street, Draco asked, "Has Potter found out who sent you the letter?"
Hermione looked mildly ashamed, "I haven't spoken to him about it." The matter of the letter had slipped her mind.
Draco frowned, "Right. I've got a good mind to ask him about it." How could she act so casually towards a threat to her life?
Without waiting for permission, he took her hand in his, and she let him as they crossed the street and walked along the cobbled pathway towards the concealed Ministry of Magic.
They made a striking couple, and many heads turned to catch a second glance as they passed busy Ministry workers and visitors.
The scrutinising looks made Hermione self-conscious, but undiscouraged Draco didn't pay attention to anyone and refused to let go of her hand as he led her across the bustling Ministry floor and towards the lift.
Still, hand in hand, they stepped into the rickety old lift, and Hermione used her free hand to press the desired floor. The coolness of his ancestral ring pressed into her skin. She noticed the engagement ring on her finger was a stunning shade of sparkling white.
They found Hannah sitting on top of Brenda's desk, caught up in a lively conversation.
At that moment, Hermione dropped Draco’s hand but not before Brenda and Hannah caught a glimpse.
Hannah hopped off the table and grinned, "Well, if it isn't my two favourite lovebirds."
"Shove it, Hannah," Hermione retorted while Brenda giggled in the background.
Draco ignored Hermione completely and spoke directly to his partner, "Have you been waiting long?"
Hannah brushed a few dust particles off his coat and shrugged, "Not much, Brenda, was enlightening me on the process of dying one's hair blue."
"Oh, I hadn't noticed," Draco replied and stared at the striking head of blue hair on Brenda. It was pretty in an unconventional sort of way. The shades, in particular, were quite lovely.
Brenda explained why she made the drastic change, "Michael blew a fuse after the whole redhead thing, so I changed it."
Hermione stared Brenda down with hands on her hip and scolded, "And with good reason, Brenda. You went missing when a serial killer going after redheads is on the loose." She recalled how upset everyone had been and how Malfoy had comforted her with his lips.
Hannah pushed Draco nearly out the glass doors, "Well, off with you. I can look after our darling Madam Undersecretary."
Draco almost stumbled but regained his balance and frowned. He had nothing pressing to return to except Auror training.
Hannah slapped her forehead and barrelled into explanation, "Bollocks. I almost forgot, Draco. You have a visitor."
Draco was sceptical, "Did they say who?" Unless his mother or Bernard decided to visit him, he was at a loss of who else it could be.
"Astoria Greengrass," Hannah recited.
Draco's features twisted, "Oh, that's surprising. I wonder what she wants."
Hermione scoffed, "You mean besides the obvious." She hadn't meant to sound so incredibly petty.
Draco nodded curtly, "I'll take my leave."
Hermione quipped, "Yes, run along to your little girlfriend." Hannah and Brenda held back laughter and pretended to be doing something else.
"You are incredibly immature at times," Draco fired back a reasonable retort. Granger's behaviour was childish at best.
He left the women to stare after his retreating figure. His black robes billowed behind him for good measure adding to his dramatic exit.
Hermione rounded on Hannah, "Did she say what she wanted?"
"Who?" Hannah asked, perplexed.
Hermione cried in outrage, "Greengrass, you annoying twat."
Hannah chuckled, "Steady on. There is no bloody need for name-calling, and no, Astoria didn't say."
Storming into her office, Hermione dumped her handbag on her desk with a loud thud, sat down and aggressively pulled parchments towards her that required her attention and signature.
Hannah watched in silence as the sheer force of the quill brutalised each parchment. She cleared her throat and said, "Assuming I'm right, as I am on most occasions, I would say you're jealous, Hermione."
Hermione dotted an i with excessive force and gritted out, "That is preposterous. I most certainly am not."
Hannah rolled her eyes in exasperation and insisted, "Fine! Live in denial, but reality or Malfoy will bite you in the arse eventually."
An image of Malfoy kneading her arse cheeks came to mind, and Hermione exhaled before replying stubbornly, "That's revolting, and it won't, because the reality is that I'm not jelly."
Hannah grew dreamy-eyed, "She's gorgeous though, isn't she? All curves, long hair and oozing elegance. I don't remember her at Hogwarts much, to be honest."
Hermione frowned and spat, "Why don't you date her if you think she's so fucking perfect?"
Hannah shifted uncomfortably, "What? Oh, umm, no. She's not my type, too classy, and I doubt she's Malfoy's type. He needs a woman with substance, not some made-up doll." She truly hoped Hermione did not suspect she was gay.
"I'm pulling your leg, Abbott," Hermione quipped, pulling another long piece of parchment towards her.
She spoke while making notes on the pages, "Also, Malfoys preferences where women are concerned are not my business. He is well within his right to court Greengrass if he wishes."
Hannah did not pursue it. Instead, she inquired with sincere interest, "Right. Of course. So, what did I miss?"
Hermione looked up from the papers and frowned, "Nothing much. Oh, Evans and Malfoy almost got into it. Michael defused the situation."
"I left your side for a few hours, and this is what I return to?" Hannah exclaimed candidly.
Hermione scowled, "Oh, sod off."
Hannah came closer and made a show of delivering the next bit of seemingly exciting news.
She was practically giddy, "Well, you best get used to Malfoy tailing your behind because Harry’s put him on your security detail on Thursday while I go through Thomas's extensive collection of notes on the Dollhouse Strangler."
Hermione digested the information, leaned back in her chair and massaged the bridge of her nose in exasperation. Why was Harry determined to make her life difficult? Besides a possible fistfight and disclosed past details of his Death Eater association, Malfoy was a competent bodyguard.
It dawned on Hermione, "What about Hogwarts?" They were to visit their old school with Ginny on Thursday.
Hannah sighed. She seemed genuinely upset, "Looks like Malfoy gets the fun assignments while I'm stuck with utterly eye-gouging boring ones." She felt some resentment towards the Hawaii trip.
Hermione asked thoughtfully, "Won't Audrey be pissed that he's missing lessons?"
Audrey would never allow such leeway with any other student, so what made Malfoy so special? Clearly, he had a specific skill set, but the strict instructor was a stickler for the rules and hardly ever bent them to accommodate others.
Hannah raved mockingly, "I've never seen Audrey this taken by a recruit. Malfoy is the Auror golden boy in her eyes, and she is convinced he will pass the trials with flying colours despite missing a few lessons."
Hermione said with a definite roll of her eyes, "How thrilling for him." She wondered how his meeting with Astoria Greengrass was fairing.
Chapter 57
Notes:
To all the comments:- Thank you so much for the lovely feedback. I love every single word :)
I want to apologise for the delay in updating the story. MBA Assignments are crippling, Lol, but please know that I will never abandon this story because I've already written it through. Please do not mind the delays! Much love!
Enjoy Chapter Fifty-Seven!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Knockturn Alley
Thomas rounded the corner, pulled up the collar of his jacket, and entered the bowels of Knockturn Alley.
He followed his target closely, down a winding staircase and over a rundown pavement with chipped tiles into a forbidding part of the alley, which even the foulest of beasts tended to avoid like the bubonic plague. Yet, the man he was following seemed entirely at ease.
Thomas couldn’t help but ponder what a man of Avery’s supposed status was doing in such an undesirable part of town. Even with his involvement with werewolves, it was an unlikely meeting place since disease ran rampant in the sewers.
A man resembling a mountain troll tore out of the nearest building in a drunken stupor spewing blood, Thomas sidestepped the bungling oaf, but his momentary loss of focus caused his target to slip from right between his fingers.
Cursing the man doubled over and vomiting blood, Thomas stepped over the crimson sick that coated the floor and hurried off in the direction he last saw Julius Avery.
He needn’t have bothered since he came across a clearing with a single dead tree in the courtyard, surrounded by unscrupulous beings going about their business; they paid no mind to him. Perhaps their reaction would be entirely different if they knew he was an Auror.
A well-built man in a tailored jacket lit a thin cigarette, held it tenderly between his fingers, and leaned against the grimy wall of a nearby rundown building. It was as if the wizarding world and authorities had forgotten such a place existed.
He took a deep drag and blew smoke towards the heavens before speaking directly to Thomas in a tone laced with smugness, “Your good, old man. I didn’t catch on for days.”
Thomas stiffened but didn’t dare to look away nor break eye contact. He stared at the seemingly young wizard with a determined look in his eyes.
He was caught. After over two decades as a decorated Auror, he had never been seen tailing someone. Disappointment clawed at the inner walls of his belly. Maybe it was a sign to retire while on top, especially from fieldwork and resort to consulting when Potter required.
Julius took another deep drag from his cigarette and drawled, “I’ve heard stories about you and Mad-Eye Moody.” They were legendary. Despite being on opposite sides of a war, Julius respected the man before him. Thomas Spencer had earned his place in history as one of the greats.
Thomas smirked, “All good, I hope.” The cocky fuck had made him out. That was simply unacceptable. Avery wasn’t to be underestimated.
Julius sneered, “Oh, yes. My father, in particular, was fond of Mad-Eye. His passing was…tragic.” As Thomas's face contorted in anger, he dragged the last words in sheer delight.
Thomas felt his blood boil, but he kept his composure and issued a dire warning, “Watch it, young blood.” Alastor Moody had given much of himself to the cause, not figuratively. He often missed his mentor and good friend, but in their line of work, it didn’t pay to form bonds with colleagues who could die the next day.
Except for Audrey, his treacherous mind thought at once. She would always be the exception to the rule.
Julius’s harsh voice bore into his thoughts, and Thomas snapped back to attention at the carefully crafted words, “What can I do for a fine gentleman of the DMLE?”
Avery looked around and added with a sly smirk, “I wouldn’t have expected to find an Auror of your repute down here. What would people think? They might come under the false impression that you were up to no good.” Not all Aurors, despite their high status, were honourable.
“Ah, I’m not privy to another’s assumptions,” Thomas replied icily. The fingers on his remaining hand twitched with the bitter need to grasp his wand, but he couldn’t afford to act foolishly.
Avery took a long drag, stared at the orange tip in the darkness, and asked carefully, “Did you receive my donation?” It paid to have Galleons passed to the right places. The world spun on corruption and power, and he wanted his share.
Thomas blinked rapidly and tried to comprehend what the man meant before gritting out, “I don’t look into those matters. The DMLE thanks you for your kindness, but we don’t accept bribes.”
Julius leered. He enjoyed himself immensely, “You’re strict by the book, aren’t you, old man? It’s a pity they all aren’t like you.” An addict, a womaniser, a high-ranking Ministry official with a tendency to fondle underage witches, and the occasional wizard in his office. It paid to have enough dirt to blackmail at the opportune moment. His father would be proud of him.
Taking a step forward, Thomas glared sternly and demanded, “What the hell are you trying to say, Avery? Have you got Aurors on your fucking payroll?” It wasn’t unheard of in dark times. Voldemort had many, but most were under the Imperius curse or claiming to be to escape persecution.
A knowing smirk curved Julius Avery’s somewhat pinkish lips into a devious grin, “Discretion is key, Spencer.”
“Tell me!” Thomas snapped and took a further threatening step forward. He would beat the truth out of the smug prat. Unwillingly or not, Avery had let slip some vital information.
They would have to severely look into their own house, flush out the rats, and hang the bastards by their balls.
Avery threw the cigarette stub to the ground, stomped on it with more force than necessary, and hissed forebodingly, “Why the fuck are you following me?”
Thomas merely shrugged and grinned in reply, “You’re a person of interest.”
Julius laughed. It was low but dramatically filled the space, “Really? Follow me to my girlfriend’s. I promise to put on a marvellous show.”
“That’s a nasty cut,” Thomas pointed out.
He had been observing the man’s appearance and the congealed blood on his lip and cheek stood out even in the dreadful darkness surrounding them.
Julius gingerly touched the hardened blood that filled the crevice of the deep gash down his right cheek. He brushed aside the comment and replied with a wolfish grin, “Ah, nothing but a scratch. Boys will be boys.”
Thomas inquired, hoping to goad the temperamental wizard into divulging more, “How's your father, Avery?"
If Julius was calm before, his demeanour turned drastically towards the worst, and he snarled, "Don't you dare ask about him."
Thomas merely smirked and continued, "Oh, and why is that? He was a right piece of shit."
"Thank you for that enlightening revelation," Julius replied through clenched teeth. He fought an internal battle to remain calm and not thrash the Auror before him into an unrecognisable bundle of blood and gore.
Thomas ignored the warning tone and heavy breathing of the man standing a few feet away from him and insisted, “He is a lost cause, Julius. His mind is gone. You don't have to do this!”
Perhaps, there was some good in Julius Avery. Maybe the young wizard could be convinced to abandon his foolish plan and join a far better cause.
Julius looked around pointedly and shot back with dripping sarcasm, “Do what? Right now, I'm having a smoke and chatting with the likes of you. Is that a crime?” He lit another cigarette, brought it to his lips, and let the inhaled smoke pass through his nostrils, sulling the air around them.
“The lives of thousands are at stake,” Thomas argued adamantly. If only he could make Avery see reason. He didn't seem to be a simpleton. The man had accomplished much after returning to England from his studies abroad.
Julius remained unconvinced and undeterred, “I have no idea what you’re on about, Thomas.” Did the older man think he could be persuaded? He would no sooner die than betray his father.
Thomas hissed in frustration, “You can't save your father.”
A slither of sunlight made its presence known, but it was momentary as it was once again swallowed up by the darkness that plagued the area they were standing in.
“Say whatever you like, Spencer,” Julius gritted out. The conversation was beginning to bore and immensely anger him.
He narrowed his eyes and openly threatened before Thomas could refute, “He will be free soon, and I will cut off your tongue and feed it to my owl. She's a rare breed from Romania.”
A gift from his master to reward his obedience and securing of Galleons towards the cause. A glorious future lay ahead, and he would be at the helm with his father and their glorious new leader.
Thomas was hardly intimidated. He had faced far worse adversaries than Julius Avery. He laughed in the face of the wizard attempting to stare him down and mused, “Threatening a senior Auror. I could arrest you.”
Julius expertly flicked the lit halfway-burnt cigarette. It flew through the air and landed near Thomas’s foot. He smiled almost devilishly and countered, “Yeah, but you won't. Now, if you will excuse me, it isn't polite to keep a lady waiting.”
Thomas stepped on the cigarette crushing it to bits under his boot, and sneered, “By all means.”
Department of Magical Law Enforcement
His mind riddled with uncertain thoughts, Draco pushed the thick glass doors that led into the DMLE and caught sight of Astoria Greengrass at once. He took a few minutes to study her and reached no satisfactory conclusion.
She sat perfectly still with her shapely legs crossed at the ankles and tucked elegantly underneath the chair. A few male Aurors passing by did a doubletake and regarded the timeless beauty with long straight black hair and fashionable black dress with high appreciation.
“Tori?” Draco said in a carrying voice to validate that it was indeed her.
Astoria looked up and smiled brightly. She got to her feet and came closer, “Hello, Draco.”
Draco returned the smile but asked curiously, “Umm, what brings you by?”
It was undoubtedly a plausible question. It wasn't every day that Astoria Greengrass waltzed into the DMLE to see him. He hoped his interview hadn't prompted it.
Astoria calmly explained, “My mother took Daphne's children to Diagon Alley, and I thought of paying you a quick visit. Besides, I haven't seen you in a while, and I thought we could catch up away from the Manor and maybe have lunch together.” Her reason to see him was undeniably a friendly gesture, at least for the time being.
Draco reluctantly confessed but refrained from mentioning with you, “Oh, I had lunch already, I'm afraid, but we can have coffee if that's alright with you?” He had a few minutes of his break to spare.
Astoria perked up and replied graciously, “That would be lovely, darling.”
She took hold of his arm despite him not offering it to her, but he didn't attempt to move away from her gentle touch.
They walked through the usually busy Ministry floor, and Draco couldn't help but look around for any signs of Hermione. It would be unfortunate to be caught in such a compromising situation, especially after such an enlightening lunch together.
Draco attempted to make small talk as they stepped onto the street, searching for the nearest decent coffee shop, “Ah, the children are with your mother while Blaise and Daphne are away, I gather.” He hoped they would happen upon a shop not far from the Ministry.
Astoria nodded slightly in reply and summarised, “Yes, they deserve a break. Daph is a very present parent, but they needed some alone time as a couple.”
“Yes, of course. I understand,” Draco agreed almost at once. He was still coming to terms with Blaise being a father. It was terrific but surprising.
He felt a sharp tug on his sleeve. Turning to the source, he raised a questioning brow. Still, Astoria giggled and pointed to the warm, cosy-looking cafe that seemed to serve an alarming number of couples clutching mugs of coffee and looking utterly dreamy-eyed.
It wasn't remotely what he had in mind, but with little time at his disposal, he brushed aside his insecurities and adhered to the strong will of the woman in his company.
A bell chimed as they opened the door and a woman in her late thirties appeared almost instantly, smiled brightly, and exclaimed, “My, what a lovely couple. Please follow me, dear.”
Draco couldn't help but roll his eyes, but Astoria was thrilled to be acknowledged as a couple. Her fingers dug further into his arm, and she leaned against his sturdy frame while they followed the proprietor to a wooden table.
Once there, Draco managed to break free from Astoria’s hold under the guise of pulling out the chair for her. His behaviour pleased her, and she gushed, “Such a gentleman.”
Before the server could walk away, Astoria recited the order, “Two black coffees, please. One with two spoonfuls of sugar and the other completely without. Also, bring us a slice of that gorgeous chocolate cake on display. My friend here has a sweet tooth.”
She glanced at Draco and smiled knowingly. His likes and dislikes were etched into her mind, and she would never forget what pleased him for the rest of her days.
The motherly-looking woman jotted down the order and replied with a slight wink, “Be back shortly, lovelies.” Draco knew she meant well, but her overly cheerful disposition was beginning to get on his very last nerve.
Mustering his sensible inner self, Draco cleared his throat, gave the beautiful woman before him his undivided attention, and inquired, “So, what can I do for you?”
Astoria stopped scrutinising the barely visible stains on the napkin, stared into his eyes, and responded quite seriously, “Must I have an ulterior motive for visiting a man I hold dear?”
Draco backtracked his words and refuted, "Well, no, but why here? You could come by the Manor at any time your heart desires."
Astoria averted her gaze and answered somewhat coldly, causing the displeasure in her voice to be abundantly clear, "I didn't want to upset your mother. I doubt Narcissa is pleased with me, and I didn't want to aggravate the situation. I respect her opinion far too much." Also, Narcissa Black's loving nature towards Hermione Granger was a severe cause for concern.
Attempting to keep the peace, Draco kindly offered, "Astoria, my mother doesn't think ill of you. Quite the contrary, she regards you with fondness." She didn't at the moment, but why divulge a hateful truth and hurt a woman who had but a few good years to live?
Taking a deep breath, Astoria diverted the conversation entirely away from the unpleasantness between Narcissa and herself.
She smiled and asked genuinely, "How are you, Draco?"
Draco shrugged and summarised his days, "I've been busy with Auror training." He counted the days till the trials. It would be one less thing to worry about constantly.
Astoria boldly reached over, ran her fingers down the long black sleeve of his Auror uniform, and raved, "I must say the outfit becomes you. You look devilishly handsome."
"That's kind of you to say," Draco responded huskily, hoping no one unexpectedly saw the blush that stained his cheeks. He withdrew his arm and kept it at a safe distance.
Their order arrived, and they thanked the server and took hold of the bright pink mugs with scalding coffee within. Draco grimaced at the fluorescent colour and wondered if he should request another cup more suited to his profile and tastes.
Astoria let the warmth seep into her skin. She sneaked a few meaningful glances at the fidgety man before her, looking at his mug with a frown on his face.
Locating her courage, she took a deep breath and said, slowly puncturing the silence that encompassed them, "I, erm, read the interview in Witch Weekly Magazine."
Draco stiffened and answered in exasperation, "You and every other woman in the wizarding world." Fuck. So, this little impromptu visit was about the bloody interview.
He ran his fingers through his hair, an enduring habit, and parted his lips to speak, "Listen, Astoria….," but she interrupted him, and said calmly, "You were very flattering towards Hermione."
Once again, Draco tried to get a word in edgewise but failed miserably, "I…."
Undeterred, Astoria said with unconcealed glee, "But she wasn't the only one you complimented. I read your words about me. They filled me with such happiness, Draco."
Bollocks.
She sighed and looked at him miserably, "Was I so different back then?"
Unable to come up with a reasonable retort, Draco gulped coffee and muttered, "Not much. You laughed more, if I recall." She had been more cheerful, especially around him or when they were fooling around in the Slytherin common room.
Astoria looked forlorn. Her usually pretty features twisted, and words of contempt flew out of her soft lips, "I wish I wasn't born with this curse. It was never my burden to bear. There's so much I want to do with my life."
Draco could hear the anguish behind her tormented words. He tried his best to reassure her, "I know, darling, but life isn't always fair. We make do with what has been dealt to the best of our ability."
She pointed to a family going about their business and insisted with painful resolve, "I want to get married, have a family, and see my child go off to Hogwarts."
An abrupt sarcastic laugh left her silken tongue before including, "I want to have breakfast in bed with my husband, arrange Sunday brunch and have Christmas Dinner. Is that too much to ask?"
Halfheartedly, Draco reached over, covered her trembling hand with his, and insisted, "You can still do those things, Astoria." He truly hoped she wouldn't start crying in public. The people around them would surely blame him without just cause.
Her voice cracked, and she held back the tears that were sure to fall, "Not with a death sentence hanging over my head. I envy Daph at times. Please don't get me wrong, I love my sister and her family, but at times I can't help but feel resentful."
Draco nodded in understanding, "We all die at some point, and I can understand why you would feel a certain amount of resentment towards the situation. Besides, it's normal to feel the way you do. You're human, Tori." Why did she always cry in his presence?
Astoria lovingly stared at the large hand on top of hers and argued, "I know, but it isn't expected. In my case, we cannot know when the blood curse will manifest and consume me. I've read ancient texts and every witch or wizard infected with this predicament succumbed to it before the age of thirty-five."
Draco was taken aback by her extensive knowledge about her dilemma, more so that there were documented cases. He wanted to give her hope and offered profound insight, "You must not focus all your energy on impending doom."
He fondly yet sadly recalled, "When I was training in China, there were plenty of Muggles with terminal illnesses that came to the temple, some as young as twelve, but their courage and tenacity to do all they could before passing was inspirational." Along with Suri and Master Chun, they cared for no less than twelve children of various ages seeking refuge and peace of mind in their final days.
Astoria took a delicate sip of tea and hissed, "Nobody wants to be with a dying woman."
Draco countered with good reason, "That's not in the least bit true. You are a beautiful, intelligent woman, and any man would be lucky to share his life with you." He meant his words. She needed to believe in herself and not focus wholly on her grim future.
Astoria's eyes clouded over with the immense longing she felt for Draco. Before she could bite her tongue, words of passion spewed out against her better judgement, "I waited for you to return for so long, and now that you have, I've lost you before we could begin."
Draco held back an exhausted sigh, let go of her hand, and stated tactfully, "Astoria, I meant what I said in the interview, but you mustn't take it out of context. I do care about you but as a dear and cherished friend."
He insisted, "I cannot offer you anything more presently." How could he when he was an engaged man to a former nemesis? A hated counterpart with who he had spent an enjoyable afternoon.
Astoria breathed, “I just want you in my life, Draco, for however long that might be. As a friend or…lover, it doesn't matter as long as I can be around you.”
Draco exhaled. He honestly didn't want to give her false hope, but what could he do but somehow soothe her, “I can do that for as long as you need.” As a friend, he would be by her side whenever required. Hopefully, she wouldn't use his weakness to her advantage in a rouse to keep him constantly by her side.
Sticking her fork into the large piece of cake on the plate between them, Astoria broke off a tiny bit and, in the most lady-like manner possible, popped it into her mouth and instantly closed her eyes as the rich chocolate frosting collided with her tongue.
She murmured, it was a sensual sound, and Draco couldn't help but gaze upon his companion sceptically, “This chocolate cake is divine. Here, have a taste.”
Without waiting for an invitation or prior warning, Astoria broke off a larger piece of the cake using the fork she used and force-fed the piece to Draco, who momentarily froze as the silver spoon hit his front teeth.
He grudgingly allowed the intrusion and replied without much enthusiasm, “Yes, it's delicious.”
Astoria licked her lips and asked openly, “Are you looking forward to Hawaii?” She had travelled the world, but somehow the exotic destination had evaded her travel plans.
Deciding that the chocolate cake was indeed worth his time, Draco picked up his spoon and dug into the rich frosting before shrugging, “Not particularly.”
In reality, he was looking forward to it. It would be a place away from England, and he assumed Granger would be much more approachable away from the burden of maintaining her image.
Astoria expressed happily, “I've heard such wonderful things about Hawaii. Daphne rang yesterday and then again today. She's having a marvellous time.”
Draco stiffened. Was she hinting that he invite her along? Wouldn't that be interesting, but there was only one witch with whom he intended to make amends.
He acted indifferently, “I've not given it much thought, but I suppose it will be scenic.”
Astoria knew the answer to her query, yet it didn't stop her from prying, “Is Hermione accompanying you?” Hearing the response from her beloved’s lips would shatter her fragile heart, but she had to be competent in acquiring his interest.
Behaving like a jealous girlfriend would not get her very far with a man like Draco Malfoy. After all, who knew him better than she, inside and out? She fondly recalled the birthmark on his thigh, inches away from his cock.
Oblivious to Astoria’s thoughts, Draco cleared his throat and answered truthfully, “She is, but strictly as a friend.” Did he still truly believe Granger was merely just a friend? Yes, he did. True, he wanted her sexually, but nothing beyond that enticed him.
Astoria swallowed the bile that rose in her throat and offered with the greatest difficulty, “It will be the perfect opportunity for both of you to get to know each other.”
Indeed, they would realise how horribly incompatible they were and resort to avoiding each other for the duration of their forced union.
Yet, she kept her opinion well-hidden and advised, “Put aside the ugliness of the past and get reacquainted, you know, that sort of thing.”
Draco was adamant about stirring the conversation in another direction. Astoria’s bizarre statements made him feel exceedingly uneasy. He said firmly, “We shouldn't speak of Granger.”
Unwilling to yield, Astoria pushed adamantly forward with her somewhat intrusive questions, “Have you set a date for the wedding?”
Draco stared at the woman, searching his face for answers, and decided to humour her, “Not a definite one.” What was she playing at?
As if reading his mind, Astoria explained the reason for the numerous questions, “I would like us to be friends, Draco. There is no need to act awkward whenever I mention Hermione Granger. I know your loyalties to her are forced.”
They aren't forced, Astoria. I want to protect Granger, among other more recent developments. Draco thought defiantly but kept his mouth shut and nodded in reply.
He tossed the last piece of cake into his mouth, leaving a few crumbs on the plate, purposely got to his feet and announced firmly but politely, “This has been enlightening, but I must return to Auror training. I hope you will permit me to escort you to a suitable apparition location.”
Unfazed by his abruptness, Astoria rose elegantly and replied, “That would be nice. Thank you.”
Draco nodded curtly at the woman who served them as they passed her. They maintained silence until entering the Ministry and arriving promptly at one of the dozen or so approved points of apparition.
Astoria smiled slightly and kissed Draco gently on the lips, “I hope I get to see you soon, Draco.”
He felt her lean further to deepen the embrace, but he took a voluntary step back and watched as she disappeared from sight.
His lips were set a blaze from either an allergic reaction to Astoria’s lipstick or from the scorching guilt he felt for betraying Granger. He returned to the training session flabbergasted and worried and took out his frustrations on his unsuspecting training partner Emily.
“Um, it's none of my business, but you've got red lipstick smeared across your lips,” Emily pointed out candidly, trying her best to remain professional. He was so pale; the red was a stark contrast against his skin.
Embarrassed by the revelation, Draco groaned and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve but not before he saw a shadow of a disgruntled figure and tousled brown hair disappear from the gallery.
Could it have been Granger? No, she had far more critical things to do than sit in on another Auror training class and spy on him.
Pushing the disturbing thoughts to the far reaches of his mind, he concentrated on the present and harsh words Audrey was directing at them. After training, Draco retired to the DMLE’s extensive study room and started brewing potions until he was utterly spent.
Avery Mansion
The Alpha King descended and bestowed a look of fondness upon the gathered werewolves in his midst. He held his wand with a gloved hand and let it slip through his fingers but never dropped it.
A large man in black robes with scars running down his face followed closely but didn't utter a word except scrutinise those in their presence. His behaviour clearly showed that he trusted no one but his leader.
The masked king greeted Edward, Cyrus and Ezra, who fell to their knees in respect. Still ignoring the formidable men kneeling before him, the man spread his arms wide and enthused, "My brothers."
They answered in unison; like a chorus, their reply chimed and filled the space, "Alpha." The single word summarised the entirety of the situation.
The Alpha spoke loudly enough to be heard, "Please, there are no titles here. We are equals. Get up!" Edward and Cyrus got to their feet easily, but Ezra struggled. He cursed his fondness for wine and addiction to the rich liquid that had him bumbling about like a newborn calf.
Even though the Alpha noticed Ezra's slight drunkenness, he kept his thoughts shielded for the time being. There would be plenty of time to reprimand those under his command once he came out of the shadows and took his rightful place as the Lord of the world.
He proudly pointed to an area behind him. There was nothing but darkness to the human eye, "This is Yohan. He arrived from Romania this morning. He is my most trusted beta."
The imposing man stepped out of the shadows and nodded curtly. He spoke in a deep low voice enough to send shivers down the bravest man's spine, "The Romanian Ministry is crumbling, Alpha. Constantine is desperate."
A grin of sheer satisfaction curved the Alpha's lips upwards, "He might be desperate, but he's no idiot."
Yohan nodded in agreement, "He arrived in London a few hours ago." They had been following Constantine for months, waiting in the shadows for the opportune moment to strike.
"Leave him be. It will not work in our favour to murder him on English soil. Let him speak with Kingsley Shacklebolt and request help," the Alpha instructed, leaving no room for argument.
Yohan pursed his lips but didn't chase an argument. Instead, he walked behind his precious leader to where the other select few were seated. No wizards attended the proceedings. They weren't privileged to hear the true nature of events and agenda.
The Alpha tore the mask off his face and slammed it on the table. He had a few wrinkles, and his hair was streaked with visible strands of grey, but his ancestral blood ensued his charismatic good looks remained intact.
He looked around at the eager faces and drank in the powerful presence that emitted from them before settling down to discuss the grave and promising issues at hand.
Edward took a deep breath and attempted to concentrate on the proceedings. After he met Amelia, his loyalty to the Alpha's cause hung by a thread. He loved her still. Always.
Ministry Of Magic
Hermione drummed her fingernails on the desk as she went through another tediously long parchment but truthfully, the words bled into each other because she wasn't concentrating.
Who cared about license renewals to look after Flobberworms? She grimaced as she recalled Hagrid’s lessons about the dull creatures.
Deciding she had enough for the day, Hermione pushed the sheets of parchment away and sighed. Brenda was long gone, and by the darkness that swallowed half of her office, it was clear it was at least past seven pm.
She had expected a visit from Malfoy. Her insides churned unpleasantly at the thought of him being intimate with Astoria Greengrass.
No, Hermione. It is none of your business, she scolded herself, pushed the chair back with excessive force and decided to pay Kingsley a quick visit.
The light shining under the Minister's door and occasional curse words reassured her that he was working late like her. This would be the opportune moment to inform him about her short trip to Hawaii and Portkey she had commissioned.
Hermione knocked on the old door to make her presence known, and without waiting for a response, she slightly opened the door, poked her head in and inquired in a tired tone of voice, "Are you busy?"
Kingsley looked up from the ledger he was writing in and smiled at his Undersecretary. He put aside the quill he was using, leaned back in his oversized comfortable chair and said, "Never for you. What's on your mind, Hermione?"
"I met with Owen," Hermione stated as she walked in. Her eyes fell on the half-empty tumbler of scotch. Kingsley seemed to be drowning his sorrows by indulging in a little nightcap.
The Minister caught her looking. He waved his wand and muttered an incantation, causing the crystal decanter and empty glass from the minibar to float towards them. When it was close enough, he grabbed the bottle by the neck and used his wand to set down the glass.
Kingsley pulled out the wooden cork, deeply inhaled the pungent odour and poured three fingers' worth into the empty glass. The liquid circled upon itself like a mini tsunami before resting at the bottom, awaiting consumption.
He pushed the glass towards Hermione and raised a curious brow, "Ah, how is the Muggle Prime Minister?"
Hermione gratefully took the glass of scotch and raised it in his direction, "Cheers."
She took a sip and instantly felt her insides burn with intense heat. It was good scotch. Kingsley took another sip and savoured the smoky aftertaste.
Eyeing the amber liquid in his tumbler that gave him such relief, Kingsley elucidated, "The bottle of scotch was a gift from Pascal. I cannot stand the slimy wretch, but he has impeccable taste."
Hermione stifled a laugh. The French Minister was a harmless character. She took another sip, letting her taste buds become accustomed to the richness and responded, "Owen is coping surprisingly well under the circumstances."
She paused for exaggerated effect and included somewhat gravely, "He was targeted. Michael and Evan apprehended the suspects."
Still, Kingsley didn't seem too put off, perhaps because he had seen and experienced worse. He sighed in exasperation, "Ah, that's good news. It was only a matter of time before they sent someone. Did they get anything out of the suspects?"
Hermione shook her head and answered in frustration, "Not yet, but it's a matter of time before one snaps and confesses what little they know."
The Minister appeared exhausted by the situation. He had leaders from around the world breathing down his neck for answers since the so-called Alpha stemmed from Voldemort.
Sensing his reluctance and hatred towards the topic at hand, Hermione diverted the conversation towards something else, “I, erm, spoke to Owen about Michael.”
That bit of information piqued Kingsley’s interest, and he pressed, “And?”
Hermione smiled, “He had nothing but positive things to say.” Without skipping, she added, “Michael deserves this promotion, Kingsley.” Her thoughts went to their earlier discussion and Corner’s hesitation to accept a promotion while Terry was fighting to overcome the addiction he had unfortunately succumbed to.
Terry, she thought despondently. He looked so frail but still, a hardness and fire burned in the dept of his eyes. She saw flashes of it as he kissed her when she visited him. His intense feelings for her were genuine. Any blind fool could see that.
The Minister averted his gaze and said thoughtfully, “Hmm, I haven't decided, but I will soon.” Corner had undoubtedly put in the hours and proven himself to be a worthy asset as an Auror, but something was missing, and Kingsley couldn't quite put his finger on it.
He drained his drink and questioned when Hermione nursed her drink, “Anything else?”
Hermione took a sip, cleared her throat and exclaimed without hesitation, “I asked Argus to arrange a Portkey for me to travel to Hawaii on Friday.” She left out the part about Malfoy accompanying her.
“A leave of absence?” Kingsley inquired with a curious raise of his brow.
Hermione grinned and retorted sarcastically, “Hardly. Gone on Friday, back on Sunday. I'll be back to work first thing Monday morning.”
Kingsley grinned, “I see. Not much of a holiday.” He couldn't recall the last time Hermione took a vacation. She deserved to have some fun, act her age and let go of the burden she seemed to carry about on her shoulders.
“It's a few days to lay about in the sun,” Hermione replied with somewhat of a happy smirk.
The Minister nodded in agreement, “You have my approval for the Portkey.”
She was surprised he didn't pry. Perhaps he knew more about the trip than he let on.
Hermione finished her drink, set the tumbler down on the table and inquired curiously, “Did Harry mention anything about the lewd letter I received?”
Kingsley sighed, “We know who sent it. I'm surprised he didn't tell you, but he has been rather occupied.” Potter was burdened with a significant amount of responsibility. The wizarding world's safety depended on him; from experience, he knew Harry took the failures to heart. The man wanted to save everyone; unfortunately, that wasn't always possible despite their many efforts to keep the peace.
“I haven't seen him. Who was it?” Hermione asked in frustration. She should've been the first to know.
Kingsley thought hard and used his words effectively, “Well, it's not one person.” He paused before stating the names, “Goyle and Cormac.”
Hermione grew wide-eyed with disbelief, “What? McLaggen? I don't believe it. He was one of us.” It was impossible. Sure, they had a brief fling that was done to make Ron jealous, not her finest moment, but it had happened, and she regretted it, but a Death Eater? No! It was a preposterous notion.
Her mind rejected the mention of Goyle. It was repulsive.
Kingsley wasn't swayed by her blatant refusal to believe the facts. He offered further insight, “I've heard his father has been unnecessarily tough on him. Maybe that's got something to do with his sudden change of heart.”
Shaking her head, Hermione argued, "I don't believe it. Cormac is many things, but a Death Eater is simply not one of them. There's more to this.” She had a sound mind to speak to McLaggen and get to the bottom of everything.
Maybe he was being blackmailed or threatened? It wouldn't be the first time Voldemort's lot retorted to heinous tactics to recruit members to their brutal cause. Malfoy invaded her mind, and his smouldering gaze made her incapable of rational thoughts. Again, her mind drifted to his outing with the youngest Greengrass sister.
Bah! Get a hold of yourself, woman, Hermione internally battled. She gathered her professionalism and insisted, “And why haven't they been arrested?” It was a good question as any, except it sounded accusatory. As prominent members of the wizarding community, their arrest would surely make the front page of the Daily Prophet.
Kingsley raised his voice, enough for Hermione to take notice and regret her earlier tone, “And blow the entire operation? There is much at stake. We have bigger fish to fry, Hermione.”
He softened his expression and included thoughtfully, “Rest assured, these little minnows will pay dearly for what they sent you but at the precise time.”
Hermione mustered a smile and requested hopefully, “Now that we know who is responsible, can you put an end to my security detail?”
Kingsley grinned, “Not yet.” He mused, “Rest assured, nobody threatens my Undersecretary and gets away with it.”
Hermione couldn't help but feel grateful. She got to her feet and replied, “Thank you, and goodnight, Kingsley.”
While walking towards the door, she glanced over her shoulder and quipped, “Go home and give Maureen my love.”
She could practically hear a tub of chocolate chip ice cream and oodles of whipped cream calling her name.
Honolulu, Hawaii
It was barely nine am, and after a night of rest, the group gathered in the main dining hall for some much-needed breakfast before sightseeing and lounging in the pool. Pansy had insisted they take in some of the local sights and try the cuisine.
Luna stared at the plate of scrambled eggs in front of her and swallowed the bile that rose. The smell alone was revolting. She gingerly pushed it aside and settled on a nearly burnt slice of toast and a few pieces of cut fruit to appease her hunger.
Theo wolfed down a pancake smothered in maple syrup and gazed at his wife in concern. She almost always had a healthy appetite; eggs were among her favourite foods. He helped himself to plump sausages and offered her some, who visibly gagged and shook her head.
No one noticed her odd behaviour except Daphne, who peeled an orange and pushed the plate of succulent fruit towards her with an encouraging and knowing smile. Luna took it gratefully and savoured the tangy taste that erupted in her mouth.
Pansy flagged down a passing waiter and ordered a mimosa. She asked the group in general, “Would anyone like one as well?”
Blaise rolled his eyes and returned to cutting pieces of French toast into comfortable bite-sized pieces, but Daphne enthused, “Me, please.”
Theo looked at Luna and mumbled, “Do you want one?” He knew she was partial to the concoction, but she refused and looked ready to bawl her eyes out. Pushing back the chair, Luna excused herself and fled the dining area while everyone stared after her momentarily.
Pansy exchanged a look with Neville, who shrugged but seemed quite concerned. Theo shot to his feet, abandoned his breakfast and went to follow his wife when Daphne spoke up, and said soothingly and wisely, “She needs to be alone, Theo. Give her some time to calm herself.”
Clearly, not a soul agreed with her, but they looked upon her sceptically as she ate the rest of her breakfast in silence in a calm manner. Theo disagreed, but Daphne hardly gave terrible advice. He reluctantly heeded her words, sat back down and wondered what was happening.
After breakfast, they made their way to their respective rooms to pick up their appropriate belongings to head out exploring. Theo had long since lost his appetite. He glumly made it to the room, intent on finding out what was wrong with Luna and walked in to find her wearing a red summer dress and homemade sandals with a bright smile plastered on her face.
He was faced with a different person. Gone was the weepy mess from breakfast, and before him was the Luna Lovegood, whom he knew and adored. Not wanting to ruin the moment with needless questions, Theo took hold of his quirky wife's hand, and they happily headed out the door.
The Facility
Joyce frowned as Michael appeared.
She stated sternly, "Visiting hours are over, Corner." She was in her early sixties and in charge of the night shift at the facility. She ran a tight ship with zero tolerance for nonsense.
Michael grinned sheepishly, "I know, but I need to see him." He missed Terry. They were partners, and this whole promotion business was doing his head in.
Joyce couldn't help but smile at the young wizard. Michael was about her son's age. She sighed and conceded defeat, "I'm going to lose my job because of you."
Michael exclaimed in shock, "A valuable public servant such as yourself? Not a chance."
He smiled genuinely and included, "Besides, I will never let that happen."
Joyce chuckled, "Flattery will get you everywhere, love." She pushed a notebook towards him and waited for him to put down his name and time of visit.
While doing the needful, Michael inquired, "Is he awake?" He had blown off dinner plans with Brenda to visit his best mate. She had taken it reasonably well or pretended to, at least.
"He usually is," Joyce replied rather sadly. The other patients were usually down for the night by at least midnight, but not Terry Boot. He stayed awake until the morning's wee hours, letting exhaustion claim him indefinitely.
Michael frowned. He incessantly told himself that Terry would make a full recovery and adorn the Auror cloak and badge after the mandatory one month had passed.
Joyce put away the book, glanced over her shoulder and stated, "Well, you know the way."
"Thank you," Michael gave a quick nod of appreciation before walking down the hallway.
Joyce called out, "One hour, Corner. Wrap it up before you get us both in hot water."
Michael flashed a bright smile, "You have my word."
He whistled to himself, a popular Muggle song Evan often played when they were tailing the Muggle Prime Minister.
The light underneath the door told him that Joyce was right in her assumption that Terry was awake. Michael knocked to make his presence known and stood back when he heard a chair scraping against the floor and footsteps headed his way.
Terry threw the door open, his appearance was worn with the comings of a beard and unkempt hair, but the smile he bestowed upon his best friend was genuine, "What brings you by at this rather ungodly hour?"
Michael pushed past him into the room, collapsed onto a chair and exclaimed, "We need you, mate." He sounded dramatic and distraught.
Calmly, Terry closed the door behind him and regarded Michael with an amused expression, "I'm not done with the program."
Michael confessed what had been weighing down on him, "It's weird to be constantly around Potter when I know I've snogged his wife."
"That was fucking ages ago," Terry countered with an audible snort. He took the seat across and raised a curious brow. From all their years of being friends, Terry knew when Michael needed someone to talk to, and his young girlfriend couldn't fill that void.
Michael insisted, "I know, but I really cared for Ginny before she dumped me for being a tactless moron because she was a better Quidditch player than me." He had been blindly jealous of her skills on the pitch that far outweighed his that he behaved like a boorish lout and said some rather unkind words.
Terry couldn't help but laugh. It was ages ago. How could it possibly still bother Michael unless he still carried a torch for Ginny Weasley, which was an improbable assumption at best?
He voiced his opinion bluntly, "I doubt it matters to Potter. He's obviously over it."
Michael argued, "So am I, of course. It's just weird at times."
He added after a second's thought, "Anyways, I've been assigned to guard the useless Muggle Prime Minister." He couldn’t fathom what possessed him to mention Ginny and their past relationship. It was a bizarre revelation.
"That sounds marvellous," Terry quipped sarcastically while leaning back into the rigid wooden back support of the chair. He stretched his legs out and sought to get comfortable
Michael said with a distinctive roll of his eyes, "He's a moron, but a nice enough bloke. He is jumpy, though. Scared of his bloody shadow, the MI5 Agent Evans has a good head on his shoulders."
Terry mused, "Should I be jealous that you've found a partner to replace me?"
"Fuck off!" Michael answered without a single moment's hesitation.
He looked over his friend's slightly gaunt frame and frowned, "You've lost weight."
"It's the diet, I suppose," Terry answered with a shrug. The food was pleasant enough, but he could hardly keep down a few spoonfuls. Anything beyond that had him throwing up every last morsel into the commode.
Michael raised a quizzical brow, "I heard Hermione paid you a little visit."
A sly smirk split Terry's tired face in half, "Hmm, yes. She couldn't stay away." Merlin, he wanted her. Badly. Everything about her appealed to him. He overlooked the fact that she had thrown him into the loony bin.
Michael wasn't thrilled by Terry's tone or body language and cautioned, "Mate, let it go." The last thing he wanted was to see Terry get heartbroken once again.
"Not yet," Terry insisted defiantly.
Michael divulged, hoping to discourage his headstrong friend, "She's with Malfoy." The two weren't a conventional couple, but it was abundantly clear from how they moved around each other that something was blossoming.
Terry refused to believe a word of it and gritted out in frustration, "Oh yeah? Then why did she kiss me?" He could still feel the soft caresses of her lips under his. She hadn't responded as eagerly as he did, but he was sure she felt something.
Michael grew wide-eyed with disbelief. What sort of game was Hermione playing? She wasn't a cruel person or one to string along a man under false pretences. He could only imagine that Terry had greatly misunderstood the situation and twisted it to feed his infatuation.
Terry further added in a low yet determined tone, "I'm not giving up on Hermione Granger. Not yet, at least."
Michael opened his mouth to retort, but Terry cut him off and pressed, "Tell me about the cases."
Thinking it might not be the opportune time to mention the promotion, Michael settled down and spoke at great length and detail about the pending investigations and his reason for being on the Muggle Prime Minister's security detail.
The Next Morning
Draco spent the night at the DMLE. Emily and a few others, including Dennis Creevey, had grudgingly joined him for a late-night session of potion brewing and studying theory, but they had left close to dawn seeking the comfort of their beds.
His mind and body were exhausted, and he had a long day ahead, especially with the dinner at Malfoy Manor with the Grangers. He needed his wits about him to get through the night without incident.
Harsh rays of sunlight streamed through the windows and invaded his path. He breathed a sigh of relief and dragged his feet. He caught sight of his reflection and frowned. Prominent dark circles rimmed his startling eyes, and his hair was a complete knotted mess.
Concealing a yawn with the back of his hand, Draco decided he needed a long leisurely shower and a few hours of proper rest before he could properly function. He wondered if it would be prudent to drop by Granger’s office and bid her good morning before heading home.
It wasn't early by any means, nearly ten am. The floors were bustling with Ministry workers arriving to start their day. Draco exited the DMLE and took the flight of stairs instead of waiting for the lift. He arrived at the ground floor and almost collided with a mountain of a man with a little neck, who instantly flexed his muscles as if ready for confrontation.
The man looked at Draco in mild irritation and sneered, "Well, if it isn't Draco fucking Malfoy!"
Draco knew the deep, grating voice. He had heard it every day while at Hogwarts. They were bound to cross paths eventually.
Taking a step back, Draco studied the heavily tattooed formidable man and greeted somewhat icily, "Goyle." He bore no grudge against his former friend and housemate, but the same couldn't be said about the man glaring daggers at him.
Goyle snarled, "I heard you were back from hiding." He scrutinised Malfoy's form. The man seemed changed from their younger arrogant days. There was a specific difference that he couldn't quite put his chubby finger on, but he intended to find out what it was.
Draco took the insulting comment with a grain of salt and simply smiled before replying, "I wasn't in hiding."
Goyle leered. His teeth were treacherously yellow, "You always were a bit of a cowardly git, Malfoy." He purposely goaded, wholeheartedly welcoming an altercation.
Tempting as it was, Draco refused to take the bait. Instead, he chose to be the bigger man and nodded curtly with a swift, seemingly polite response, "It was good seeing you, Goyle."
Clearly, Goyle was not done with bringing up the past. It was evident from his tone that he held some profound resentment. He spat out the words, "If it weren't for Crabbe and me, you would've been pounded to death by the rest daily."
It pained him to mention their fallen friend. Malfoy was to blame for Crabbe's death. If he hadn't foolhardily led them into the Room of Requirement in search of Potter, Crabbe wouldn't have resorted to using Fiendfyre and been engulfed by the uncontrollable flames and centuries-old possessions.
Draco straightened, stared the fuming man dead in the eyes and nodded curtly, "I thank you for your service." It was a lowly dig and reminder of how the two dimwitted boys had been nothing more than his bodyguards during their school days.
Goyle gritted out, “Imagine my surprise at learning you had returned. Not a hello or owl to touch base with an old friend. I suppose you've met with Nott and Zabini.”
“I have,” Draco confessed without holding back.
Goyle’s face contorted unpleasantly as he spat out his displeasure, “I'm quite insulted by your behaviour, Malfoy.”
Draco couldn't care less about the man's feelings. He quite frankly wanted nothing to do with the former Slytherin, yet, he offered somewhat of an apology, “Well, I apologise if I offended you. It wasn't my intention.”
Goyle scratched his chin and smirked in an alluring fashion before asking, “How's your little fiancé?”
A brief moment of awkward silence engulfed them, but Draco managed a cagey reply, “She’s fine.” He felt the little hairs on the back of his neck come alive with unrest. Goyle’s interest in Granger set off numerous alarm bells. His whole demeanour changed from uninterested to actively aware in a matter of mere seconds.
Oblivious to Draco’s shift in mood, Goyle insisted in a tone of unconcealed pleasure, “She's turned into quite the looker, hasn't she?” He saw her occasionally, but of course, the Gryffindor swot paid him no attention. She would feel differently if she knew what hung between his legs.
Draco pursed his lips and contemplated his answer. He truly wished to roundhouse kick Gregory Goyle in the head and knock him out.
Goyle laughed outright, "She was right eyesore back at Hogwarts. Do you remember, Malfoy?"
Draco exhaled. Calm yourself, think of the temple, remember your teachings, and do not give in to anger and temptation, but Goyle’s lewd comments drilled into his mind, causing his newfound resolve to crumble around him.
Goyle straightened so that he was a foot or so taller than Draco and scowled, "Lucius would turn in his filthy grave if he knew his precious son was slumming it with a Mudblood."
Before Draco could contain himself, his hands balled into hardened fists. He hissed darkly, "My father was an egotistical maniac who brought nothing but pain and misery to anyone who remotely loved him."
Taking a bold step closer, he issued a dire warning, "And refrain from mentioning my future bride."
Goyle refused to back down, even though he was taken aback by Malfoy's out-of-character bravado. He puffed his chest out, stood his ground and countered somewhat menacingly, "Or what?"
Draco smiled rather serenely and said with enough conviction to cause Goyle to take an involuntary step back, "Clearly, we've both changed, Goyle. I doubt you want to find out just how much."
Goyle repeatedly poked Draco’s Auror badge and hissed, causing flecks of spit to leave his fleshy lips, "I'll see you around, Malfoy." He turned on his heel and fled before things accelerated beyond control.
"What did Goyle want?" Harry asked as he came rushing towards Draco like a raging bull intent on causing bodily harm.
Draco intently watched Goyle’s retreating figure. The man's robes trailed behind him as he walked hurriedly away. Turning to face the impatient head Auror, he answered as calmly as possible while trying to maintain an even tone, "Nothing of importance. Some things never change." Goyle had become worse, he was a rotten child, and obviously, his bullying ways had only manifested over time.
Harry concurred, his nostrils flaring, "Indeed." He wished he could toss Gregory Goyle into Azkaban and be done with it, but unfortunately, there were more prominent targets to uncover and arrest.
"The bloody bastard. He's got some nerve turning up here, after…." Harry trailed off once he realised he was not alone and that Malfoy was studying his behaviour with a raised quizzical brow and perplexed expression.
Draco regarded his former nemesis evenly and openly questioned, "Is there something you wish to share, Potter?" He could feel the uncertainty and hesitation radiating off Potter.
Harry battled with his internal thoughts. Did he trust Draco Malfoy? The answer was a resounding no, but on the very edges of that very prominent no was a silver lining of hope that maybe Malfoy was a changed man.
Deciding to take a leap of faith, Harry decided he would confide the truth to Malfoy and let whatever consequences that follow happen.
"Goyle and McLaggen sent Hermione the letter," Harry almost hissed out the repulsive truth. He was still coming to terms with the disturbing fact that Cormac was indeed loyal to an ex-Death Eater and werewolf.
Draco couldn't believe his ears. The culprit had been in their presence, out in plain sight, and most maddeningly, they had let the arsehole go.
He had to control his impulses not to grab Potter by his jacket and shake him like a ragdoll. Instead, he glared sternly and demanded, "Why in the name of Salazar is that monstrosity not under arrest?"
Harry gritted out in frustration, "If we arrest them, our informant's life will be in great danger." He was indubitably sure that Dorian Blackwood would prefer not to be labelled as a traitor and suffer a gruesome death.
"You're gambling with Granger's life, Potter," Draco accused without much thought to his harsh words. Had he known, he would've gladly plummeted Goyle and thrown his repulsive arse in prison.
Harry narrowed his eyes, the green in them barely visible, "Don't you dare assume to know anything or pretend to care about her wellbeing suddenly. I will never put Hermione in harm's way, is that fucking clear, Malfoy?"
Draco wasn't convinced, but he reluctantly agreed with dripping sarcasm, "Crystal." He understood the importance of the mission to unmask higher authorities who pose a threat, but Goyle could act impulsively and, on a whim, abduct Granger and do the unthinkable. The man was a certifiable moron with no conscience—a dangerous combination.
Her broken, violated, and bloodied body came to mind as it had before, and in that horrible moment, he was forced to close his eyes and exhale deeply to chase away the dark thoughts.
"Did you just arrive?" Harry asked sceptically. He was prying into the man's whereabouts without a justifiable cause.
Draco attempted to run his fingers through his blonde locks and answered, suddenly overcome with exhaustion, "No, I spent the night studying in the potions room.
A thought came to mind. Draco cleared his throat and humbly requested, "I was wondering whether I would be permitted to take the day off."
Harry wasn't nearly convinced, "With your trials drawing close, do you think it's wise?" Wasn't it enough that he was heading off to Hawaii a week or so before the Auror examinations?
"I must attend a family dinner where my presence is mandatory," Draco mused. His absence would cause Granger and his mother to hunt him down and Avada him without remorse.
After a moment's thought, he divulged, "Hermione and her parents are coming over to the Manor for dinner."
The news was vaguely familiar. Perhaps Ginny had mentioned it in passing, but if their parents were meeting, it was certainly going beyond the marriage law and heading towards unknown territory.
Harry couldn't help but wonder how Hermione felt about all this. He had not gotten an opportunity to chat with her, and it seemed overdue, especially with her friendship with Ron being on the rocks.
Regarding Malfoy, who was apparently waiting for an answer, Harry gave in to his reasonable request and offered some solid advice candidly, "Right. Well, you best fix yourself up. You look like utter shite, Malfoy."
Draco frowned as Potter stifled a laugh, boarded the lift and disappeared as the doors closed.
Chapter 58
Summary:
To all the comments:- Thank you so much for the amazing feedback. I live for it! :)
I know I'm taking longer than usual to update. I hope I make up for the wait by supplying long chapters! :)
Harry takes Hermione out for lunch.
Hermione and Draco get ready for dinner.
Daphne learns of Luna's bundle of joy.
Teddy looks super forward to spending the weekend with Harry.
Enjoy Chapter Fifty-Eight!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
The Shaolin Temple, China.
The sun had barely risen, but Master Chun was awake before the crack of dawn. It had rained the night before, and as a ritual, he swept the fallen leaves that greeted him every morning outside his room.
It was therapeutic, and the slow motion of raking leaves satisfied his mind. Once content with his handiwork and neat area, Chun put aside the broom and headed towards the training hall to commence his morning routine. In nearly 50 years, he had not missed a day of training and heavy meditation.
He was always alone; the others saw fit to wake up after sunrise, and the ones that did generally stayed away from the main training hall. Without much care, Chun pushed open the heavy doors to the training hall and felt a presence. Not wanting to alarm the intruder or frighten the culprit, the experienced Master moved closer to the man, covered entirely in white.
Still, the build and shape were not consistent with a man. This wasn't an intruder looking to plunder the riches of the temple but a lost soul seeking solace.
Perplexed by her odd behaviour, Chun suspiciously inquired once he was sure of who it was, "Suri, is that you?" He opted to speak to her in English. Since Draco's departure, he hardly got a moment to practise his speech in a foreign tongue, and only Suri, besides the Abbott, could keep a conversation going.
Suri turned around and appeared momentarily embarrassed but flustered. She kept her eyes downcast and replied meekly, "Yes, Master Chun, I didn't see you."
Chun took in the long staff she held firmly and asked with a sceptically raised brow, "You're here early, dear." She had been spending more time at the temple than usual, and he couldn't help but wonder why that was.
Suri cleared her throat and gave her answer some thought, "Yes, I couldn't sleep. I was, umm, practising." She glanced meaningfully yet intentionally at the long staff adorned with red-dyed feathers at the top.
Chun was hardly convinced. The young woman was talented but barely practised with the sturdy wooden pole and seldom with a sword, except with Draco.
It dawned on him why she had arrived early, and her choice of weapon became blatantly obvious. He asked with a slight fond smile, "Hmm, I've known you since you were a child, Suri, but I have never trained you to handle a staff."
Suri looked deeply embarrassed. Her pale cheeks reddened, and she placed the staff back in its original place and faced her Master. She recited the truth, confirming Chun's assumption, "Oh, umm, Draco used this often." Unintentionally, her voice cracked when uttering the name.
Chun smiled knowingly and offered, "Ah, you miss him." He was fully aware of the pretty girl's infatuation with his former disciple, but impressively Draco had kept her at arm's length and behaved as a gentleman should.
Suri hardly saw reason to lie. It would have been futile since Master Chun would see right through them.
She confessed with an aching heart, "Yes, I do, very much."
Suri followed her heartfelt declaration with a genuine apology, "I’m sorry, Master.” She knew her feelings were wrong and misguided. Draco wasn’t one of them. Her father had taken it upon himself to remind her at every opportunity
Chun exhaled and comforted, “There’s nothing to apologise for. I am aware of your feelings for him.” He admitted with a fond smile, “I miss him too. He was like a son to me.”
Suri voiced what she had been meaning to ask for days, but the opportunity never presented itself, “Do you think he’s okay? He hasn’t written to you, has he?” Her eagerness for answers emitted off her in waves, and Chun couldn’t help but sympathise.
Master Chun’s features relaxed, and a fond smile curved his lips, “Not yet, but I trust he will soon enough. It takes time to settle into a new life. He’s been away from England for a long time.”
Suri nodded in understanding but couldn’t keep herself from expressing genuine concern, “I hope he’s well.”
Discarding her last statement, Chun became somewhat serious and instructed in an authoritative tone, “You should go home, Suri. Your parents will be looking for you.” Her parents were good people and wanted what was best for their children.
Suri obeyed without question; such was her upbringing, “Yes, Master.” She had left her home's suffocating confinement so early to escape her pressuring parents, who insisted she marry the nobleman’s son as promised.
Even though her intended husband was a kind-hearted, generous man, it would be a marriage of convenience because she truly loved another.
Master Chun watched Suri wipe a tear that rolled down her cheek as she fled the training hall in despair.
Teddy sat cross-legged on his bed in pale blue pyjamas while he awaited his grandmother to return with a glass of milk.
Sure enough, Andromeda strode in with a covered, tall glass of milk and beamed at her beloved grandchild. How much he resembled Nymphadora.
The similarities between the two brought forward the tears she held back, but she swallowed her emotions, placed the glass on the nightstand and sat on the snitch-printed bedspread next to Teddy.
She patted his head and enthused, “So, I have a wonderful surprise for you.”
Teddy took the glass of milk, drank a bit, wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and asked impatiently with the pure innocence of a child, “What is it, gran?”
Andromeda smiled warmly, “How would you like to spend the weekend with Uncle Harry and grandma Molly?”
The genuine happiness that radiated off the small boy was infectious. His hair turned purple, and he beamed, “Really?”
“Yes, really,” Andromeda concurred. She couldn't help but smile broadly.
Teddy tilted his head to the side and became rather serious, “But, if I leave for the weekend, won’t you be alone?” The boy was wise beyond his years and cared fiercely about his grandmother.
Barely controlling her emotions, Andromeda gathered her grandson in her arms and cradled him, “My dear boy, I will be just fine.”
Teddy felt excited about spending the weekend with Uncle Harry, yet, could he possibly leave his grandmother alone? She was all he truly had.
Andromeda let go and peered into Teddy’s anxious face, “It’s settled, darling. You will have a marvellous time. Besides, I will be there most of the time.” In reality, she couldn’t bare to be apart, and she secretly dreaded the day Teddy received his Hogwarts acceptance letter.
Teddy drained the glass of milk and gushed, “Thank you, gran.” He couldn’t wait to try out Aunt Ginny’s broom. It was wicked fast, and he loved flying above all other things.
The Ministry of Magic
The first half of Wednesday was thankfully slow, and the usual troublemakers had not seen fit to make an appearance. Thank Merlin for that.
In deep thought, Hermione drummed her fingernails on the desk and pondered. She had expected a visit from her forced fiancé to go over their evening plans, but he didn’t show, and his lack of attention concerned her.
Could Astoria Greengrass’s little impromptu visit cause problems?
Hermione was so caught up in her petty thoughts that she hardly heard the knock on the door nor its opening, but the voice that spoke snapped her out of the trance.
“Let's get some bloody lunch. We need to talk," Harry strode in and instructed somewhat authoritatively, leaving no room for argument.
Hermione shot to her feet as if on autopilot, grabbed her handbag and joined her best friend by the door. This was precisely what she needed to clear her head and perhaps share her thoughts and get some perspective into this whole dinner matter. Although, Harry might not be the best person to speak to about Malfoy.
"How have you been?" Harry asked curiously, breaking the seemingly awkward silence that engulfed them as they walked.
Hermione rolled her eyes at the pathetic attempt to make conversation. She playfully shoved Harry and quipped, "You absolute donkey."
Harry smiled and stuffed his hands inside his coat pockets while leading them out onto the busy streets packed to the brim with Londoners going about their business.
Their feet took them to a place they frequented often. It was a wizarding Italian restaurant that catered to Muggles and magical folk with an outstanding reputation for having the best prawn ravioli in the city.
The plump, well-dressed manager rushed in their direction and proceeded to fuss over them when they entered. It was always a special occasion when the saviour of the wizarding world paid them a visit.
"Ah, good afternoon, Alberto," Harry warmly greeted the enthusiastic man while slipping out of his heavy Auror coat.
Alberto beamed. It was an honour to serve the Chosen One and the Golden girl, "Welcome, Mr Potter and Miss Granger. Will the usual table suffice?"
"Yes, please," Hermione concurred and followed Alberto, who eagerly led the way.
The restaurant was modestly decorated, but the Michelin-star quality food had patrons rushing to the spectacular restaurant and getting a reservation was nearly impossible.
Once seated, Hermione instantly ordered a cornerstone of Italian cuisine, lasagne. The freshly baked dish was made of rich layers of fresh pasta covered in béchamel sauce and the famous ragù bolognese.
Harry opted for a risotto Alla Milanese. The tasty dish was freshly prepared with white wine, Parmesan cheese, and saffron to give its exact yellow colour. He was pretty partial to Italian cuisine.
Neither Harry nor Hermione required the menu. They knew it by heart from visiting the restaurant over a dozen times. Alberto took down the order, informed the kitchen and chef of the celebrity among them and returned with a complimentary bottle of red wine.
Harry and Hermione exchanged a look of uncertainty as the man holding the bottle hovered, impatiently waiting for an answer. Not wanting to appear rude and ungrateful, Hermione graciously accepted, "Thank you, Alberto. This gift is most generous."
Alberto chuckled, "Think nothing of it." He bowed slightly and left the friends in peace to dig into a bowl of freshly baked bread that smelled absolutely divine.
Once alone, Hermione addressed the elephant in the room, "Why didn't you tell me? I deserved to know." She wanted a plausible explanation as to why she had been kept in the dark over the matter of the letter.
Harry frowned. He buttered a piece of bread and sighed, "I know, and I'm sorry, but I just haven’t had the time to get around to anything, I know that’s no bloody excuse, and I’m sorry, love.”
He further explained, hoping to rectify his mistake, “It's hardly something you owl, text message or say over the phone." He had expected to bring it up over lunch, but she had beaten him to it.
"I suppose I understand. I still can't believe Mclaggen is involved in all this madness. It seems surreal," Hermione revealed, somewhat upset by the situation.
Harry gritted out, "He's an idiot, and people do stupid things when threatened or caged. I guess we will find out in time when we arrest him." He bit into the bread and savoured the taste of garlicky butter.
Hermione was taken aback and perplexed. She recalled Kingsley’s words and said, "Kingsley was rather clear that no arrest would be made until after whoever is behind these attacks is caught or revealed."
"That's correct. Arresting Goyle and McLaggen would put our informant's life in grave danger, and at this moment, he's all we've got and much too valuable to risk," Harry replied, confirming the Minister’s plan of action.
Harry looked at his friend and felt a wave of guilt wash over him, "I hope you understand." She had every right to demand they arrest the disgusting bastards responsible for sending such a pathetic letter.
However, Hermione nodded in agreement, "I understand." She knew what they were up against, and she had no intention of doing anything to jeopardise the investigation.
Still, she thought for a minute and requested, "Can you take off the security detail?" It was hardly necessary since Goyle and Cormac would not attempt to harm her in public.
"No," Harry said with resounding firmness that left practically no room for argument and followed it up with a quick explanation for Hannah's absence, "Abbott's with Thomas going over the whole Dollhouse Strangler case. The maniac has ceased all activity." Another torn in his side.
He smiled slightly, "I told her I was taking you out to lunch and that her presence wasn't required."
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Great." Though she put on a brave face and faced the situation with her head held high, she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling Goyle's involvement brought about in the pit of her being.
He hadn't frightened her in Hogwarts, but now, he was a mountain of a man who could severely damage her if he wished. The dreadful thought sent a shiver down her spine.
Harry caught sight of the shudder and raised a questioning brow. He couldn't help but ponder what caused Hermione to react in such a manner.
Trying to deviate the conversation towards more amusing matters, Harry candidly brought up Draco’s request for leave, "Malfoy asked for a holiday to get dolled up for a family dinner. I'm surprised you didn't skip work, considering the night you have coming up."
He teased her with good intentions, but the idea of Hermione’s parents visiting Malfoy Manor gave him the creeps.
Hermione grew wide-eyed in disbelief, "Malfoy told you about dinner?"
Harry shrugged, "Well, I wasn't aware it was a secret, but he did volunteer the information on his own."
He quipped, "Getting rather serious, aren't we? Especially for a ministry-appointed marriage." The words left a bitter taste in his mouth.
"It is not my decision, I'm afraid. Narcissa and my parents are quite determined to make this union as uncomfortable as possible," Hermione gritted out in annoyance.
Harry offered a sympathetic look and exclaimed, "I suppose they want what's best for you both. Your parents, in particular, are oblivious to our horrid past with Draco Malfoy."
"I don't know quite what to make of him, Harry. He's like an entirely different person," Hermione confessed with a heavy heart. She was utterly conflicted and at war with her inner self.
Harry scowled but grudgingly agreed, "Yes, he is different, but every snake sheds its skin. I will reserve my judgment of Draco Malfoy for later." It would take him a lot more time to come to terms with Malfoy’s redemption arc.
Their food arrived before Hermione could form a reply. The delicious aroma was enough to send their hunger pangs into a frenzy and make them forget Malfoy momentarily.
Hermione dug into her piping hot lasagne and first broke off a small piece to taste. Harry used her distraction to his advantage and offered some sensible advice, "Attend dinner with an open mind. You might be pleasantly surprised by the outcome."
"I suppose," Hermione answered but barely since her mouth was full. She wasn't convinced. The night ahead left her anxious and highly nervous.
They spoke of a great many things after, including visiting Hagrid at Hogwarts the next day and Harry's disappointment in being unable to tag along. Harry candidly depicted Ginny's childlike excitement about Hawaii and fondly mentioned how his weekend plans included Teddy.
Hermione beamed as she always did whenever Teddy was mentioned. She loved the little boy with all her heart and wished there were more hours in the day to spend with him.
Harry took a large mouthful of risotto and briefly spoke about Ron and how he desperately wanted to make amends for his crude behaviour and insensitive words.
Truthfully, Hermione hadn't spared Ron a second thought in days. Her mind was turning to mush since Malfoy's return.
It was an enjoyable lunch, yet, the meal she devoured with gusto at the start turned to ashes in her mouth as the minutes ticked by, bringing her closer to the evening plans.
Hermione pushed her plate aside and didn’t pursue it further, and Harry shot her a look of concern but offered no words of comfort. It was hard for him to remain optimistic and say anything remotely encouraging because it was Malfoy.
Hawaii
The couples sat around the table under the moonlight and stars and thoroughly and rather drunkenly enjoyed the fantastic luau, except for Luna. She had retired for the night after an exhausting day of sightseeing and exploring local culture and cuisine. Theo had insisted she stay, but she desperately needed to put her feet up and relax for a bit.
Hawaii was truly breathtaking, and thankfully, Luna had managed to hold her own and enjoy the sights without the feeling of nausea holding her at ransom. Near a particularly quaint boutique store, Daphne had come from behind and whispered so nobody else would hear, "How far along are you, darling?"
Luna's grip on the sunhat she was holding and contemplating to buy tightened. A surge of emotions washed over her as she muttered in a weak voice, "Six weeks."
Daphne gushed, "That's wonderful, darling."
Luna panicked. She grabbed hold of Daphne's hand and pleaded, "Please! You can't tell Theo."
"You have my word," Daphne promised with a warm smile.
She winked, "I'll cover for you until you're ready to share this joyous news."
Luna chewed on her bottom lip and asked timidly, "Do you think he will be pleased?"
Daphne caught Blaise and Theo joking, laughing aloud, and nodded, "Theo will be overjoyed."
Her face fell in sadness at once, and she enlightened, "The Slytherin boys never had the best father figures."
Luna listened intently while Daphne continued, "Blaise never knew his father. In many ways, after watching his friends suffer at the hands of their fathers, he was glad not to know.”
Daphne unconsciously touched her flat stomach and said, “When I became pregnant with Carrie, I was ecstatic, but he questioned himself constantly. Still, after her birth, he's been the most doting father." She happily concluded her little story, with tears blurring her vision.
Oh, how much she missed her sweet children. She spoke to them daily, and Astoria and Tracey seemed to be doing a great job of looking after them.
Luna wiped the rogue tear that slid down her cheek with the back of her hand and smiled gratefully, "Thank you, Daph."
Daphne took Luna's hand, and hand in hand, they walked among the handcrafted wear and beautiful homemade jewellery that piqued Luna's interest prompting her to buy a few items.
After lunch with Harry, Hermione decided she had enough work, and the wine they consumed over the meal settled nicely. She wanted a few luxurious hours to herself to prepare mentally for the evening.
However, Hannah was waiting for her as she returned to fetch her coat and glasses that she had carelessly left on her desk. Abbott was great fun, but on a day like this, Hermione truly craved solitude.
"Ah, how was lunch?" Hannah asked with an amused expression.
Harry grinned, "Entertaining as always. I'm a barrel of laughs."
Brenda snorted at the comment, and everyone stared at her for a fleeting moment. She coughed to hide her reaction.
"However, I think dinner at Malfoy Manor will be much more entertaining," Harry divulged with a slight smile. He wasn't overly enthusiastic over it for obvious reasons but took his leave without uttering a further word.
Hermione groaned and massaged her temples. Oh, not a headache, not today. Come on!
"Are you alright, Hermione? You look rather pale," Hannah inquired after peering into her friend's face in genuine concern.
Hermione pulled on her coat and attempted to smile, "I'm fine, honestly. Let's call it a day, shall we?"
Hannah teased with a wink, "Ah, heading off early to doll yourself up before the big night?"
Hermione frowned, "Don't be silly. I am tired and want to relax. Is that a crime?"
Brenda listened to the conversation and chuckled, "Not at all." She added with a cheeky grin as Hermione and Hannah passed her desk, "Have a fun night."
Stopping in her tracks, Hermione groaned. Did everyone know about the infamous dinner? She knew why she dreaded it but what was everyone's problem? Parents of would-be couples met often. Why was this so bloody different?
Oh, that's right, he's a one-time pureblood fanatic and absolute tosser who loathed her, and she was a Muggleborn witch who gleefully punched him for being a pointy-nosed little smug bastard.
Hannah was acutely aware Hermione needed space, and they maintained a companionable silence throughout the trip to her flat. Malfoy had let slip about the dinner during a conversation, but oddly he seemed rather thrilled by the prospect of his mother meeting Hermione's family.
They entered the flat. Hermione kicked off her shoes and headed towards the bedroom. She glanced over her shoulder and said, "There should be some non-alcoholic grape wine in the fridge. Help yourself to the cheese."
Hannah grinned, "Thanks." She went in search of food. The meeting with Thomas had run later than anticipated, and she had skipped lunch. It was an occupational hazard. The thought of the session left a bitter taste in her mouth. They were no closer to catching the murdering maniac than when they first started, and to make matters worse, the sadistic man had disappeared without so much as a trace.
Having located the non-alcoholic beverage, she was tempted to indulge in the red wine bottle next to it, but with a heavy heart, Hannah took out the bottle and cheese intended for her and closed the fridge door in frustration.
Hermione changed into shorts and a simple shirt and glanced at the clock, quarter past three. There was ample time for her to get ready. Perhaps a nap would be wise, she thought to herself.
Deciding it sounded perfect, Hermione threw back the duvet and slid under the heavy material. She sighed in comfort and shut her eyes. Before long, she was fast asleep.
Kingsley looked down the red-carpeted hallway expecting to find some dodgy being spying on him, but all seemed well. He gave Harry a nod of approval and knocked on the white-painted door with gold outlining to symbolise the hotel's prominent stature.
They heard the scurrying of feet from inside the room. Both men exchanged looks of caution and kept their wands at the ready, but the door opened, and Constantine, the Romanian Minister of Magic, greeted them solemnly, "Kingsley, it was good of you to come. Please come in." Gone was the arrogance. It was replaced by the sheer will and determination to save his people.
Harry and Kingsley walked into the suite of the Ritz Carlton, London and stood on the plush carpet awaiting further instruction.
A man dressed in dark blue robes, with his hair combed to the side, approached them with a slight smile and offered kindly, "Please, make yourself comfortable. Sit."
Harry wasn't keen on complying, but he followed Shacklebolt's lead and sat down on the chintz armchairs made available for them.
Constantine snapped his fingers, and refreshments were served almost instantly. Only once the server placed the steaming pot of tea on the glass table did he sit down to address his guests.
He hung his head and thought long and hard about what he would say. After a few moments of awkward silence, he gritted out, "Romania needs your assistance. My people are suffering. My men are dying." There was a genuineness to his tone that struck a chord with Kingsley.
Swallowing his pride, Constantine grudgingly expressed, "I need your help."
Kingsley and Harry listened intently and drank in the cry for help. It was inevitable, and had Constantine not been so pigheaded, the lives of hundreds of his men could have been spared.
Leaning forward, Kingsley poured himself a cup of tea, leaned back and silently watched the spirals of steam disappear into nothingness.
Constantine narrowed his eyes and impatiently studied the imposing olive-skinned man who sipped his tea without care. Harry shifted nervously in his seat, hoping Kingsley would speak soon or offer assistance.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Kingsley spoke, his deep voice commanding authority, "I thought you would never ask. The British Ministry of Magic is at your service."
Constantine visibly relaxed, the twitch in his right eye ceased immediately, and a sense of relief washed over him. Yet, he felt like an utter failure for being unable to solve the problem on his own as his predecessors had, but none had faced such a dangerous advisory as the Alpha King.
"Tell me everything," Kingsley encouraged, and Constantine held nothing back. He divulged everything of importance, including the threat to his life and how the enemy was advancing with force and determination.
Kingsley listened, his temper rising with every word Constantine uttered. If Romania fell, it would spell disaster for the rest of the world. They had hoped to coexist with werewolves and build relationships, but if they were adamant about world domination and violence, so be it.
Hermione's flat
Hermione struggled to find a few peaceful hours of sleep, and when she heard the faint but deranged cackling of Bellatrix take precedence, she forced herself awake, sat up and rubbed the sleepiness out of her eyes. Not today, bitch.
Hermione drew a long breath and let it out as she realised she was taking her parents to socialise and have dinner at a location where she had been tormented and branded.
Again, the unfairness of the situation rose in the form of bile in her mouth.
No, you will not entertain such thoughts tonight, she stubbornly told herself. Besides, the area of the Manor, stained by her blood and occupied mainly by Voldemort, was magically concealed by Narcissa or refurbished beyond recognition. In all their time together, neither party ever mentioned that dreadful night.
The flat was quiet, and Hermione thought it odd. Usually, the sound of the telly could be heard when Hannah was around, but it was unnervingly silent.
Grabbing her wand, Hermione stole out of her room and found Hannah sprawled across the sofa, fast asleep. A tub of half-eaten chocolate chip ice cream melted away, and beads of condensation edged towards the surface of the newly polished wooden table.
Hermione fought the urge to laugh. Instead, she picked up the tub, returned it to its rightful place in the freezer and made a beeline for the bathroom, taking care not to wake her bodyguard from a seemingly deep sleep.
After letting the water run to fill the tub, Hermione added some sweet-smelling bath salts and, using her hand, mixed it in well with the lukewarm water. She had a few measly hours to kill before making herself presentable.
She let the salts settle before discarding her clothes and slipping into the luxurious comfort of the bath she had drawn for herself. At that moment, nothing existed but the soapy texture caressing her skin and warmth seeping into the pores of her skin.
Hermione threw her head back, rested it on the smooth surface of the edge and groaned in pure exhilaration.
Malfoy Manor
Draco awoke from a deep slumber. He could barely remember reaching his room, but he vaguely recalled Dotty offering him a spot of breakfast, which he had obviously refused. He had fallen asleep in nothing more than a pair of black cotton boxers.
It took him a while to gather his bearings. These Auror trials were excruciating, more than the actual job. He sat on the edge of the bed, ran his long fingers through his hair and groggily glanced at the large antique clock that had hung for generations in his room.
It dawned on him that Granger and her parents were expected for dinner in a matter of hours, and he had to shower, get dressed and show up at their home to escort them back to the Manor.
Fuck. He should've gotten up hours ago and mediated to calm his inner raging thoughts of causing Gregory Goyle bodily harm. The bastard had some nerve waltzing into the Ministry of Magic after sending Granger such a disgusting letter.
There was hardly time for idle thought. Draco got to his feet, did some much-needed exercises to get the blood circulating and rushed into the bathroom. He caught sight of his reflection, and the unkempt sight did not please him.
He reeked. Potter was absolutely right. He looked and smelled like shite.
Hermione's flat
Hannah turned over in her sleep and fell right off the sofa. She cursed out loud on impact and struggled to sit up. She desperately needed to relieve herself, the bloody non-alcoholic grape wine had filled her bladder to the brim, and she was about to piss herself.
Without much thought, she rushed into the bathroom, but unfortunately, it was occupied, and the occupant made her presence abundantly clear in a loud voice, “Hannah! What the hell are you doing?”
Not one for explanations, Hannah ignored the naked woman in the tub and went straight for the commode with an apologetic, “I'm sorry, Granger, but I need to fucking go.”
Meanwhile, Hermione couldn't believe the awkward situation but calmly summoned the robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door with her wand. She reluctantly got out of the tub, exposing herself completely to the other woman before slipping into the robe and leaving with the sounds of Hannah desperately trying to pull down her trousers.
She closed the door behind her and stood patiently outside with soap suds stuck to her hair and body until Hannah finished. The scenario was quite hilarious and unprecedented.
Seconds later, Hannah emerged looking sheepish and embarrassed, “Um, I'm really sorry about that, Hermione.”
Hermione couldn't help but snort. She replied with a good-natured smile, “Are you done? Because I need to shower and get ready for this sodding dinner.”
Hannah hurriedly moved out of the way and grinned, “All yours.” She walked towards the living room, blinked rapidly and tried to forget the luscious image of Hermione's curvy naked behind.
After a quick shower, Hermione returned to the privacy of her room and locked the door behind her to avoid any untimely intrusions. She marched over to her cupboard full of clothes. She threw the doors open and surveyed the many dresses and tasteful outfits that hung in a neat row.
What to wear? Something classy, of course, but daring and sexy? No, of course not. Her parents and his would be in attendance. If only she could find that perfect balance, and voilà, the suitable dress caught her attention.
Taking the dress out carefully, Hermione laid it on the bed and scrutinised it. It was an emerald green raw silk dress with long sleeves and a moderate neckline that hugged her figure in the right places, and fell to her knees.
Quite frankly, she had forgotten about its existence. If memory served her correctly, she had bought the dress while on a diplomatic tour of Italy. The dress matched perfectly with her beautiful engagement ring. She supposed it was fitting.
She fished out a black lacy thong, brought it up her legs and secured it at the right place before gingerly picking up the dress and slipping into it. The material moulded flawlessly to her figure, and she helped it further by smoothening it with the palm of her hand. She brought the jade pendant, and chain Malfoy gifted to the front and gazed at it in fascination.
Once satisfied that the outfit was a perfect choice, Hermione searched for the heels to match the dress. It was her favourite part.
Placing the four-inch black open-toe heels by the foot of the bed, Hermione sat at the dressing table and applied a simple layer of makeup. Her fingers trembled as they closed around the eyeliner pencil. Still, she managed to apply it expertly and finished off the look with a nude shade of lipstick.
Not bothering to style her hair, she let it sit naturally, wild, unbridled and free. The unruly curls twisted and wound their way down her back and framed her face gloriously. It added that extra touch of sexiness she was hoping for.
Hermione looked in her jewellery box until she located the velvet box. She opened it, took out tiny yet flattering diamond earrings her grandmother gifted her on her sixteenth birthday and attached them to each ear.
Getting to her feet, she looked at herself in the floor-length mirror she had installed and hardly recognised the woman staring back at her, oozing with confidence and grace though she felt a jumpy wreck at the moment. The engagement ring glowed brightly as if showing its approval, and Hermione was distracted by its beauty.
She spoke to it gently, “You approve of this match, don’t you?” Generations of Malfoy wives had worn the ring, but none with her linage, yet, the exquisite piece of jewellery responded positively towards her.
It was pretty baffling but damagingly pleasing at the same time. She was at a complete loss for words.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione walked into the living room to inform Hannah it was time to leave. The plan was to meet Malfoy at her parents' house and go to Malfoy Manor.
Hannah caught sight of Hermione, gave an approving nod and smiled devilishly, “Malfoy is going to have a hard time keeping his hands to himself.”
Hermione appreciated the compliment. She sat down carefully so as not to wrinkle her dress and sighed, “This is happening, isn't it, Hannah?” It felt slightly odd to speak about her feelings with someone other than Harry or Ginny, but Hannah had proven herself to be a loyal and considerate friend.
Hannah smiled and did her best to reassure the worried woman sitting next to her, “Yes, it is, but it doesn't have to be all bad, Granger.” She truly believed Malfoy was the one for Hermione. The Algorithm was math in its purest form mixed with complex magic and not to be taken lightly.
She included thoughtfully, “Malfoy is different. At least, I think he is, but I understand what you’re feeling. I get that he was beyond horrid to you, but give him a chance to make amends. He might surprise you.”
Hermione closed her eyes and let Hannah’s words sink in. They held profound meaning and merit.
Malfoy Manor
Draco slowly slipped into the new Versace slim-fit shirt and buttoned himself up. Once done, he ran his fingers gently across the black beaded bracelet on his wrist and tucked it neatly out of sight from prying eyes. He wondered how everyone at the temple was fairing and made a mental note to write to them as soon as possible.
He wore a new suit, an all-black ensemble complete with a black tie and white gold cufflinks. His platinum locks were longer. He brushed them back, the strands tickling his forehead and smiled at his reflection. Gone were the sleepiness and dark circles around his eyes. He smelled manly and enticing.
Draco knew he looked different from his younger years. The jaw was more prominent, his skinny seeker frame had filled out with the right amount of muscle, and he was inches taller than his former teenage self.
The slick-haired git he had once been was but a mere memory of a more unpleasant time. Still, Draco couldn't help but think of how his former arrogant self would taunt the man he was now.
He was getting dressed and ready to escort Hermione Granger's parents to dinner. His younger self would have laughed in his face, belittled him and refused to entertain such a preposterous notion of fraternising with Muggleborns.
Salazar, he had been such a fucking prick.
Draco held his wand at the ready, left the sanctuary of his room, and walked down the hallway until he was at the top of the stairs. Pointing his wand towards the ceiling, he concentrated hard and recited the ancient words his mother taught him. The wards placed upon Malfoy Manor adjusted for the night to permit visitors from outside their realm to enter.
Satisfied by his handiwork, Draco glanced at the clock; it was a quarter to six pm. He quickly jogged down the stairs and heard his mother's voice coming from the foyer. He entered the area and found her conversing with Bernard, with Max resting next to her foot. The eager German Shepherd ran up to Draco and demanded affection.
While patting the dog on the head, Draco grinned, “Good evening.” He was careful not to get Max’s saliva on his new suit.
Bernard raised his crystal tumbler of scotch in Draco’s direction and mused, “Ah, everyone's present and accounted for.” He was smartly dressed in a classic black suit making him appear sophisticated and worldly.
Narcissa scolded, “Oh, hush, Bernard. Now is not the time for poorly thought-out jokes.”
Draco kissed his mother on the cheek and gushed, “Mother, you look lovely.” She wore a high-neck, floor-length dress in a flattering shade of fuchsia and a string of priceless pearls and matching earrings.
Narcissa smiled, yet her voice cracked, which was rather out of character, “Thank you, darling, but I must admit that I am anxious about meeting our future in-laws. Hopefully, we won't offend them by doing something they deem out of place.”
Draco looked around pointedly. The Manor was spotless, with beautiful Venetian glassware proudly on display. He advised somewhat firmly, “Relax, mother. Everything looks perfect.”
He followed up with an amused expression, exchanging a look with the older gentleman in the room, “Bernard, will you tell her to calm down?”
Bernard downed his scotch and chuckled, “She’s not the only one shitting bricks, mate.”
Narcissa scolded, “Bernard!” Max jumped onto the older man's lap and tried to lick his face.
Draco could hardly hold back the laughter. Still, out of the corner of his left eye, he noticed a shy creature hiding behind his mother's chair and complimented without hesitation, “Dotty, don't you look pretty? Is that a new dress?”
Dotty emerged from behind wearing a lovely bright yellow silk dress and new, slightly heeled shoes. She smiled broadly and bowed, “Yes, sir.” She resembled a miniature sun rushing about the place. Draco couldn't help but wonder how the Grangers would react to Dotty.
It was getting late, and he was needed elsewhere. Turning to give his mother his full attention, he explained briefly, “I will take your leave and return shortly with the Grangers.”
“Of course, son,” Bernard answered first and poured himself two fingers' worth of scotch. He was somewhat feeling edgy himself. Even though he had been around plenty of Muggles, it was still nerve-wracking to meet Hermione Granger’s parents and grandmother. Sure, they sounded lovely, but what if all this was a bit much for them?
“Draco?” Narcissa addressed her only son before he left. Her tone of voice held a profound amount of unmistakable emotion.
Draco stopped dead in his tracks and inquired with interest, “Yes, mother?” He had seen her terrified, defiant, and helpless, but never this anxious and flustered.
Narcissa almost whispered painstakingly, “I love you.”
Draco returned to his mother's side, went down on one knee, took her hands in his and gently brushed her fingers with an affectionate kiss.
He responded adequately, “As I love you. Please try to calm yourself. Honestly, I've never seen you so overexcited. Granger's parents are humble, down-to-earth, good people.”
Narcissa cupped her beloved son’s face and nodded slowly, “Yes, I know.” She had entertained Ministers, tyrants, merciless fiends and dignitaries but never felt this uneasy over a function.
Bernard handed Narcissa a glass of wine and instructed while Draco got to his feet and hurriedly left the Manor with Max trailing after him, “Drink this, darling. It will appease your rattled nerves.”
Having arrived early, Hermione introduced Hannah to her parents, and before long they were getting along famously. Her mother complimented her on how lovely she looked, and her grandmother agreed wholeheartedly. The atmosphere was pleasing, but she desperately needed to be alone.
Hermione headed to her old room and locked herself inside. She sat on the bed, took a deep, cleansing breath and looked around. So much had changed.
Her roaming eyes fell on the worn Gryfindor scarf hanging from the floor lamp, old school tie and numerous pictures from Hogwarts. Using her wand, Hermione summoned a framed photograph of Ron, Harry, Ginny and herself from their fourth year, if she wasn't mistaken. Taking the wooden frame in her hands, she peered lovingly at the moving, laughing, joyful younger version of herself and felt her heartache.
She left the picture on her bed, walked over to the window that gave a spectacular view of the garden and stared into the distance in deep thought.
Draco appeared near Julia Granger's famous red rose bushes. The sun was setting, and the sky was streaked with orange and reddish hues.
Hermione's breath hitched as she saw Malfoy approach from her bedroom window. All six feet two inches of him were clad in black.
The many garden lights illuminated his pathway, yet his eyes shone with undeterred purpose as he strode towards them with a panther-like stride, looking utterly magnificent. Hermione’s heart pounded with every forceful step he took.
She could see him smile broadly, and Hermione assumed her parents or grandmother were the reason, but she was wrong; it was Hannah. They seemed to exchange innocent air kisses, and Malfoy playfully, as always, tugged on Hannah’s ponytail. Hermione craned her neck to see more, but they disappeared from her view once they entered the house.
Draco entered through the wide back entrance into the kitchen with Hannah in tow. Julia and Phyllis greeted him at once, but his fiance seemed to be missing. It wasn't like Granger to receive him with open arms and enthusiasm, yet, he expected to be present when he arrived.
Phyllis looked at her watch and said happily, “Ah, Draco, right on time.” She wore a two-piece salmon pink suit with a gorgeous rose brooch pinned to the front.
Julia smiled warmly and gushed, “Good evening, son. My, don't you look dashing.” She looked stunning in a long black dress with simple white gold jewellery and light makeup.
Richard appeared out of nowhere and greeted, “Good evening, my boy.” He looked rather spirited in a dark grey suit and shirt to match.
Hannah hovered in the background and shot Draco amused glances. Now that he was present, Hermione was in good hands, and she could take her leave, but only after everyone left. She desperately wanted to see Malfoy’s reaction to Hermione’s outfit.
Draco nodded slightly and exclaimed, “Good evening, Mrs Granger, and might I add how lovely you look.” Hannah rolled her eyes at the utterly pathetic display of good manners and swallowed the snort that almost broke free.
Julia reminded gently, “You must learn to call me Julia.”
Phyllis cleared her throat and adjusted her jacket. Draco hurriedly paid a compliment to the Granger Matriarch, “And Nana, you are a vision in pink.” He laid it on thick. Upsetting Grandma Granger would not bode well for him in the future.
Phyllis chuckled, “What a load of codswallop, but aren't you a gentleman?”
Richard was thoroughly sick of the exaggerated slew of compliments and whatnot.
He truly hoped Malfoy would not bestow some ludicrous praise on him, and before he could, Richard voiced his opinion laced with sarcasm, “Yes, yes, he's got impeccable manners. Shall we get going?”
“Richard!” Julia scolded. Her husband had clearly left his manners elsewhere. Hannah chuckled from her place by the kitchen sink and stuck her tongue out at Draco, who took it with good humour and laughed at himself, but where was Granger? He needed to see her.
Hermione heard the voices and took several deep breaths to calm herself. It's just dinner, she repeated to herself, but her fingers trembled with overwhelming anxiety.
As she came down the stairs, the sound of her heels colliding with the wooden floors alerted everyone to her presence, and they looked in her direction.
Draco couldn't help but stare. His eyes unashamedly and eagerly roved over every inch of her in high appreciation before settling on her face. Without much thought, he automatically moved closer and offered his hand for her to take the second she reached the bottom step.
Hermione didn't hesitate, she accepted his gesture, but once she did, Draco led her away from the group of people, who were watching them intently and peered into her face.
She was paler than usual and shaking somewhat. Her behaviour and appearance prompted him to ask in concern, “Are you alright, Granger?” What was the cause of such panic?
Unable to string coherent words together, Hermione nodded. She was having a mild panic attack.
Draco wasn't entirely convinced. He was no simpleton. Holding her close, he moved them further away and muttered so only she could hear, “You’re trembling.”
Hermione mumbled, “I'm fine.” She was far from fine, but she was an adult, not some teenage girl, and she would pull herself together and get through the night with grace and poise.
Draco took out his wand and gently tapped his tie with the tip. The colour changed from black to one that matched the exact shade of her dress.
He smirked in an effort to lighten the mood and mused, “That's better, isn't it?”
His Windsor knot was crooked, and despite her flustered state, Hermione couldn't help but adjust it, “Yes, much better.” She inhaled deeply. That smell. His smell. Him. All of him.
Her fingers lingered for a second or so longer on his person. She felt something for him despite herself. It scared her far more than anything she had experienced.
Despite their audience, Draco couldn't hold his tongue nor control the raging hormones that sprang to life around Granger. He kissed her hand and confessed almost painfully, “You’re beautiful.”
Hermione blushed. She looked directly into his mesmerising eyes and argued, defiant to the end, “Stop saying that. You used to think I was the dirtiest creature. Someone unworthy to be touched by you.”
Ignoring the comments, Draco brazenly yet gently cupped her face and embraced her deeply in full view of her family. He whispered between kisses, “Let the past go, Granger. I would gladly spend days touching every inch of you." Thankfully, they weren’t within earshot of her parents. However, everyone could get a glimpse of what they were doing.
Surprising everyone and more so herself, Hermione let herself be ravaged in full view of her family.
She didn't hesitate to hold onto him and moulded her lips perfectly to his. It was exactly what she needed to calm her rattled nerves. She needed to drown in his possessive kisses and feel his teeth sink into her bottom lip.
His fingers moved into her hair as he explored the expanse of her mouth with his tongue. After a few moments, he muttered desperately, “Learn to take a compliment, Granger." She was largely shielded from the rest by his broad form.
Hannah rolled her eyes and fought the urge to remind the embracing couple that they weren't alone, but Richard beat her to it. He loudly cleared his throat, causing Julia to frown.
Her husband was such an insensitive lout. Her daughter was finally letting her guard down and exploring the possibilities of a relationship, or so she thought.
Julia knew there was some unpleasantness between the two in the past, but she also truly believed they could overcome and give their marriage a proper try.
The couple reluctantly broke apart as if brought back to reality by some invisible entity. Hermione turned away in embarrassment and touched her kiss-swollen lips.
Draco somewhat grudgingly moved away, straightened to his full height and said in a partly carrying voice, “Right. Of course. We best get a move on.”
Hermione gathered her composure and replied with a shy smile, “Yes, I suppose. We mustn't be tardy.”
Draco smiled and politely offered, “I will escort your mother and grandmother.”
“I will bring dad,” Hermione added with a genuine smile. She wasn't blind. He was different. It was as if he had changed entirely, but could it be too good to be true? He could hurt her far worse than anyone else.
Draco boldly tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and instructed gently, “Meet me near the fountain.” Why did she look so vulnerable yet enticing?
Hermione nodded in agreement, bit her bottom lip and answered, “Yes, I will.” Why did he have to look so sinful? He was making her want things. Forbidden things that would be frowned upon and considered inappropriate of an Undersecretary.
Closing the gap between himself and the older Granger ladies, Draco offered his arm to both and invited, “If you would do me the honour.” Phyllis held on tight and pondered if her fragile heart could withstand whatever was about to happen.
Hannah was still hanging around drinking in the drama, and Draco spoke directly to her, “See you tomorrow, Abbott.”
He led the relatively nervous ladies into the garden. They held onto him tightly, making him slightly wince, but he offered words of reassurance, "You're in safe hands."
Draco closed his eyes and concentrated hard on the destination. Within seconds the familiar feeling of apparation encompassed him and the ladies holding onto him for dear life. They disappeared into the night without leaving a trace.
Hermione watched Draco leave with her mother and grandmother with mixed feelings. They trusted him. Why couldn't she?
She sighed, slowly approached Hannah and smiled, “Thank you for the advice, Hannah.” She somewhat trusted her old friend's judgment. Besides, Hannah and Malfoy seemed to be getting quite close from their behaviour.
Hannah winked and grinned mischievously, “Have a good night.” With those famous last words, she waved her wand and disapparated with a loud crack.
Richard held out his arm and gushed, “Come on, princess.” He examined his daughter's face and became worried, “You seem a bit out of sorts.”
Hermione took his arm and confessed, “I guess I am a little nervous.”
Richard patted her hand resting on his forearm and teased, “I didn't know you and Draco were an item.”
Hermione blushed and had the grace to look mildly ashamed, “Oh, the kiss? No, we aren't. I really don't know what we are, but I know I don't feel anything romantic towards him.”
Richard let out a hearty chuckle, “You sure fooled me.”
Hermione tried to defend her words and actions, but she hardly got anything out, “But, I….”
Richard interrupted with words of pure assurance, “It'll be alright, love. I'm always here to support you.” His hold on her arm tightened to solidify his words of protectiveness. A father's love knows no bounds. He would do everything in his power to protect her.
Hermione took out her wand, kissed her father on the cheek and replied before they disapparated, “I know, dad. I love you.”
In another part of London
Sarah stood under the shower. She let the water wash away the filth of a man who violated her repeatedly.
It would be over soon, she stubbornly told herself. It was the sheer will to survive that kept her sanity intact.
She cleaned herself thoroughly since it was a special occasion. He was taking her into Muggle London to buy some clothes and things as promised.
The monster had drummed it into her head while he raped her that any disobedient behaviour would be met with dire circumstances. She had to be vigilant and make her move at the opportune moment.
Chapter 59
Notes:
To all the comments:- I'm so humbled! Thank you from the bottom of my heart!
HAPPY NEW YEAR, ALL!
Goodness, what a tiring and stressful December.
Please accept my sincerest apologies for the delay, but please know that this fic will never be abandoned.
I hope everyone enjoys the update!
Much love to all!
Enjoy Chapter Fifty-Nine!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
DMLE
Hannah was in no mood to return to an empty flat. She envied Granger and Malfoy's situation. Sure, they loathed each other, or so they led on, but at least they had each other. It had been years since she had a relationship. Random hookups could hardly be considered relationships, mainly in the Muggle world.
The Algorithm hadn't seen fit to pair her up with anyone, well, at least not yet. It was only a matter of time before she was, and while she looked forward to finding out who her soul mate was, Hannah dreaded the judgment that would come once her preferences were made known.
The DMLE was empty except for a few, mainly recruits. Hannah recognised Dennis Creevy and the pretty girl next to him. She couldn't help but wonder who that was. The girl seemed too sweet and innocent to be an Auror.
Shrugging the feeling off, Hannah scanned the area for Thomas, he usually worked late, but unfortunately, he was nowhere in sight. She supposed he was with Potter and Kingsley trying desperately to figure out who the leader of the werewolf uprising was.
The Dollhouse Strangler case was hers to obsess over and, by extension, Malfoy's since they were partners. Hannah sat at her desk, pulled a thick envelope towards her, and put her feet up.
Her heavy boots landed on the table with a loud thud, and the undone laces fell haphazardly. She took out the blowup pictures of the angelic dead women she had looked over a hundred times and proceeded to scrutinise them.
Her eyes landed on the pendant. Something was distinctively familiar about them, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.
Malfoy Manor
Draco arrived first, with Phyllis and Julia holding onto him for dear life. Both had their eyes shut and lips pursed.
They appeared as planned by the cupid fountain. The women let go of the young man who had helped them travel utilising magic and slowly opened their eyes.
It was apparent by their expressions that they were taken aback by what greeted them. Malfoy Manor stood majestically, firm and proud. The Manor was lit up much like a fairytale castle. Narcissa had made sure to fully use the extensive lighting system the Manor was fitted with.
The ancestral home stood out against the bleak background gloriously. It was a beautiful home once the darkness that coloured its walls faded away.
"Oh my," the words of awe left Julia's lips while her eyes took in the surroundings. She had gathered by Draco's poise and upbringing that he came from a well-to-do family, but what lay before her was beyond comprehension. The captivating scent of red roses hung abundantly, pulling her into its velvety embrace. Before her were immaculately maintained gardens as far as the eye could see.
Phyllis stood silently by Draco's side, flabbergasted and perplexed by her surroundings. Her lack of vocal banter prompted Draco to inquire in concern, "Nana, are you quite alright?" He stared into her mesmerised face and prayed to Merlin for signs of life. If he had unfortunately caused Granger's grandmother to fall ill, it would certainly spell disaster for the evening.
He gently touched the wise older woman's arm, and Phyllis snapped to attention, "Yes, dear boy. I'm well." Far from it, she had expected a modest home but certainly nothing of this grandeur.
She adjusted her salmon pink jacket and stated plainly, "That is certainly an interesting way to travel."
Meanwhile, Julia had moved away from them and gravitated towards the most luscious row of rose bushes she had ever seen. Her fingertips moved on their own accord over the flourishing blossoms.
"How beautiful," she muttered to no one in particular. The sun was setting, leaving a gorgeous orangish hue in its wake. The changing colours truly complimented the Manor adding to its imposing, regal status.
Draco glanced over his shoulder and then stared at the angel guarding the fountain with furrowed brows as if to ask the statue where Granger was. Momentary disturbing thoughts fluttered within his mind. Could she and her father have been attacked? Had some calamity befallen them? Was that the reason they were late?
Had Goyle kidnapped her? The very thought was enough to spur him into action. He reached for his wand but barely had time to wrap his fingers around it since, with a loud crack Hermione appeared with a visibly mortified Richard Granger.
Richard broke free from his daughter's protective hold the second their feet touched solid ground. He doubled over and fought the bile that rose in his throat. Clearly, apparation did not agree with him.
Hermione patted her father tenderly on the back and asked in growing concern, "Merlin, dad are you okay? Are you hurt?"
Draco hurried over, glanced at Richard, trying desperately to gather his bearings and fixed Hermione with a stern look.
"Why are you late?" He questioned in an authoritative tone while ignoring his future father-in-law, who was pale and quite frankly looked ready to vomit.
Hermione reluctantly tore her gaze away from her father and frowned at the imposing man standing before her.
She scoffed openly, the annoyance apparent in her voice, "Dad and I had a little chat. Besides, don't you think you're overreacting, Malfoy? It's hardly been fifteen minutes."
Draco scolded, making his displeasure quite evident, "The time is irrelevant. I am responsible for your well-being. If anything happened to you, I…."
Hermione interrupted rather rudely, hoping to lighten the situation, "You would have a tedious amount of paperwork." She was getting tired of everyone treating her like some damsel in distress. She was sure she could handle herself well in a confrontation.
Draco wasn't amused. Once again, he tried to get his thoughts across, but in vain, "I'm glad you find this amusing, but…."
Hermione argued pointedly, "You might find it hard to believe, Malfoy, but I am quite capable of looking after myself." She had accomplished far more than the people assigned to protect her.
"I never said you weren't capable," Draco replied with a heavy sigh. The woman was as stubborn as a mule.
Hermione frowned and gritted out, "Your actions imply otherwise." He would trust her to be left alone for a few measly minutes if he genuinely believed she could manage herself.
Richard let out a strangled groan causing the arguing couple to look towards him in concern. Had he splinched himself? But he was only along for the ride; Hermione needed to maintain absolute focus to teleport.
Draco peered into the older man's face and addressed his headstrong fiance, "Granger, perhaps you can lecture me later. Your father seems to need our assistance."
Hermione gave her father her undivided attention and inquired impatiently, "Oh, Merlin, daddy! Would you like some water? Are you hurt?" He was pretty pale, and she was alarmed by his behaviour. He was hardly ever squirmish, and she wondered what she could do to ease the motion sickness, so to speak.
Embarrassed by his weakness, Richard declared from his bent position over Narcissa's prized hydrangea bushes, "No, darling, I'm fine now." He pushed aside the feeling of unease and mustered his strength.
He straightened, took a deep breath and quipped, "I think I'll drive next time. Bloody uncomfortable way to travel."
Hermione let out a sigh of relief and mused, "You get used to it."
"Shall we, sir?" Draco pointed to the scarcely visible marble stairway in the distance and offered politely once he was certain Richard was out of danger and that it was nothing more than a momentary setback.
Richard grinned and nodded enthusiastically, "Yes, let's."
After a brief moment, he added sheepishly, "Sorry about that."
"It's a common side effect of apparation, Mr Granger," Draco assured with a slight smile. He had experienced and seen far worse.
Richard muttered a few incoherent words, saw the Manor and surrounding gardens clearly for the first time, and took an involuntary step back.
He could make out his wife walking among the many splendid rose bushes, apparently in a daze and oblivious to his earlier suffering. At the same time, his mother stared unblinkingly at a majestic white peacock that made its presence known as the moon took its rightful place in the sky, signifying another glorious day had almost passed.
They had peacocks as pets. Who besides someone incredibly wealthy would have such exotic companions?
The slivery beams fell upon the delicate feathers of the beautiful creature, making them appear utterly magnificent.
Draco left his future father-in-law to these thoughts and approached the Granger Matriarch, who the rare birds enthralled.
He offered his arm for her to take, smiled and offered a truthful explanation, "The birds were my father's prized possession." Lucius had doted on the birds more than his son, causing a rift between the unsuspecting birds and him. As a child, Draco would throw rocks at the birds out of spite, and it went on for months until Lucius punished him severely after the old gamekeeper told on him.
Phyllis took the strong arm presented to her and replied, "They are absolutely stunning. I don't think I've ever seen a white peacock before." With those last words, they strolled towards the imposing Manor that would be their host for the evening.
Draco was highly aware of the Grangers' reaction to Malfoy Manor. It made him a bit self-conscious.
The Manor had that effect on people, wizards and Muggles alike. He never truly appreciated his ancestral home, perhaps due to the dark history and misdeeds that occurred for centuries behind the walls.
True, his mother had painted over and refurbished, washing away the sinful acts, and magically concealed their former dining room and foyer where Granger had been mercilessly tormented. However, the Manor was still built to house Pureblood witches and wizards. No Muggle had set foot in the Manor until now.
Finally, Julia tore herself away from the gardens, waved at Richard and Hermione trailing behind deep in conversation and joined Draco and Phyllis by the flight of marble stairs leading to the entrance.
She couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice, "These gardens are exquisite, Draco. Your mother must love them dearly."
Draco smiled, "Indeed, she does. She always considered the roses her daughters and lavished them with every botanical luxury."
Hermione took her awestruck father's hand and gave it a slight tug.
Richard let himself be led and asked animatedly, "Is Malfoy nobility?" It would certainly explain the Palace-like Manor and extensive surrounding gardens.
Hermione simply shrugged and stared curiously at the back of Draco's head while he spoke with her mother and grandmother.
She gave her reply some thought and answered, "Well, I suppose he is in the wizarding world."
Richard chuckled, "A little heads-up would've been nice, darling."
He pointed towards the brightly lit-up Manor and elaborated, "I mean, look at this place." He didn't particularly care about Malfoy's wealth, but knowing his daughter would probably want for nothing during their arranged marriage was comforting.
Hermione showed indifference and insisted, "It never crossed my mind. I don't see him as any different than you or me." Frankly, she saw them as better than Draco Malfoy. A person's actions defined them, not the number of Galleons in their pocket.
She had never been intimidated by Malfoy's wealth, even though he took every opportunity to rub his status in their faces. However, Ron always took it to heart even though he showed indifference to the hurtful comments.
Julia, Phyllis and Draco reached the top of the stairs. He politely excused himself and approached the tall mahogany doors with gold-plated handles and carved serpents that guarded the entrance discouraging any unwanted visitors from breaching the interior.
Draco thought it best to knock and announce their arrival more formally. He ignored the heavy brass knocker, made a prominent fist and knocked on the fine wood. The sound of his knuckles colliding with the old door reached the foyer where Narcissa, Bernard and Dotty eagerly awaited their arrival.
Narcissa sighed and then took a deep breath to calm her nerves before getting to her feet. Besides Andromeda and Sirius, she would be the first in her family to entertain Muggles. She wanted nothing more than for the evening to progress without complications.
Earlier that day, before Bernard arrived, Narcissa had visited her departed husband's portrait in the room Draco had banished him to. Of course, Lucius could not be swayed to accept Hermione as their daughter-in-law. Even in death, he remained a bigoted senseless fool.
He had unjustly raved about unholy unions and the tarnishing of a bloodline that had been pure for centuries and accused Narcissa and Bernard of encouraging such a repulsive coupling, promptly causing Narcissa to end the pointless conversation and walk out of the room in a huff.
Bernard grew thoughtful as he downed his scotch and followed suit. He never had qualms about befriending Muggles even though his parents forbade him.
Dotty smoothened her dress and wiped the nervous sweat gathered on her large forehead while struggling to hold an overly eager Max by the collar.
Placing a comforting hand on Narcissa's back, Bernard smiled reassuringly as she turned to look at him. They exchanged a look of fondness and made the short walk to the main door.
Draco wondered what was taking Dotty so long to open the doors since it was getting frightfully chilly. He moved closer to Hermione, sought out her hand and gave it a slight squeeze causing her to look at him with her molten caramel-brown eyes in a somewhat pleading manner.
Salazar, she was enticing, even when vulnerable. He had to fight hard not to give in to his carnal desires.
Finally, the large doors parted, and Narcissa glided forward with a welcoming smile, aristocratic grace, and self-confidence. With a hand in his pocket, Bernard trailed behind his beloved with a broad grin and pleasant demeanour.
Narcissa parted her lips to speak, but Dotty's helpless cries cut through the silence, "Naughty doggy. Max! Come back here!" The sounds of her little heels colliding with the tiled floor echoed as she got closer to the gathered group.
Max appeared with Dotty hot on his heels. Still, the German Shepherd could not be restrained. He ran straight to Draco, jumped on him, demanding attention, and then caught sight of Hermione and pounced on her, causing her to almost buckle under the weight. Undeterred, Max relentlessly tried to place slobbery kisses on her face.
Hermione couldn't help but giggle and try to push the massive dog off her. He seemed to have grown overnight.
Stunned into silence, the rest of the group stared at the affectionate exchange between the two.
"I missed you too, darling," Hermione laughed as she attempted to push the dog off her before he truly ruined her dress and makeup.
Draco frowned and let out a low whistle of warning before Narcissa could intervene, which caused Max to back away from Hermione at once. The dog whimpered and hung his head in shame but kept his eyes on his master as he slowly moved closer to his mistress.
Julia was mesmerised by the creature and made her thoughts quite vocal, "Oh, how precious."
Richard chimed in to back up his wife's statement, "He's a beaut!" He had a soft spot for animals since his youth, and before pursuing a career in dentistry, he had wanted to try his hand out at veterinary, but it hadn't worked out.
He studied the dog and asked thoughtfully, "Is he half-wolf?"
Draco answered though he wasn't an expert on the subject since his mother had adopted Max while he was away, "Not that we are aware of, Mr Granger." Max was large for his age and breed, but as far as they knew, he was a purebred German Shepherd that had been abandoned outside the Manor.
Bernard threw the now obedient dog beside Narcissa a fond look and said, "Behave yourself, Max."
Narcissa absentmindedly stroked Max's head before good manners compelled her to act accordingly.
She said in a pleasant, caring manner, "Welcome! It is an absolute pleasure to meet you finally. I have heard so much about everyone." She concluded by exchanging a meaningful glance with her son.
Julia stepped forward and concurred wholeheartedly, "The pleasure is all ours, Mrs Malfoy." She couldn't help but admire Narcissa's gown. It was elegant and gorgeous.
Narcissa blushed, but it was hidden well by the foundation she had applied earlier. She moved closer to Julia and insisted politely, "Please, you must call me Narcissa."
Draco cleared his throat and made the necessary introductions, "Let me introduce Hermione's family." He could practically hear Granger hyperventilating beside him, but thankfully she maintained her composure and suffered in silence.
He gestured towards the group he accompanied and announced, "Mr Richard Granger, Mrs Julia Granger and the charming Mrs Phyllis Granger."
Phyllis swatted Draco with her embroidered handkerchief and bestowed an affectionate smile upon the sly ice blonde.
Hermione took the opportunity to make her presence known and added fondly, with a rather shaky tone of voice, "My father, mother and grandmother." Obviously.
Narcissa beamed, "How lovely." She closed the gap between Hermione and her, hugged the nervous younger witch tightly and whispered in her ear, "Calm yourself, darling."
Before Hermione could form a sensible reply, Narcissa let go and graciously addressed her guests, "I am, as you know, Narcissa, and this is my, umm....." She hesitated while introducing Bernard. They were far too old to refer to their significant other as a boyfriend or girlfriend.
Without skipping a beat, Bernard came up behind Narcissa, flashed a charming smile and bowed slightly, "Fiancé, Bernard Moore." Formerly Flint, but no one besides Narcissa needed to know that. He wasn't particularly proud of his ancestry.
Hermione widened her eyes and stared at Draco in disbelief. How did she not know Bernard popped the question?
Narcissa caught her stunned contemplation and seemed embarrassed by Bernard's revelation since a formal proposal hadn't been made, but she was thankful he introduced himself as her intended. It certainly made sense to label their relationship to discourage meaningless gossip.
Richard said to everyone, "It's good to meet you." He was surprised by his mother's bashful behaviour. She hadn't uttered a word since meeting the boy's family, but the night was still young.
"Please come this way," Bernard pointed to the inside of Malfoy Manor. Crystal chandeliers and numerous glass lamps illuminated the pathway.
Dotty came forward into full view and offered, "Yes, please follow me."
Richard couldn't help but stare at the odd-looking yet sweet being who smiled happily at them.
Julia was equally surprised and couldn't help the wonder her face portrayed. They had seen numerous magical beings while helping Hermione shop in Diagon Alley in her younger years, but having one address them was somewhat surprising.
Phyllis was most intrigued by the polite elf in front of them and replied with the proper enthusiasm while trying to conceal her surprise, "Why, thank you…." She had previously remained silent because she was coming to terms with Hermione's world of magic and wonder.
Hermione gushed, "This is Dotty, Nana. She is an absolutely amazing chef." She knew the elf adored praise and took every opportunity to compliment the helpful and lovable creature.
Dotty beamed, "Thank you, miss Hermione." Everyone, including Narcissa, Bernard and Draco, followed the tiny elf as she led them to the foyer.
Narcissa fell in step with Julia and said, "I can't tell you how much we've been looking forward to this evening." She thought it best to try and bond with Hermione's mother and grandmother, and hopefully, Bernard would be able to get along with Richard.
Julia smiled shyly, "Likewise. Thank you for your kind invitation." She couldn't help but instantly like Narcissa.
"It is our pleasure," Narcissa replied without hesitation.
They passed countless priceless paintings and ornaments. On more than one occasion, Richard stopped to admire a rare artwork that caught his eye and Bernard couldn't help but notice the man's keenness.
Draco and Hermione walked behind everyone and maintained a companionable silence. He was tempted to hold her hand but thought against it, but involuntarily she moved closer to him, and he was immersed in her sweet fragrance.
They entered the extravagant foyer, and once everyone was seated, Dotty bowed respectfully and took her leave, only to return a few minutes later with an assortment of hors d'oeuvres and a special bottle of the finest champagne.
A smartly dressed elf appeared with a loud crack causing Phyllis to clutch at her chest and Richard to gasp and almost mutter a curse. Unlike Dotty, the male elf dressed in a miniature tuxedo completely ignored the guests but expertly opened the champagne bottle and poured the bubbly liquid into six crystal flutes sprinkled with edible flakes of gold.
He placed them neatly on a silver tray and firmly instructed Dotty to serve it without further adieu because champagne was best served chilled. He bowed so low his large nose grazed the floor.
Narcissa smiled and said gratefully, "Thank you, Jojo."
Jojo acknowledged his mistress and disappeared without uttering a word while Dotty carefully balanced the tray and served the guests first.
In a musical voice, Narcissa raised her glass high, saying, "A toast to the couple."
The Grangers were happy to oblige, except Hermione, of course.
Draco glanced at his miserable fiancé and spoke gently to his headstrong, somewhat opinionated mother, "Mother, that isn't necessary."
A meek voice lacking conviction cut through the tension before Narcissa could form an adequate reply, "It's fine."
Narcissa smiled at her future daughter-in-law, "Thank you, Hermione." Everyone raised their glasses, some more enthusiastic than others and a lovely toast to a promising future were made.
While the others sipped their drink and savoured the rich liquid, Hermione regarded everyone somewhat solemnly and threw it back before requesting another from Dotty before anyone truly noticed.
Phyllis held onto her champagne flute and said with a hint of admiration, "You have a lovely home, Narcissa."
"It's stunning, especially the gardens," Julia chimed in. She could still smell the fresh scent of roses and freshly mowed grass.
Narcissa smiled and answered, "Thank you. The Manor belonged to my late husband." She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. It wasn't prudent to mention Lucius in any context or invite an opening to any prodding about him.
Clearly, Draco, Hermione and Bernard felt the same since they stiffened and averted each other's gaze purposely.
Phyllis was no fool, she caught on pretty quickly, and she was certain there was more to the boy's father than they led on.
However, she let it slide and replied, "Oh, I see."
DMLE
Hannah stuck her hand into a large bag of crisps and pulled out a handful of cheesy potato flakes that were among her favourite. She had her nose buried in photos of the second victim, and she almost missed the owl that flew past her and settled itself on the perch intended for them.
The sizeable tawny barn owl seemed wiser than its years, having loyally served the DMLE for nearly three years. It looked about, and after sensing that no one was paying attention, it let out a loud hoot.
Finally, having heard the bird's desperate plea to be acknowledged, Hannah licked her fingers, discarded the empty packet of crisps, got to her feet and approached the bird. It eagerly held out the letter in its beak for her to take.
Hannah took the letter and, while opening it, said with a cheeky grin, "What's ruffled your feathers, Barnaby?"
Barnaby drank water, let out another seemingly loud hoot and took off.
Hannah read the letter, her eyes widening with excitement with each passing word. This was precisely what they needed—a mistake.
She pulled out her phone to call Malfoy but realised that he was at a family dinner with Hermione sunk it, and she cursed out aloud, "Fuck." She needed backup, and Malfoy had specific talents that would've come in handy while apprehending the culprit, but she couldn't disturb him and would have to do without him.
Ignoring protocol to inform Harry or Thomas, Hannah grabbed her coat and hurried towards the nearest apparation point.
She closed her eyes and almost whispered, "Hogsmeade."
Malfoy Manor
An awkward silence gripped the proceedings. Both parties battled tirelessly to bring up topics that weren't offensive but interesting enough to keep the conversation flowing.
Hermione stared into her champagne flute and gold flakes clinging onto the side of the glass, and she fought the urge to pick them off with her finger.
Instead, she chewed on her bottom lip nervously and wished someone would speak. Draco sensed her anxiety; he reached over and squeezed her hand. She let him because the warmth from his fingers pressed against hers was welcoming.
They exchanged a look of concern, contemplating how to break the ice when Bernard loudly cleared his throat and offhandedly mentioned the latest Liverpool-Arsenal football encounter.
Narcissa stared at him in alarm, but she didn't need to since Bernard's attempt to find common ground was a long shot but a smashing hit.
Richard grinned and could hardly hold back his thoughts on the matter. He began to loosen up and chatted animatedly yet fondly about Steven Gerrard.
While Quidditch would remain his first love, football and a good game of rugby were among Bernard's favourites, and he took in a game when time permitted. He had been a fan of Liverpool for over a decade after taking in a random match shown on an old television at a local pub.
He was thrilled to find Richard was a fan. It was indeed a small world.
Ignoring the women, they started to speak in great detail about football, prompting Narcissa to gain the confidence to speak more extensively about gardening and tending to her precious roses. Bernard had done the trick by speaking of shared interests.
Julia was delighted to speak about the various varieties of roses that Narcissa painstakingly grew. Meanwhile, Phyllis listened intently to the conversation while occasionally indulging in the delicious hors d'oeuvres Dotty had specially prepared for the occasion.
Draco leaned over to Hermione and rasped, his voice caressing the inner shell of her ear, causing her to shudder, "Relax, Granger."
Hermione exhaled, ignored the husky tones of the man next to her and wondered why she was panicking. It worked well for her if their families didn't get along. It would make the divorce that much easier on everyone, but seeing everyone getting along made her slightly giddy with happiness. She felt more like herself.
Richard let out a hearty chuckle, and Bernard rose to his feet and invited, "Perhaps you would care for something stronger before dinner."
"Indeed," Richard agreed and happily addressed Draco, "Join us, my boy."
Draco nodded politely in reply, he wasn't keen on leaving Granger, but he could hardly refuse a request made by his future father-in-law. As he got to his feet and adjusted his dinner jacket, he could feel Granger's eyes boring into the back of his head, but he ignored her and followed the others out of the foyer.
The men retired to the study previously occupied by Lucius. Bernard fetched a handcrafted cigar box with embossed gold lettering and an air of mystique and placed it on the antique desk.
Richard was busy admiring the leatherbound books and paintings, especially one that looked remarkably like a genuine Picasso, but he couldn't be sure.
"Name your poison, my good man," Bernard asked cheerfully. Richard seemed to be a man with refined tastebuds.
Richard grinned, "Whiskey, neat with two cubes."
Bernard expertly took hold of the expensive bottle of scotch, pulled out the cork of the decanter and let the aged beverage breathe.
He inhaled deeply, letting the intense fragrance tickle his nostrils and smirked at the young man accompanying them before asking, "Draco, what would you prefer?"
Draco kept his eyes on Richard, looking through the glass cabinets of ancient artefacts in awe. He hoped no perilous objects were on display that would give insight into his family's rather illustrious past.
However, he smiled and replied, "I'll have the same, please." Salazar knew he needed a drink to steady his nerves. Master Chun would have been horribly disappointed that he was resorting to alcohol and not meditation to calm his inner thoughts and insecurities.
Bernard chuckled, "Excellent." He poured another two fingers' worth of whiskey into a tumbler and set it down as Richard walked towards him, slightly shaking his head with an expression of complete bewilderment.
He eagerly took the delicate crystal tumbler that Bernard gently moved in his direction, stared into the contents and uttered, "Fascinating."
Bernard offered Draco his glass, and once the young wizard took it, he raised his glass and said with a cheeky grin, "Cheers."
"Cheers, Mate," Richard acknowledged with a smile and took a sip of the amber liquid. It laid a trail of fire down his throat, and a sensation of overwhelming satisfaction engulfed him. A steady warmth spread from his core to the very tips of his fingers.
Bernard licked his bottom lip, savouring the richness and inquired with a sceptical raise of his brow, "What's fascinating?
Richard took another sip and replied earnestly, "This world. It's brilliant." He was beginning to appreciate it truly.
Draco listened intently but didn't dare interrupt the conversation between the men. He sat by the fireplace and watched on with interest.
Bernard chuckled, "Ah, that's a matter of opinion. It's mostly complicated." While he was grateful for being born a wizard, he couldn't help but feel some resentment towards the overbearing responsibilities of keeping up appearances.
"I suppose," Richard concurred with an understanding nod.
He asked curiously, "Do you spend much time in our world?"
Bernard smiled and replied truthfully, "I do." Not much since Narcissa came back into his life. However, he still met many clients pertaining to business in the Muggle world.
Richard asked rather thoughtfully, "Forgive my intrusion, but what is it you do, Bernard?" He was curious about wizarding jobs and wondered what the wealthy wizard did to make a living.
Bernard took out his wand, causing Richard to take an involuntary step back and Draco to narrow his eyes and question Bernard's intentions.
However, Bernard fluidly moved his wand, muttered an incantation and seemingly out of thin air, a magnificent multiple-floored structure appeared and floated before their eyes. Richard was enthralled and couldn't help but step closer to admire the phenomenon.
Bernard said with pride, "I work in engineering and construction. We do projects all around the world."
He turned the floating structure to a more flattering angle with a flick of his wand and explained, "We did this little beauty for a German Heiress. She was most pleased with the outcome."
The structure dissolved, leaving but a few specks of sparkly dust.
Richard drained his drink and said, "I have a dental practice." His profession seemed utterly dull in comparison, except for the time that boy bit his finger and required stitches.
Yet, he added fondly, "I hoped Hermione would follow in our footsteps one day, but she was always destined for more extraordinary things."
Bernard refilled Richard's glass and nodded wholeheartedly in agreement, "Hermione is an exceptional witch, don't you agree, Draco?"
The question caught Draco entirely off guard, and he almost choked on his drink but composed himself to answer without a shred of hesitation, "Without a doubt." However, he couldn't help but wonder how Granger was handling herself. The woman looked ready to combust at the slightest infringement.
Richard smiled. He was happy with Malfoy's overall attitude towards Hermione.
Malfoy Manor
Dotty served another round of champagne, and Julia gushed, "At my insistence, Draco played the piano for us the other day. It is rare to see a boy his age play so beautifully."
Narcissa beamed, "Oh yes, he learned at a young age."
She included with a slight scowl, "I insisted he take lessons. If it were up to his father, he would've had the boy practising Quidditch at every waking moment." She had absentmindedly mentioned Lucius once again.
Narcissa saw Phyllis and Julia swap a perplexed look and felt compelled to explain, "Quidditch is a wizarding sport played on broomsticks." If anything, the explanation caused more questions, but Julia kept silent and made a mental note to ask Hermione about it later.
"I would've loved to have hosted the wedding on the grounds of the manor," Narcissa suggested rather cunningly. She was curious about how Hermione's parents handled the no-ceremony part of the marriage.
Hermione stiffened. Oh, hell, here were go, she thought. It was bound to come up, but she hadn't expected to be blindsided. Narcissa had picked her moment perfectly without Draco's presence to stop her from her stubborn conquest of having a wedding.
Julia raved, "What a wonderful idea, Narcissa. It would be so beautiful with all the flowers and clear skies."
She added with a girlish overexcited giggle, "Magical, one might say."
Hermione rolled her eyes inconspicuously and felt her blood freeze as her grandmother's stern voice made it to her ear, "That's all well and good, but this one here is adamant about not having any ceremony."
Narcissa almost hissed her displeasure, "Yes, I'm well aware of Hermione's stance on the matter."
Hermione paled, abruptly shot to her feet and excused herself without offering a plausible explanation. She hurried her footsteps and headed towards the upper floor without a backwards glance.
"I apologise, Narcissa," Julia offered politely, a bit embarrassed by her daughter's crude behaviour and followed it up with a solemn expression, "Hermione is quite stubborn, and I'm afraid she's made up her mind."
Phyllis nodded in agreement but offered wisely, "I know my granddaughter, and it's unlikely she will bend on this matter. However, even though we would love to make an occasion out of it, I feel some of her points not to have a function are somewhat justified considering the nature of their union."
While Narcissa did not agree entirely, she was forced to admit Phyllis's words held merit. Besides, better than the Grangers, she knew first-hand about Hermione's unpleasant history with Draco and other more deranged family members.
Narcissa sighed, "I trust she will feel differently with time." She left the matter at that and diverted the conversation towards more positive aspects, like budding a whole new variety of orchids.
Hogsmeade
Hannah appeared near the Hogs Head Inn. She glanced at the worn-out wooden sign that hung over the door, which advertised a severed head of a wild boar dripping blood onto a white cloth.
The establishment was owned by Aberforth Dumbledore and was notorious for its low prices and shady clientele, at least in contrast to the Three Broomsticks further down the street. However, in comparison, the Hogs Head was a good place for an Auror to frequent in disguise. It was an excellent resource for obtaining information on sensitive matters.
Still, unfortunately even the daily patrons were yet to find possible leads on the Dollhouse Strangler. The bastard was a complete mystery.
Hannah walked past the Hogs Head; the inn didn't interest her. She had a far more important matter to attend to at The Three Broomsticks. Two drunken wizards drunken slurred lewd comments as she passed, but Hannah ignored the arseholes and refused to give them any satisfaction.
The volume of the conversation and music emanating from The Three Broomsticks drowned out the heavy thud her boots made when they came in contact with the cobbled stones that paved the street and increased as Hannah approached the entrance and drew closer. Hogwarts students frequented the popular inn, which was typically bright, warm, crowded, and slightly smoky but clean and welcoming.
Hannah wiped her feet on the sturdy rug kept ready for use and went inside. The place was fairly crowded, but that was common for the famous establishment. She caught sight of Rosmerta nervously moving about behind the bar while keeping her eyes locked on a couple in the corner.
The attractive, curvy barmaid had aged gracefully, but a look of deep concern and anxiety replaced her usual cheerful deposition. Hannah marched to the bar with a single intention in mind.
She refrained from the usual pleasantries and came straight to the point, "Where is he, Rosmerta?"
Rosmerta wasted no time pointing out the suspect, "That's him."
Hannah cocked her head to the side and critically studied the man trying to chat up a woman.
The man didn't fit their profile, but they knew precious little about him since there were no witnesses or survivors.
She muttered to no one in particular, "Not what I expected, but they never are, end of the day."
Rosmerta pleaded almost desperately, "Take him away, Auror Abbott. He's scaring away my customers."
"With pleasure," Hannah answered with an air of reassurance. She tucked a piece of blonde hair behind her ear and made her way towards the man and woman conversing in the corner.
She came up from behind and said loudly enough to be heard clearly over the noise, "Hi!"
The man heard her and turned to acknowledge her from his seated position. He looked her up and down and sneered, "Excuse us, but this is a private conversation." In other words, fuck off, blondie, before I hurt you, but Hannah was hardly intimidated.
The woman he was with kept moving her chair away from him and seemed utterly petrified. She seemed glad for the interruption, and Hannah first noticed the beautiful full head of red hair she wore in a high ponytail.
Hannah gave the slimy goon her undivided attention and grinned, "Not anymore." She pointed to her Auror badge and took great satisfaction in watching the man's face whiten with possible fear. She instructed the scared woman to leave, and with a look of immense relief, the redhead scrambled away and left without so much as another glance.
He recovered from his initial shock, gave a leering toothy grin, gestured to Rosmerta with his chin and inquired, "Did the bitch behind the counter call you?"
Hannah didn't bother to divulge and give in to the man's demands. She simply took a mere step back to give him some space and ordered, "On your feet. Come on, let's go."
The man refused to budge and instead proceeded to argue, "On what charge, blondie?"
"For being a public nuisance, among other things," Hannah hissed. She was getting tired of the git's brazen attitude. She put her hand under his arm and attempted to haul him unceremoniously to his feet.
Unfortunately for him, she was stronger than she looked and effortlessly succeeded in dragging him up, but he went to pull away and almost toppled to the ground. A stillness settled over the pub, and pin-drop silence followed as the patrons watched the heated exchange.
Embarrassed by the unwanted attention, he cried indignantly, "Don't fucking touch me, bitch." The nasty word slipped out against his better judgment, and he instantly regretted it even though she deserved it.
He noticed a slight rip on his shirt caused by his doing and snarled, "Mind the shirt."
Hannah quite smugly pulled out a pair of handcuffs, dangled it in front of his face, and announced louder than necessary, "Let's add verbally abusing an Auror to the charge, shall we?"
The man thought about his position, decided he had gone about it horribly, and sought to make amends. He brought his hands up in defeat and said slowly, "Look, I'm sorry, eh? We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot."
Hannah cuffed the man and smirked as she led him away, and once outside, she asked, "What's your name, stud?"
Hawaii
As the landline near the bed started to ring, Daphne walked into the hotel suite with Blaise trailing after her, still clad in shorts. She closed the distance quickly and answered the ringing annoyance with a sweet and welcoming "Hello."
Blaise shouted out as he entered the ensuite, "Tell Theo to fucking piss off. I need a break from his antics."
Clearly, the voice on the other end was not Theo because Daphne's demeanour went from chirpy and upbeat to extremely concerned, yet she took a deep breath and advised, "Calm down, Tracey."
Blaise came back out, took in his wife's grave expression and asked, "What's the matter, darling?"
Daphne ignored him for a moment as she intently listened to Tracey.
Once Tracey concluded her explanation, Daphne cried out, "What? Oh no!"
Panicked and horrified, Blaise injected urgently, "What's going on?" Please don't let it be the children. He would never forgive himself for leaving them.
Tracey pleaded, almost in tears, "He's completely fine but crying and asking for his mummy. We've done everything possible. I'm so sorry, Daph." She felt awful. Astoria was supposed to be watching him, but the little rascal had given her the slip and gotten away while her back was turned.
Daphne took a deep breath, exhaled and regained her composure, "At least he's out of danger."
She uttered the following words with a heavy heart, but her little boy needed her, and there was no compromise, "I'll be home soon."
Blaise grew wide-eyed, regarded his wife with surprise and wordlessly mouthed, "What the fuck?"
Guilt ate away at Tracey, Daphne had trusted them to look after her children, and they had failed.
She asked meekly, "Are you sure?" Adam would not stop crying, and not his big sister, bowls of ice cream or new toys could sway the stubborn toddler.
"One hundred per cent," Daphne replied without hesitation. Adam was so attached to her, and it was primarily her fault that he needed her for everything, but what could she do? He was still her baby. She supposed that Carrie had always been more independent, even at a younger age, but Adam was more fragile.
Blaise pounced on her impatiently when she hung up, saying, "What's happened?"
Daphne merely smiled, "Adam's snuck a peanut butter cookie from the jar."
Blaise closed his eyes as the news sunk in and said, "Shit! We should leave right away." He knew about his son's deadly peanut allergy and how extremely fussy he got when sick.
Daphne tried to defuse the situation, "No, darling. He's fine, just being a grumpy Gus."
She added while pulling her clothes out of the cupboard and tossing them onto the bed, "You stay. I'll go and sort out everything."
Blaise argued with a definite roll of his eyes, "I see these fuckers daily, Daph. I'm coming with you, and that's final." It would be horribly selfish of him to let her go alone.
Daphne closed the gap between them, cupped his face and said lovingly, "Blaise, my love, Draco is coming over on Friday, and I'm absolutely certain he's looking forward to having some fun."
She added rather candidly, "We simply cannot leave him to the mercy of Theo and Pansy. That poor man will greatly suffer."
Blaise chuckled, "Well, that's true, but,....."
Daphne insisted, leaving no further room for argument, "But nothing. I want you to stay. Besides, be thankful we got a few days of fun. Also, it's just another two days, and you'll return to your daddy duties before you know it."
"I love you," Blaise gathered his wife in his arms and murmured huskily against the smooth skin of her neck.
While pulling her husband close, Daphne muttered, "I love you more."
She broke free from the embrace and questioned, "Do you think we could arrange an emergency Portkey?"
Blaise answered thoughtfully, "It shouldn't be a problem. Let's have a word with Nott."
Chapter 60
Summary:
To all the comments:- I'm so thrilled and saddened by some, but thank you from the bottom of my heart!
Please accept my sincerest apologies for the delay in updates. I am working on a movie which is quite time-consuming, plus an MBA. There need to be more hours in the day!
The dinner continues
Thomas reassures Hannah
The Alpha King shows a keen interest in Draco.
The Strangler has some daring plans of his own.
I hope everyone enjoys the update!
Much love to all!
Enjoy Chapter Sixty!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Hannah kept an ironclad grip on the man she had just arrested at the Three Broomsticks even though they had arrived at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
The floor was completely deserted, and the lack of people further alarmed the man in custody. He didn't trust the crazy blonde who held onto him tightly enough to stop the blood flow in his arm.
Without hesitation, Hannah ushered the squirming man into the closest interrogation room and only let go of his arm once she forced him to sit in the old wooden chair.
He hesitated but realised his efforts were futile and thought it best to do as commanded.
Hannah slammed the door shut, causing the man to jump slightly. Oh, Merlin, she was going to chop off his precious balls and feed them to him.
She turned on him and hissed, "I believe I asked you a question."
The man in custody squeaked. His previous arrogance evaporated, "Jenkins. Rodney Jenkins." This situation was different from how he expected his Wednesday night to go. Sure, he enjoyed a bit of role play but certainly not the real thing.
Hannah pulled back the available chair for the interrogator, sat down unceremoniously, and smirked, "Pleased to make your acquaintance." She craved a cigarette, but there was a no-smoking policy within the walls of the DMLE that everyone grudgingly obeyed.
Rodney was sceptical. He eyed the magical handcuffs digging into his flesh and frowned, "I can't say I'm thrilled." The night would have definitely gone off better if he had acted discreetly.
Hannah leaned forward and snarled, "Like treating women like garbage, do you?" Unconsciously her fingers curled to form a hard fist. One wrong answer from the prick, and she would take immense pleasure in knocking out his two front teeth.
Rodney forgot his place and let his true nature shine through. It would prove to be a costly mistake.
He sneered, "Women like to be dominated. Even you, blondie."
The crude statement was enough to spur Hannah into action. She sprang to her feet, dug her fingers into the now petrified man's arm, and goaded, "Go on then, give it a go. I fucking dare you."
"Ow, you're hurting me," Rodney almost whined, hating himself for being such a bloody coward.
Hannah applied more pressure and answered, "Good." She wanted to cause the bastard pain. The women he brutalised and murdered would never be able to speak for themselves, but she would do the honour on their behalf. It was the least she could do.
She whipped out her wand and pressed the tip into the man's stomach, instantly causing him extreme discomfort. He started to whimper, pleading out of fear for his life.
Malfoy Manor
Since Draco could not add any helpful information nor anything of value to the conversation between Bernard and Richard, who barely acknowledged his existence, he politely excused himself. He returned to where they had left the ladies speaking of roses and gardening.
At once, he noticed Hermione's absence, which slightly alarmed him. The woman was a nervous wreck, but for a moment, he took in the ladies from vastly different backgrounds speaking and laughing, which warmed his heart.
He would've never thought his mother capable of conversing so freely with Muggles, but to witness such an occasion filled him with renewed hope for a better future.
He cleared his throat, and once the chatter stopped and older women gave him their undivided attention, Draco inquired with a slight smile, "Where is Hermione?"
Surprisingly, Julia answered, "The wedding topic came up, and I'm afraid she fled."
Phyllis sighed, "Indeed. I hope the poor dear is alright."
Narcissa added with a slightly amused expression but quite knowingly, "I think you will find her in the library, Draco."
"Thank you, mother," Draco replied politely and turned on his heel to search for his fiancé, but his future mother-in-law's voice intervened, "Is Richard talking Bernard's ear off?"
Narcissa couldn't help but laugh, and Draco answered, "They are getting along quite well."
Phyllis weighed in with a fond smile, "That's good. My son loves football, and I'm glad he's found someone to share his interests with."
Draco nodded in agreement and quickly left before he could get pulled into another conversation. He took the stairs and followed the familiar pathway that had led him countless times to the famous Malfoy library in his youth.
He pushed the doors open, and sure enough, Hermione Granger, former Gryffindor prude, was seated in one of the plush chairs with a thick leather-bound open on her lap. So engrossed in the text, she hardly noticed him enter.
Draco mused, "I thought I might find you here. Although I must confess, my mother suggested where you might be hiding."
With some difficulty, Hermione closed the large book, slowly looked up, and locked eyes with her curious fiancé.
She adopted a rather callous attitude and argued, "I'm not hiding. I, umm, escaped before I got roped into an unwarranted explanation."
Draco closed the distance between them and requested, "Hmm, again, I must ask, are you absolutely certain you do not want a function?" He caught a glimpse of what she was reading. It was one of the many detailed books about Malfoy ancestry. It was obvious she had barely skimmed the surface of his illustrious background.
All at once, Hermione sprang to her feet, the book fell to the floor with a loud thud, but the sound of her raised voice drowned it out, "Yes! It's not just about you, Malfoy. It's largely to do with sparing the Ministry the satisfaction of their ridiculous actions."
She scoffed, "Forcing people into a loveless marriage is barbaric." She paid no attention to the ancient manuscript lying by her feet.
Draco bent to pick up the leather-bound book and studied the cover. The silver lettering glowed and became prominent.
He placed it on a nearby table and quipped, "So you keep saying, but alright if you feel this strongly about it." Quite frankly, he failed to see how a small ceremony would get in the way of her ideologies since it would be done to appease their parents.
Hermione felt ashamed that she had failed to pick up the book she had dropped. She chewed on her bottom lip nervously and asked somewhat timidly, "How's everything going downstairs?"
With hands in his pockets, Draco turned to face her and grinned, "Bernard and your father have become best mates, and the ladies seem to be getting along famously."
"Great," Hermione muttered, a frown forming on her face. She honestly wondered if she would've been happier if everyone had loathed each other and the evening had ended in disaster.
Draco shrugged, "So, they're getting along. It shouldn't bother you this much." He thought it was brilliant that everyone could put aside their differences and share a meal and insightful conversation.
His joy was short-lived because his fiance insisted with sheer determination, "But don't you see? Once we divorce, their connection will be severed."
"It doesn't have to be," Draco argued. They would be divorced, not dead. Plenty of divorced couples maintained healthy relationships with their ex-in-laws.
Hermione was having none of it, and she pointed out the most obvious fact, "My family are Muggles, Malfoy." Why was he acting like everything was normal? It was maddening at times to tolerate his profound personality change when she had basically grown up with him looking down on people like her.
Draco massaged the bridge of his nose in exasperation and countered with renewed determination, "I'm aware, Granger, and I'm telling you, it doesn't matter to me." What would it take to convince her that he was a changed man? The woman was far too stubborn for her own good.
She stared at him for a moment, searching his eyes, studying his body language for a sign of dishonesty, but she was sorely disappointed. He was strikingly handsome.
Hermione turned away and went to stand by the window. She stared into the gardens sprawled before them and said, "Well, that's convenient for the moment."
Her voice cracked before she could control it, and words laced with unmistakable pain left her lips, "I had to take drastic measures to ensure my family's safety when Voldemort almost took over."
Her words piqued Draco's interest. Perhaps there was more behind her defiant behaviour.
He ran his fingers through his hair and probed, hoping for a satisfactory answer, "What do you mean?"
Hermione kept her gaze firmly locked on the swaying branches of the trees and almost whispered in agony, "I hated having to do it, but what choice did I have? I almost lost them for good." She closed her eyes, and a solitary tear slid down her cheek. It had been the single most difficult decision of her life, and she doubted that she would ever be presented with something so gut-wrenching again.
Draco couldn't hold back his impatience. He was desperate to know what she was referring to and demanded, "Granger, what are you on about? Tell me!"
Taking a deep breath, Hermione explained without holding back the circumstances leading up to her choice to obliviate her parents and the events that followed afterwards.
After tracking them down in Australia, Hermione discovered her parents living a content, happy life without knowing they had a daughter. It broke her heart, and for a while, she even considered leaving them to live out the remainder of their lives in ignorant bliss, but she needed them far more than they did her.
She remembered that day like yesterday; they had no idea who she was, and it had taken a great deal of convincing over weeks to prove to them that she was their daughter. Her mother had touched her cheek, causing Hermione to break down and sob inconsolably while Ron hovered in the background, trying his utmost to comfort her.
After restoring their memories, her father seemed to take it the hardest that his daughter, at the time of her greatest need, didn't allow him to help her cause or be there for her if needed. It was his job to protect her, and she had robbed him of the opportunity.
Not that he would've been a helpful asset against witches and wizards with powers beyond his comprehension, but he was her father. If anything, unconditional love could be most powerful.
Hermione wiped the tears that fell as the memories of a more painful time washed over her.
She muttered, unable to say aloud, "My mother suffered the most while her memories were being restored."
Hermione paused briefly before adding, "My father never left her side…it was painful to watch." She was grateful to Ron. He had accompanied her and reassured her with words of comfort throughout the ordeal. It had been a harrowing experience.
Draco listened intently with pursed lips. He didn't dare interrupt with the million and one questions that crept up in his mind. Despite the sad circumstances, he couldn't help but marvel at Granger's ability to master complex spells at such a young age. She truly was a remarkable witch.
The whole time Hermione recited the events, she did not turn around to face him. Instead, she kept her eyes on the darkness and inhabited gardens. She couldn't bear to let him see her at her most vulnerable.
Closing the gap between them in two mere strides, Draco put his hands on her and gently turned her around to face him. She didn't resist but let him do as he wished.
His astute eyes moved slowly over her face and took in the red-rimmed eyes and quivering bottom lip, and at once, he felt his rapidly beating heart slam against his ribcage. Was it possible to experience such a mixture of complex emotions simultaneously? Apparently, around Granger, it was.
He felt unworthy to speak in her presence, he had no idea how much she had sacrificed, but he understood the necessity and suffering. He had handed Voldemort his soul on a platter to save his beloved mother from a fate worse than death. He had done all he did to save his family from destruction by a madman.
Oh, he understood Granger's pain and gut-wrenching agony.
Draco cupped Hermione's petite face, and instantly she closed her eyes and leaned into his soothing touch. His fingers coming in contact with her skin was inexplicably pleasing.
His husky tones invaded the shell of her ear, "I cannot begin to imagine the pain you must have gone through." He pretended not to know. They had both suffered, but, most importantly, they had survived and risen out of the ashes of despair as better people.
Hermione broke free from his captivating hold and answered, "It was necessary. Voldemort would have tortured them without a second thought to get information." She took the book she had borrowed earlier from the table Malfoy had laid it on and sought to return it to its rightful place.
She stood between two rows of tall bookshelves and unsuccessfully attempted to push the book back to where it was before. Unfortunately, it was a valiant but futile effort since her wand rested on the chair she was seated in earlier.
Draco followed her and watched her hilarious attempts with an amused expression before yanking the book out of her hands and effortlessly wedging it between an autobiography of his grandfather Abraxas Malfoy and an introduction into the formation of Malfoy Manor along with its illustrious history of housing pureblood wizards and witches.
He dusted his hands and raised a questioning eyebrow, "All's well that ends well?"
Hermione was sceptical, "I don't see this ending well." She was referring to their forced union.
A glint of devilish intent flashed across Draco's eyes. His eyes roved over her body.
He rasped, "Hmm, we seem to be doing alright at the moment."
Hermione stiffened, she caught onto his change in demeanour, and while her heart skipped a beat with anticipation every time he flirted with her, this was certainly not the time to get sidetracked.
Unconcerned and determined to live in the moment, Draco backed Hermione towards the tall rows of books. Her back hit a row of books, and the spines dug into her back somewhat uncomfortably, but she hardly noticed and focused on the man leaning over her to probably whisper something scandalous in her ear.
His sultry words ghosted over the sensitive skin of her ear, "You look ravishing."
Hermione swallowed hard and said unconvincingly, "Yes, well, umm, we best return."
Draco smirked. He straightened, gathered himself, and mused, "As you wish." He truly enjoyed getting under Granger's skin. Seeing her flustered was quite amusing, but he had to be careful not to go overboard with the teasing. In Hawaii, he planned on taking things forward sexually.
Hermione cleared her throat and said cheekily, "Stop trying to turn me on when you have no intention of taking things forward." She knew she had taken it too far when his features contorted unpleasantly.
Draco frowned. Her frank words dented his ego.
Abandoning his earlier resolve, he grabbed her by the arms and pushed her up against the shelf. He ignored her look of utter bewilderment, bypassed her luscious lips, buried his face in the crook of her neck, and placed feathery kisses upon her heated skin.
He seductively rasped while moving his hand around her waist, holding her captive, "I could take you surrounded by all these books and smell of parchment."
"Let me go, Malfoy," Hermione breathed as her eyes fluttered shut, and she almost gave into his diligent ministrations.
Draco stopped at once and backed away. He would never force his intentions on a woman.
Hermione grinned as she picked up her wand, "And keep your cheesy lines to yourself." It was all she could mutter to keep her shaky knees intact instead of falling into his arms and letting him have his way with her.
They left the library and walked alongside each other in companionable silence. Each caught up in their thoughts.
Draco was still reeling from the revelation that Granger had wiped her parents' memories to spare them from uncertain doom. He stole a glance and felt grateful that she trusted him somewhat to confide such a painful moment. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if any nightmares had plagued her recently.
As they grew closer to the foyer, the sounds of their parent's voices became clear. Bernard and Richard had rejoined the ladies, and everyone seemed to be engaged in a lively conversation.
Bernard caught sight of the young couple first and asked in an amused tone, "Where did you two run off to?"
Without skipping a beat, Draco answered before Hermione could come up with a plausible explanation, "We paid a quick visit to the library."
Hermione blushed and avoided eye contact with any elders, even though her mother and grandmother looked concerned. She sat beside her father, crossed her legs at the ankles, and pretended to listen to Narcissa speaking passionately about a new variant of black roses she had managed to cultivate.
Dotty chose this precise moment to arrive and announce, "Dinner is served."
"Ah, thank you, Dotty," Narcissa acknowledged with a slight smile.
Bernard patted his stomach and said before getting to his feet, "Good. I'm starving."
Richard chuckled and followed suit prompting the rest to rise and head towards the elaborate dining room of Malfoy Manor. Phyllis took her granddaughter's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Hermione couldn't help but smile. A simple gesture from her grandmother was enough to chase away her anxieties and give her confidence.
They entered the brightly lit spacious room, decorated with centuries-old paintings and a prominent crystal chandelier hanging over the expansive dining table built to seat twenty people.
The Grangers were in awe of their surroundings but waited for further instruction on seating patiently.
Draco smiled and addressed the concern politely, "Please, sit wherever you like. There are no fixed seating arrangements as such."
Richard took the seat across from Bernard, while Narcissa, as usual, sat at the head of the table, and Draco sat to her right. Hermione thought it best to sit beside him, causing her mother and grandmother to sit near her father.
Once everyone was seated and comfortable, Dotty exchanged a look with Narcissa, and upon her mistress's approval, the tiny elf snapped her long fingers. Seemingly out of nowhere, platters of food and baskets of freshly baked bread appeared, and the area was instantly engulfed in a mouthwatering aroma.
The Grangers swapped looks of utter bewilderment and stared unblinkingly at the deliciously prepared food that appeared.
Bernard felt a pang of hunger pinch his insides, and he reached for a buttery bread roll but withdrew his hand after catching Narcissa's stern expression.
She ignored him and invited their guests, "Please help yourselves."
Sensing her family's hesitation, Hermione made the first move and reached for the seafood salad. She had dined with the Malfoys plenty of times and knew without a shadow of a doubt that the food would be outstanding.
The sound of dishes exchanging hands and cutlery scraping against fine porcelain filled the space as everyone served themselves a portion of the delicious meal Dotty and the other elves had painstakingly prepared.
After taking a mouthful of fragrant rice, Julia voiced her thoughts, "Everything is delicious."
"Compliments to the chef," Richard chimed in while cutting into a tender piece of chicken.
Dotty blushed crimson and moved into the shadows. She took great pride in cooking.
A companionable silence largely followed the meal as everyone enjoyed the hearty meal of seafood and chicken, mainly Bernard, who wasn't keen on seafood.
Narcissa delicately sliced a prawn in half, pierced it with a silver fork, and popped it into her mouth. She closed her eyes in contentment as the flavours from the dish exploded in her mouth. The evening was progressing well.
She almost innocently addressed Hermione, "I am aware of your feelings regarding a wedding, but would it be too forward of me to suggest a modest gathering of friends to celebrate the occasion?"
Hermione swallowed the piece of bread she was munching on and turned to stare at Narcissa. She was put on the spot and did not appreciate it in the slightest.
Draco dabbed the corners of his mouth with the napkin and shot his mother a warning look that he hoped would discourage her from pursuing the matter.
Narcissa was stubborn, and while she would insist on a function later, she decided the current path would not yield different results than she wanted. Before any of the Grangers could weigh in and make the whole situation unbearable for Granger, Draco skillfully diverted the conversation towards the cottage renovations.
Draco deliberately inquired curiously, "Mother, how are the cottage renovations coming along? I haven't had the time to look into it."
Narcissa nodded, "Ah, yes, it's coming along nicely. Hermione, darling, you must take a look and ensure everything is done to your liking and specifications."
Immensely grateful to Draco for stirring the conversation in another direction, Hermione smiled in reply, "I trust your judgment."
Narcissa replied candidly, "I appreciate the vote of confidence. However, I worry that my tastes might be old-fashioned."
"Not at all. I rather like old-fashioned," Hermione agreed wholeheartedly. She didn't care much for modern fittings and preferred an olden touch.
Although Richard helped himself to another serving of assorted food, he intently listened to the conversation.
While cutting into a juicy chicken breast, he said rather offhandedly, "Coming back to Narcissa's point about a function, I agree that an intimate gathering of close relatives and friends is perfectly acceptable."
Hermione paled. She knew her father's thoughts on the matter, and while her mother could be swayed to agree with her points, her father held onto his opinion no matter what.
Draco sighed in exasperation, so much for trying to divert the conversation.
Phyllis spoke up, and her tone made it clear that she wasn't to be trifled with, "I think the matter of a wedding can be discussed some other time." She was annoyed with her son and slightly at Narcissa. They kept on pushing a matter that Hermione had valid reasons to avoid.
She spread her arms wide and exclaimed in the most motherly manner she could muster, "Let us enjoy this delicious food and each other's company."
"But mum…," Richard interrupted, embarrassed that his mother treated him like a toddler in the presence of strangers but then Julia injected a touch sternly, "We will discuss this later." She didn't appreciate her husband's bold declaration. This was hardly the time and place to discuss their difference in opinions.
Overpowered by the women in his family, Richard grew irritated at being dismissed so easily. He swapped a look with Narcissa and resumed eating his meal in silence.
Hermione visibly relaxed, accidentally brushing her hand against Draco's thigh under the table, causing him to glance her way with an amused expression.
She blushed and apologised profusely, "Sorry, I didn't mean…."
Draco smirked. He leaned closer so only she could hear and drawled, "Calm yourself. I'm perfectly at ease with a slow burn, Granger."
"Speak for yourself, Malfoy," Hermione fired back with a distinctive roll of her eyes.
Draco raised an eyebrow, "I didn't quite catch that last bit."
Hermione couldn't help but giggle, "Oh, nothing." She avoided eye contact and munched on the remaining bits of grilled fish on her plate.
The early incident was almost forgotten, and everyone made an extra effort to make polite dinner conversation.
DMLE
After a few hours of questioning, Rodney was exhausted, hungry, and at his wit's end, but the blonde bitch keeping him captive was still at it. Wasn't the cunt tired or thirsty, at the very least?
Unable to bear it any longer, he bellowed, "What the hell is going on!?"
Hannah leered, "Like torture and rape?" She was tired of this bloody halfwit claiming to be innocent. Maybe he was, but he certainly didn't seem intelligent enough to be the Dollhouse Strangler.
Rodney was stunned by the question. He denied the heinous accusation without hesitation, "Fuck! No way, woman." He liked it rough in bed, but nothing out of the ordinary and nothing weird.
"Are you the Dollhouse Strangler?" Hannah demanded. She thought a direct question would rattle his feathers and make him confess.
Rodney stared at her without blinking and spat out, "Fuck you, I'm not some bloody lunatic." He had read about the sick bastard in the papers. He was many things, but a freak was hardly one of them.
Hannah gritted out, "You like redheads, don't you?"
While struggling to keep his composure, he reluctantly admitted, "Yeah, I like myself a bit of fire, love. That ain't no crime." He sincerely hoped his answer would not incriminate him further.
Hannah leaned forward, her face inches away from his, and snarled, "I've been waiting for this moment for months." It was all she thought about, bringing the murdering psychopath to justice.
Beads of sweat coated Rodney's upper lip and forehead. He was seriously beginning to panic and stuttered, "W..w..what?"
Hannah felt the anger she held at bay empower her. She lunged forward, grabbed the petrified man by the collar, and yelled, "You sick bastard. Where is Sarah!?"
"Who the fuck is Sarah?" Rodney asked in fear. He was about to shit in his trousers.
Hannah slapped him hard across the face and hissed, "The woman you kidnapped."
Rodney spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor and pleaded, "Look, this is a horrible fucking misunderstanding. I have kidnapped no one. Some fucking uptight bird I hit on called you lot."
"Convenient," Hannah laughed maniacally, further alarming the man in her custody.
Rodney started begging, "I swear it on my mother's grave, I haven't kidnapped anyone. Please, let me go."
Hannah pulled out her wand and threatened, "Tell that to the Dementors!"
Rodney paled. The very life in him left his body, and he protested, "What? No!"
"Shut your mouth!" Hannah cried angrily and raised her hand to strike the pathetic man before her, but the door burst open. Thomas strode in confidently, and his eyes took in the intense situation.
Thomas sighed and spoke softly to his prodigy, "Hannah."
Though she didn't believe it, she pointed at Rodney and said confidently, "We caught him, Spencer."
Thomas placed his hand on Hannah's shoulder and replied solemnly, "It's not him, love." He had been alerted to her actions by Potter, who insisted he look into the matter to ensure she was safe and sound.
Hannah shook her head and argued, "Of course it is. He can take us to Sarah." She wanted to believe that the man in the room with them was the Dollhouse Strangler, and despite the evidence showing otherwise, she refused to accept it.
Thomas looked at Rodney with disgust and answered, "He's a pathetic human being, but he's not the Strangler."
Hannah knew it was the truth, yet she questioned her superior, "How can you be so sure?"
"Look at him, Abbott. He's not smart enough," Thomas replied without batting an eyelash.
Rodney finally seemed to comprehend what was going on and gritted out, "Who are you calling pathetic, mate?" Where does this limbless fuck get off calling him pathetic?
Thomas fixed him with a look and quipped, "Took you long enough, arsehole."
He went around the desk, causing Rodney to struggle in his seat, but he was handcuffed, limiting any movement.
Thomas wasted no time with unwanted pleasantries. He openly threatened, "Listen to me, you piece of shite. If I see you so much as harass another woman, I will make fucking sure you never see the light of day."
Taking out his wand, Thomas waved it over the handcuffs, and they snapped open, releasing Rodney from imprisonment. The man rubbed his wrists and shot Hannah a nasty look. He wanted to lodge a complaint against the bitch for using excessive force during questioning but thought against it.
Thomas could gather what was going on inside Rodney's head. Hannah had overstepped her authority but it was a one-off scenario.
He pulled the man to his feet and shoved him out of the door with a dire warning, "Get the fuck out of my sight."
Rodney scrambled away with a meek, "Yes, sir." Without a backwards glance, he hurried his footsteps and left the DMLE and Ministry of Magic shortly afterwards.
Thomas approached the young witch seething with anger and said her name softly, "Hannah."
Hannah brushed it aside, "Just leave me alone." She let her emotions dictate her actions, which was unacceptable behaviour.
"We will get him," Thomas insisted, yet his words lacked conviction.
It had been a while since the last victim was discovered, but after extensive research into the backgrounds of the dead women, he discovered that each belonged to a Hogwarts house.
Sarah, the latest victim, was a past Gryffindor prefect. The killer was obsessed with magical things, which was a significant clue. Hopefully, more indications would present themselves leading to a much-needed arrest.
Thomas had many theories as to who it might be. He was convinced it was a squib or perhaps an undetected Muggle who bore a grudge.
Hannah gritted out in annoyance, "When? Once another body turns up?" She was seething and didn't mean to take out her frustrations on Thomas, but it was maddening to sit about twiddling one's thumbs while Sarah's life was in imminent danger.
Thomas let her sarcastic query slide and instead asked with a raise of a curious brow, "Where's Malfoy? Aren't you two joined at the hip lately?"
"He's with Granger," Hannah blurted out without much thought to her answer.
Thomas chucked, "Ah, an unlikely romance."
Hannah snorted, "Don't let Granger hear you call it that." She knew Hermione would throw an unwarranted fit.
Thomas nodded in understanding. He respected Granger and her work ethic.
He became rather serious after a moment, "Look, Abbott, we will catch this bastard."
Hannah took a deep breath and answered, "I know. I'm just frustrated."
Thomas pulled a stack of files from inside his Auror robes and dumped them on the table.
Hannah raised a brow, picked up the file on top, and asked curiously, "What are those?"
Thomas hissed, making his distaste for the matter evident, "More werewolf-related murders in America and France have popped up."
His following words were laced with a certain level of smugness, "The Romanian Minister is seeking refuge in England for the time being."
Hannah flipped through the file's contents and asked, "How come?"
Thomas gritted out, "He was wrong in his assumption that he could fight off hundreds of werewolves without the help of other nations." In his opinion, Constantine was an arrogant arsehole who stood by and did nothing while his men were slaughtered.
He sighed, "Arrogance usually comes at a heavy price, and Constantine has learnt his lesson at the sacrifice of his men."
Hannah's pretty features contorted unpleasantly, "Is it bad?"
Thomas nodded solemnly and explained further, "It is bad in Romania, but they've always had issues with wolves. It goes back over seven hundred years when the Lycan lords craved world domination, but the vampire elders put them in their rightful place."
He chuckled before adding, "Six feet under." He had a dark sense of humour, but Audrey found him mildly amusing.
Hannah replied thoughtfully, "I've read about the tales in the DMLE archives. I found them quite interesting."
Thomas included with some positivity, "The other nations are safe for the moment as long as we contain it." The Alpha king was in for a rude awakening. They would contain this threat if it were the last thing they did.
Hannah frowned, "You make them sound like a disease. They only want equal rights." She sympathised with werewolves. Their kind had been treated horribly and persecuted throughout the years, and perhaps they were justified in their desire to acquire power by force.
Thomas scowled, "Indeed, you're right. They want equal rights, but at what cost?" Hannah was young, she hadn't seen much, and on the other hand, he had seen ample. These youngsters sought to find the good in every being, but unfortunately, sometimes none existed, and the consequences were death and disaster.
"Anything I can do?" Hannah asked somewhat sheepishly. She realised her earlier statement was highly controversial at best and one that Thomas would not easily tolerate. Her eyes went to his missing limb, and she deeply regretted her immature words.
Thomas pulled the chair close, sat down, and replied without bothering to look up, "Go home. Get some sleep."
Hannah sighed, "Aye. Goodnight, Thomas." She had maybe a hour to herself before heading over to Hermione's.
Thomas mustered a smile, "Have a good one, Hannah." He was almost certain this so-called Alpha King was Antonin Dolohov, but he needed Dorian’s confirmation.
Malfoy Manor
After dessert was served and everyone had their fill of chocolate mousse and scrumptious red velvet cake, they returned to the foyer again. Dotty served coffee for the ladies who sat by the fireplace and brandy for the gentlemen who decided to stretch their legs and wandered onto the terrace overlooking the impressive gardens the Manor boasted.
Draco leaned against the marble railing and looked to the skies. It was a clear, rather beautiful night, and plenty of stars were visible. He pondered for a moment about his future with Hermione Granger. They had the potential for a bright future, but only if they allowed it to take its natural course.
Bernard reached into his breast pocket for his cigar case. He opened the sterling silver case and offered Richard a fine Cuban cigar. The brand name, Partagas, was printed on the gold and red slightly embossed label.
Richard took one, but Draco refused. The older men puffed on the cigars causing the air around them to become intense with an earthy smokiness that Draco didn't particularly care for, but oblivious and unaffected, Richard and Bernard exchanged humorous banter.
Hermione drank a glass of wine and then another while silently watching the ladies around her speak of many things that were thankfully unrelated to her. She felt a steady buzz, glanced at her watch, and almost gasped. It was quarter past ten pm.
She cleared her throat and said calmly so as not to draw too much attention to herself, "It's getting quite late."
Phyllis acknowledged her granddaughter's words and smiled, "Yes, I suppose it is, but time flies when having fun."
"I couldn't agree more," Narcissa replied fondly. The gathering had gone far better than she could have hoped.
Julia swapped a look with Hermione and gushed, "This has been a wonderful evening."
Bernard, Richard, and Draco chose that moment to enter and couldn't help but overhear the conversation.
Richard grinned, "Indeed. Thank you for your generous hospitality."
Narcissa replied graciously, "Please. It was our pleasure. I trust you will visit again soon?"
Julia replied enthusiastically, "Yes, definitely."
Phyllis chimed in, "We must have Bernard and you over for dinner."
Richard nodded in agreement, "That's a splendid idea, mum."
"I look most forward to it," Narcissa gushed. She never set foot inside a proper Muggle abode.
Hermione grew distant and faded into the background.
Narcissa turned her attention towards her beloved son. He was hovering behind the others, towering over them and stealing glances at his fiancé.
She requested with a sly smile, "Draco, will you see them safely home?"
Draco snapped to attention and immediately replied, almost falling over his short answer, "Yes, mother."
Bernard clamped his hand firmly onto Richard's shoulder and said happily, "Mate, we can catch the Liverpool game next week."
Richard beamed, "That sounds brilliant."
"I'll ring you with the details," Bernard offered without hesitation.
While walking to the exit, Julia exclaimed, "Thank you, Narcissa. You've raised a good man."
Hermione felt her insides churn unpleasantly. The feeling was followed by the sudden rapid beating of her heart. She stared at the back of Draco's head as he escorted her grandmother while speaking in hushed tones.
They seemed to be having a private conversation, but Draco glanced over his shoulder and caught her staring at him. At that moment, Hermione could not look away, so she held his gaze and challenged him to look away first, which he did since they set foot outside the Manor and stood at the top of the stairs that led to the point of apparation.
Everyone came to a halt, and Narcissa said wholeheartedly, "It was lovely to meet you all."
Julia smiled warmly, "The feeling is mutual."
Hermione stepped forward, hugged Narcissa tightly, and whispered, "Thank you."
"You are most welcome, my dear. I wish you smiled more," Narcissa replied softly. She was extremely fond of her would-be daughter-in-law. They had bonded during Draco's absence, and she treasured Hermione's willingness to look past her involvement with Voldemort. If only she extended that same courtesy to her son.
The silvery beams of moonlight fell over the gardens before them, and oddly the pathways were illuminated by a fluorescent glow which made navigating in the dark much simpler.
Before they walked down the stairs, Julia thanked Dotty for such a lovely meal, prompting Richard and Phyllis to do the same. The elf blushed and curtsied in reply, almost tripping in the process. She liked Miss Granger's family.
With a final bid of farewell, they walked silently to the fountain. A few white peacocks came into view and strutted majestically, enticing them with their beautiful feathers.
Narcissa watched as her guests disappeared and breathed a sigh of immense relief, "Well, that certainly went better than I expected. They seem to genuinely like Draco."
Bernard came closer, put his arm around her slender waist and praised, "Yes, they do. Still, you were wonderful, my darling."
"I think you deserve most of the credit, Bernard. It was awkward there for a moment," Narcissa smiled and confessed.
Bernard chuckled, "I am the life and soul of any party."
Narcissa's laughter followed them inside the Manor, and once inside, Max came running up to his mistress and demanded her undivided attention.
Draco fell into step behind Hermione, and it dawned on her, "Where’s Max?” The German Shepherd had been missing from the proceedings after the initial greeting. Usually, Narcissa let the dog have the run of the place.
Draco shrugged and replied thoughtfully, “I assume he's in one of the rooms. Mother might have thought it prudent since the rascal can sometimes be a bit temperamental.”
“Ah,” Hermione responded while maintaining a healthy distance between them. Even with her heels, he still towered over her. She glanced sideways and caught sight of a few strands of his platinum blonde locks blowing slightly in the wind.
Draco caught her gaze and smiled. He ran his long fingers through his hair and mused, “Same arrangement as before, or would you like me to bring your father?
Hermione lost her step and chuckled nervously, “Umm, no, it's fine.” She couldn't quite imagine her father holding onto Malfoy.
Once they reached the point of apparation, Draco politely instructed Phyllis and Julia to take his arm. At the same time, Hermione laced her fingers through her father's fingers and shot him a reassuring smile, “Close your eyes, dad and concentrate on the rose garden at home. It will make you feel better.”
Richard frowned, “If you say so, princess.”
They appeared almost together by the lush rose bushes that Julia painstakingly looked after, and this time, Richard was more himself.
He landed firmly on his feet and laughed, “That did the trick, Hermione.”
Hermione giggled. At the sight of her house, she felt a weight off her shoulders and relaxed somewhat.
Julia insisted, “Come, Draco. Have a cup of coffee.”
Draco followed her to the back entrance with a quick but polite “Thank you.”
Phyllis sat down, slipped out of her heels, and massaged her feet, “That’s much better.”
Richard plopped himself down on a chair, stretched his legs, and chuckled, “That was fun, wasn't it?”
Julia was busy making coffee and setting out the cups, but she glanced over her shoulder and replied warmly, “It truly was.”
She addressed Draco, “Your mother is lovely.”
“Bernard is bloody marvellous,” Richard included rather happily.
Hermione silently helped her mother plate biscuits and poured creamy milk into a large jug.
Julia nudged and inquired cheekily, “Darling, would you like one? Perhaps it will help you sober up.” She had noticed her daughter have more than her fair share of wine over dinner and after.
Hermione placed the plate of biscuits on the table with more force than necessary and argued, “I am not drunk.” She rolled her eyes to show her annoyance clearly.
Phyllis snorted, “If you say so.”
Richard frowned and stated frankly while taking the mug of coffee his wife handed him, “We did notice the glasses of wine you kept knocking back.”
Draco chuckled, graciously took the cup Julia held out for him, and wordlessly sipped on the coffee. His reaction garnered him a dirty look from Hermione, who did not take kindly to being ridiculed.
She took advantage of the opportunity and announced rather haughtily, “Well, I've got an early morning, and it's best I get a move on. I'm accompanying Ginny to Hogwarts in the morning.”
With some difficulty, Draco finished the steaming hot coffee in record time, sprang to his feet, and insisted, “I'll see you home.” He had thought Granger would spend the night at her parents, but clearly, he was mistaken.
Hermione dismissed him without a second thought, “That's not necessary, Malfoy.” Hannah would do the needful.
Expecting her answer, Draco took satisfaction in reminding her, “You are under Auror protection, and it is my job to accompany you.”
Hermione almost hissed, “I can manage.” The arsehole had her there. For a moment, she had forgotten all about her stupid protection detail.
Draco firmly stood his ground, “It is not a request, Granger.” If she forced his hand, he would pick her up, toss her over his shoulder, and apparate. He had plenty of experience lugging heavy sacks of rice, flour, and vegetables back at the temple.
Hermione conceded defeat and gritted out, “Fine. Whatever. If you insist upon making things difficult.” If she resisted too much, Malfoy could not be trusted not to do something dramatic, even in front of her parents.
Julia watched the interaction with an amused expression. Still, she asked curiously, “Will we see you both before you leave for Hawaii?”
Hermione shook her head, “Unlikely, mum.” They were leaving on Friday, and there was simply no time to spare.
Richard crossed his arms over his chest and demanded jokingly, “You best bring us back some souvenirs.”
Hermione kissed the top of her father's head and replied, “Of course, dad.”
Julia gushed, “Well, have a good trip, and be safe.”
Phyllis said with a mischievous grin, “Be good.”
“Nana!” Hermione cried out in embarrassment but quickly kissed her grandmother's forehead.
Draco straightened and blushed crimson. He was only partially used to elders speaking their minds so freely and frankly.
Nevertheless, he gave a slight nod and said, “Goodnight. Thank you for the coffee.”
To everyone's surprise, Richard acknowledged Draco’s words, “Goodnight, son. I suppose we will see you soon.”
Draco smiled in reply, “Yes.”
It was a short and sweet answer and one he was forced to give since Granger had seen fit to leave him with her parents and walk into the garden, but unfortunately for her, he caught up, grabbed her by the wrist and turned her roughly around to face him.
He smirked and asked with dripping sarcasm, “Are you trying to get rid of me, Granger?”
Hermione smiled innocently and answered, “Whatever gave you that idea, Malfoy? You seemed perfectly happy conversing with my parents that I didn't have the heart to interrupt.”
His lips curved upwards, and Hermione felt the familiar sensation of apparation overpower her; within seconds, they disappeared and recklessly appeared outside the door of her flat.
Hermione broke free from Draco’s hold and scolded, “Have you lost your puny mind? We could've been seen.”
Draco ignored her ranting and lazily leaned with his back against the wall and hands in his pockets. He waited patiently for her to unlock the door using the rusty keys or magic.
Unable to help herself, Hermione did a double take, and her earlier frustration evaporated into nothingness. However, it was replaced with lust and an insatiable desire to be ravaged by the man before her.
Against her better judgment, she found herself asking, “You can come in if you like.” Idiot. This would not end well. Of that, she was entirely sure. She opened the door and hurriedly walked in.
Draco stood at the entrance, not daring to enter, and openly teased, “Do you think that's wise?” He was glad she asked since, underneath the pretence of being her bodyguard, he had an ulterior motive of spending some alone time with her.
Hermione rolled her eyes, “Grow up, Malfoy.” She left the door open, walked into the kitchen, and headed straight for the overhead cabinets. After throwing the small door open, she pulled out a bottle of Firewhiskey.
Draco closed the door behind him and followed his intended into the small kitchen space. He saw her reaching to get glasses from the topmost shelf and questioned in a disapproving tone, “Hmm, don't you think you've had enough?”
Defiantly, Hermione poured herself a glass and responded, “Not nearly.”
She tossed back the shot and licked her lips, "Ah."
She held the bottle by its neck, eyed its contents, and said mockingly, “Would you like a glass? Or are you too noble to get sloshed?”
Draco mused, “Don't tempt me, Granger.” It was far too late for that. Her every movement enticed him and caused his self-resolve to crumble around him.
Hermione giggled, “Live a little, you uptight tool.” Was she unconsciously trying to loosen him up?
Draco sighed and gave in, “Fine. You win.”
Hermione grinned triumphantly, “That's the spirit.” She poured about one finger's worth of the amber liquid into a tumbler and slid it across the counter to him.
He grabbed it effortlessly, downed the alcohol, and said curiously, “You seem more like yourself.”
Hermione shrugged. The dinner was over, it had gone well, and she had no intention of reliving it but felt compelled to ask, “Did you expect them to get on so well?” She took the bottle and her glass and retired to the sofa in the living room, with Draco following close behind. It was a more comfortable arrangement for drinking.
Draco smiled and replied, “Your parents and grandmother are easy to like, Granger.” He watched intently as she discarded her shoes and curled up on the sofa.
Hermione quickly pointed out, “So are Narcissa and Bernard.” She moved her shoulders in small circles. They hurt for some odd reason.
Draco sat down next to her, poured himself another drink and said solemnly, “That wasn't always the case. Well, to be fair, Bernard was never an issue, he mingles with Muggles, but for my mother, it was an entirely new experience.”
Hermione was quick to defend Narcissa, “She handled herself quite well.”
Draco couldn't help but smile, “She seemed happy. That's all I've ever wanted for her.”
A long pause later and Draco mumbled, “Happiness.” He licked his lips before leaning back into the comfort of the sofa.
Hermione leaned forward and whispered huskily, “She is happy, Draco. You’re a good son.”
Their lips were inches apart, and it seemed the most natural, logical thing to do. Her intoxicating smell surrounded him whole and clouded his senses.
Salazar, she was the most utterly tempting woman he had ever laid eyes on.
He claimed her lips hard and fast, and she responded fervently by cupping his face and pulling him closer to her aroused body. Their lips moulded perfectly together in fiery abandonment. Cushions fell to the ground as their movements became urgent.
Draco drawled between heated eager kisses, “Granger….”
Hermione responded between kisses, “Draco….” She straddled him effortlessly, causing a rip in the tight dress as it rode up her thighs, and she got comfortable being on top of him, but it didn't matter. They were lost at the moment.
Her tongue entwined with his, and he pushed against hers as he explored the expanse of whiskey-tasting mouth.
Draco moved his fingers up the exposed flesh of her thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps and fire in its wake.
His husky tones of sexual arousal caressed the inner shell of her sensitive ear, “You feel incredible.”
Hermione returned his enthusiasm by slightly grinding on his aroused appendage. She could feel his erection through his trousers, digging into the lace of her panties.
Breathless, she whispered, “Says the man who hasn't touched a woman in nearly a decade.”
With his lips pressed to the base of her throat, Draco rasped, “I want to savour every inch of you.” He pushed aside his insecurities and came to a firm decision. It was the opportune moment to have sex with Granger and satisfy their painful yearning.
However, the woman ardently giving herself to him had other plans. Despite his deep guttural groan of protest, she got off him and stood before him with her hands on her hips and a satisfied expression.
Hermione pulled her hair back into a loose bun and smirked, “Hmm, I think you should leave. We have an early morning and no time for distractions.” Let's see how he liked being rejected. It was incredibly petty, and she was sure to regret it, but for now, it felt necessary.
It took Draco a short while to gather his bearings and come to terms with what was happening, but it wasn't in him to pressure a woman into sleeping with him.
Still sporting an erection, he composed himself, got to his feet and challenged with a slightly cocky grin, “Who's unwilling to take things forward now?”
Without a further word, Hermione walked over to the main door, threw it open and smiled sweetly, “Good night, Malfoy.” Hannah would be along shortly to take over the night shift.
Draco followed her but stood by the entrance without leaving. He needed a few minutes for his hard-on to subside. Currently, it pressed uncomfortably against his trousers, threatening to burst through. He truly hoped Abbott wouldn't turn up unannounced.
He turned to face her and smiled, displaying his almost perfect teeth, “It was a good night.” His words had hidden meanings but not enough to rattle Hermione's feathers.
She couldn't help but agree and include, “Yes, it was perfect. I'll see you tomorrow.”
He bent to kiss her cheek but got her lips instead, and it was as if nothing else existed but them.
Draco deepened the embrace and muttered incoherently, “Yes. Tomorrow. Hogwarts.” He dreaded it since his parting from the famous school was less than civil.
Hermione mumbled against his soft lips, “Mmm, Hogwarts.” Stop it, her mind screamed, but she just couldn't.
Her arms encircled his neck while kissing passionately. He almost lifted her off the ground and pinned her to the sturdy door that opened the way to her flat. Silence followed, punctured only by the subtle sounds of moans emitting from Hermione as she surrendered to him.
An annoyed voice cut through the moment like a double-edged dagger, “Whiskers! Where's that ruddy cat gotten off to? Oh…” She stopped and stared wide-eyed at the couple engaged in an indecent act for all to see. Young people these days had no respect for the sanctity of privacy.
Hermione broke free from the embrace and pushed Draco away before greeting her nosy but friendly elderly neighbour, “Good evening, Gladys.”
Gladys grinned, “Hermione.”
Draco smiled at Gladys and decided to make himself scarce.
He cleared his throat, gazed deeply into Hermione’s eyes and said, “I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early.”
Hermione moved her fingertips over her kiss-swollen lips and muttered, “Uh-huh.”
Draco hurried down the corridor and the flight of stairs while texting Hannah and leaving Hermione to converse and help Gladys locate her missing feline companion.
Club Sanguis
Avery's knee collided with the man's jaw, shattering it to pieces. A strangulated groan left the defeated man's lips. Julius released his victim from the hold, and the unknown man fell to the ground and fluttered between consciousness.
A loyal lackey sprinted up to the metal barriers of the arena and said, almost out of breath, “The master is waiting for you.” It was apparent from the man's tone that he was terrified.
Julius wiped the blood off his fingers and glared, “Why wasn't I informed at once?” He ignored and stepped over the man whimpering on the ground at his feet. The man spat out a mouthful of blood but was offered no medical attention or a second glance.
The lackey glanced over his shoulder, dropped his voice and muttered, “He appears out of nowhere and gives me the willies.”
Julius exited the arena discarding his blood-soaked hand wrapping. He strolled towards his faithful minion, whose features contorted with fear and grabbed the petrified man by the shirt and snarled, “Never insult the Master in my presence.”
The man nodded vigorously and closed his eyes, expecting the inevitable beating he was about to receive. Still, Julius let go and instructed another standing close by to attend to the fallen, bleeding man in the fighting arena.
The lackey breathed a massive sigh of relief, adjusted his shirt and mumbled, “Crazy bastards.”
There was hardly time to change. Julius resorted to greeting his Master clad in black jogging bottoms and nothing else. Once he entered his office, he found the leader sitting at his desk and reviewing some unrelated documents.
Julius apologised profusely, “My Lord, forgive me for keeping you waiting.”
The masked man ignored the pathetic attempt to appease him. Instead, he came straight to the point of his untimely visit, “The fight in Romania is going exceptionally well, but I have advised my forces to fall back and retreat to the forest.”
Using the aid of his wand, Julius made himself presentable and questioned curiously, “But why?” It made no sense why the Master would retreat from a sure win.
The Alpha King laughed at his right-handed man’s naivety and grudgingly offered a short explanation, “I don't have the warriors nor the capital to deal with what will follow. I never intended to capture the Romanian Ministry and reveal to the world our plan and my return this early, but I gave Constantine more credit than he deserved.”
He included thoughtfully, “His forces are weak. They crumbled faster than I anticipated.”
“I see,” Julius agreed without argument but failed to see how that was bad.
The leader gritted out in frustration, “Constantine has met with Kingsley, and the Minister of Magic will rally the allies under one banner. That poses a grave problem.” They had the power to overpower one Ministry but not the combined might of the world, at least not presently.
He was angered by the lack of progress in the UK and sought to rectify the matter by making his thoughts abundantly clear, “Recruitment in London is poor. We must double our efforts.” It was imperative to his plans to have the British Ministry of Magic under his complete control.
Julius poured himself a drink and assured, “I will see to it at once, Master.” He would need to hold a meeting with wizards and witches sworn to the cause and rethink their strategy. It was easier said than done since things had drastically changed since Voldemort was defeated.
The Alpha suggested slyly, “Turn someone close to Kingsley.” It had been done before with other Ministers and proved most effective.
Julius shook his head and offered profound insight, “That is near impossible, my Lord. He trusts no one but Potter and Granger.” Kingsley Shacklebolt was nothing like his predecessors. The man was intelligent, shrewd and remarkably skilled. He was a formidable adversary, a fact the Master seemed to overlook.
Yet, undeterred, the shrouded man grew thoughtful and said, “Hmm, Miss Granger. I have heard about her engagement. Perhaps, it is the opening we need to plant one of our own close to the Minister.”
Julius sneered, “Malfoy has joined the DMLE. He has denounced the old ways. How can he be of any help?” The words left a bitter taste in his mouth. He considered Draco Malfoy a traitor to everything they stood for, and to make matters worse, he was taking a Mudblood wife.
Of course, Julius had not had the opportunity to see or meet Hermione. He based his opinion on speculation and her blood status, but he was well aware of Goyle’s sickening fascination with her, which piqued his interest. It was time to visit the so-called Golden Girl.
The leader did not share his lieutenant's sentiments. On the contrary, since his rebirth as a werewolf, he now considered the pairing unconventional but essential and made his opinion apparent, “Interesting. I wonder what the boy is thinking. Most curious.”
Julius didn't like the tone. He found nothing remotely interesting about Malfoy poisoning a centuries-old gene pool.
The Alpha continued speaking, adding vital points he thought would help them gain the edge in Britain, “Maybe young Mr Malfoy could be persuaded to join our cause and fund it as well. Lucius had deep pockets, and I'm sure Draco does too.” The boy would have definitely inherited his father's fortune.
He became angry and spat out, “If Narcissa becomes an obstacle, remove her. It is regrettable, but she cannot be trusted.” The woman had always been beyond Lucius’s control.
Julius hesitated, but what choice did he have but to agree, “Of course, my Lord. I'll see to it.”
They spoke of other matters well into the night. Julius collapsed into his large armchair once the Master left and pondered.
He kept repeating to himself, “Father, you are worth every sacrifice I make.”
The next morning
The murderer cooed, “Are you ready, my love?”
He had provided some outdated clothes. Her hair was long and tangled. Sarah had done her best and combed it, getting rid of the many knots.
She sighed, “Yes, I guess I am.”
Without warning, he grabbed her by the arm and leered, “You remember my instructions?”
Sarah whimpered in pain and choked back a sob, “Yes….” He had rattled off some rules for her to obey as he violated her. She had no intention of following any of them.
His fingers closed around her throat, and he applied pressure obstructing her airway until she gasped. He let go, causing her to take deep breaths of air while staring at the horror of an engagement ring that hugged her finger.
He warned, spit spewing in every direction, “One word and you'll wish I killed you.”
Chapter 61
Notes:
To all the comments:- Thank you all for taking the time to write such encouraging words. Much love!
The Dollhouse Strangler takes Sarah shopping.
Draco, Hermione and Ginny visit Hogwarts. Plenty of surprises there.
Terry is recovering but his infatuation with Hermione doesn't seem to be an end.
I hope everyone enjoys the update!
On another note, Carrie, my wonderful Beta and I have started a gofundme to help finance essential needs for stray dogs in Sri Lanka. The poor darlings require housing, medication and food. We will be donating proceeds to other shelters as well to maintain costs.
Please be kind and donate towards the cause - https://gofund.me/e2d34d36
Any amount is highly appreciated.
Much love to all!
Enjoy Chapter Sixty-One!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Daphne snuggled into the warmth her son offered. She peered at him and took in the smile of contentment spread across his face and steady breathing. He had calmed down considerably after her return and complained about the injustices his babysitters inflicted upon him.
She had arrived a few hours earlier by Portkey, and the joy of seeing her children made cutting the trip short worth it. Besides, she convinced herself she had a few perfect days with Blaise, which was enough.
Waiting for her arrival, Tracey and Astoria barrelled into explanation the minute her feet landed on the plush carpet in the living room.
Daphne thought back to the wholesome conversation and couldn't help but smile. Her younger sisters were indeed characters, but they loved the children wholeheartedly. However, they had been utterly distraught by the outcome and apologised profusely until she shut them up firmly.
Blaise had rung earlier and begged her to let him return since Theo kept dragging him to every activity the resort offered. Daphne sympathised with Theo. She knew he felt out of sorts because of Luna's odd and unapproachable behaviour.
It was pretty early, but she didn't mind. She turned over to find Carrie clutching a plush unicorn toy fast asleep. Her heart melted at the adorable sight. Pulling her children closer, Daphne shut her eyes and drifted off to sleep again.
Tracey and Ron's Flat
Ron groggily rubbed his eyes and walked into the kitchen wearing pyjama bottoms and nothing else. He froze as he came face to face with his estranged wife, who seemed busy cutting up fruit, possibly for breakfast or a smoothie.
Frankly, he hated her healthy eating habits but was now desperate for them to be forced upon him.
Tracey saw her so-called husband enter her space, causing her to lose focus. The knife in her grasp sliced through the mango and effortlessly into her palm.
She whimpered, "Oh no." The juicy fruit dropped to the floor, and blood gushed from the open cut. It hurt like hell, but she kept her composure, not wanting to appear weak and pathetic in front of her husband.
Her panicked tone of voice spurred Ron into action. Disregarding the frostiness between them, he hurried to his wife's side and questioned impatiently but with growing concern, "What's the matter, darling?"
Tracey shielded her hand and purposefully turned away with a firm, "I am not speaking to you." He was blocking her way, or she would have fled to the bathroom and tended to her wounded hand. She cursed her carelessness.
Ron pleaded, "Come on, Tracey. You're my wife. The silent treatment is driving me mad and…." He stopped mid-sentence as he caught sight of the drops of blood seeping through her fingers and falling to the clean white tiled floor as if in slow motion.
Then, turning her around, he reached for her hand. His features contorted with genuine concern, "What happened?"
She moved out of the way, dismissed his look of worry and answered stubbornly, "It's nothing, just a little scratch."
Ron argued defiantly, "I will be the judge of that. Let me see." Without waiting for consent, he gently took her hand in his and turned it over to get a better look at the palm. A nasty cut down the middle was visible, but fortunately, it didn't appear too deep.
His caring and hands on her were soothing. Before Tracey could control her emotions, she began sobbing and whispered, "It's fine, honestly." Her heart was beating fast and painfully.
Ron softened his gaze, took out his wand from the pocket of his bottoms and moved it slowly over the wound while muttering a spell under his breath. Dittany would have done the trick, but unfortunately, they were out of stock.
The wound neatly stitched itself up, leaving a reddish healed scar in its wake. The pain stopped almost at once.
Tracey took her hand back, brushed her fingers over it and mumbled, "Thank you."
They gazed into each other's eyes, and much was said through that one look. Ron knew Tracey was a good woman and that he desperately needed to get over Hermione and let go of their memory to have any future with his wife.
He came closer, cupped her face and said, "I miss you."
Tracey took a deep breath and leaned into the gentle touch of his sizeable palm. She yearned to be close to him.
She swallowed her pride and replied truthfully, "I miss you too."
Ron smiled, gathered her in his arms and placed a soft kiss on her lips. He didn't want to push things too far in case she was reluctant, but to his surprise, Tracey responded positively by pulling him close and deepening the embrace.
He would be late for work, but no one cared since he was the boss. His secretary would do what was needed in his absence.
They urgently needed this time to make amends for his rather callous behaviour. Ron scooped Tracey up and carried her off to their bedroom.
It would be the first time in a while that they would share a bed and make love.
The man grabbed Sarah's arm and ushered her out of the house. Rays of sunshine washed over her deprived face, and felt glorious. She looked to the heavens, closed her eyes, leaned into the warmth and took a deep breath.
He wasn't overly pleased by her lack of movement but grudgingly accepted her need to bask in the sun. It had been months since he acquired her, and she had been denied warmth.
Eyes still closed, Sarah's attuned hearing took in the slight chirping of birds and moving protesting wheels sounding oddly like a rusty old bicycle.
A few minutes passed, and the man's patience snapped. This little trip wasn't some holiday, and they couldn't wander around London streets longer than necessary. He knew where they could get clothes and other items a woman required.
After all, she was now his fiancé and his duty was to treat her properly. He wondered offhandedly whether she could cook. It seemed unlikely, but they would try, and she would learn to please him. His mother hardly made him any food and preferred him to beg for unsavoury scraps when unbearable hunger settled in the pits of his belly.
Even after all these years, he still couldn't understand his mother's treatment towards him or what he had done wrong by loving her unconditionally. His father's abusive and womanising ways were hardly his fault. He hadn't asked to be born this way.
Thoughts of his mother's abuse ignited rage within him, and he pulled at Sarah's arm, causing her to snap out of her few seconds of bliss and come crashing back to reality. She whimpered as his fingers dug deep into her arm.
"We do not have time for distractions," he hissed, staring intently at her. Of course, he had plenty of other things to do afterwards, like reporting to his mundane job that was a complete waste of his time and skills, but strangely he thrived at figuring out how the odd contraptions worked, especially when no one else could.
Sarah nodded but refused to look at him. Instead, she kept her eyes on her feet and unfashionable old shoes that she was sure belonged to his dead mother. His scarred face was even more repulsive in broad daylight. She had seen it plenty but largely under dim lights or darkness.
She could see the disfigured face though he tried to conceal it with his long hair. The mutilated and burnt flesh areas were repugnant, and Sarah had to exercise self-control to hold back the bile. He was utterly grotesque.
It dawned on her that she was outside, in the open, and anyone would come to her rescue if she screamed. A quick discreet scan of the surrounding area revealed they were alone, standing just outside the door in a well-maintained garden. As far as Sarah could tell, the house that was her prison was standard but old, with white-washed walls and a large brown door.
There weren't many houses on either side of the street, and they were clearly on the outskirts of London.
She couldn't recognise any of the dwellings, and her heart sank to the pits of her belly. Still, she took in the finer details of their environment and committed them to memory. Then, if by some miracle she escaped, she could lead the authorities right to the bastard's house of torture.
He gave her a sharp tug and almost dragged her out onto the street where a battered old Vauxhall Astra awaited them. It became clear to Sarah that they would not be travelling using magical means. Her suspicions regarding him not possessing magical abilities were probably correct. Either that, or he wanted to keep a low profile and avoid unwanted attention.
There was no need for them to enter the magical world. Her picture had been posted everywhere, and Aurors were hopefully still looking into her disappearance.
The man opened the car door and unceremoniously shoved Sarah inside. The interior was clean, and the upholstery seemed brand new, like it was recently done. She fidgeted in her seat and watched him intently through the windshield as he moved around the car to get to the driving side.
This was her chance to bolt, but why weren't her legs moving? Why was she paralysed with fear?
After what seemed like an eternity and gathering what little courage she could muster, her shaky fingers closed around the door handle, but the driving side door opened, and the fiend slid into the seat.
Swiftly, Sarah withdrew her hand, dropped it to her side and stared straight ahead.
"Are you ready, my love?" The man cooed. He hadn't seen her feeble attempt at escape and was quite pleased by her demeanour and lack of defiance.
Reaching over, he squeezed her thigh over the flimsy material of the dress he had forced upon her and leered, "Be good." It was a warning in the purest form.
The words caused Sarah to pale and slump even further in the seat, crestfallen. The streets were clean but deserted, even though a row of houses was visible. None of it was familiar.
The murderer started the car, and it sprang to life. He kept his hand on her thigh, letting his fingers linger and stroke. Sarah exhaled and ignored the shiver that slid down her spine.
Hermione's Flat
Hannah poured herself a bowl of cornflakes and milk. She stuck her spoon into the bowl as Hermione walked in dressed professionally and looking fresh and alert.
"I made coffee," Hannah stated with a smile and pointed to the coffee pot resting on the counter with spirals of steam approaching the ceiling.
Hermione smiled gratefully, pulled a mug from the rack, poured herself a cup and said before taking a sip, "Thank you and good morning, Hannah."
Hannah grinned, took a mouthful of soggy cornflakes and asked, "So, how was dinner?"
Hermione blushed. She couldn't help it. The evening had gone better than her wildest expectations, and there was no reason to deny the fact.
She swallowed a large gulp of hot coffee, not minding that it burnt her tongue, and reacted, "It went very well. Everyone got on famously."
Hannah teased, "Well, there's a shocker."
"Shove it, Abbott. Nothing between Malfoy and I has changed," Hermione argued adamantly.
Hannah showed indifference and smirked, "Not yet, at least."
She took in Hermione's professional appearance and raised a brow, "Aren't you off to Hogwarts today?"
Hermione leaned against the counter and nodded, "Yes, I am. Once Malfoy arrives we will head off to meet Ginny and arrive at Hogwarts via Floo network, I suppose."
It was another day she would be forced to tolerate Malfoy's presence. This protection detail was getting tiresome, despite the heinous nature, the deeds mentioned in the letter she received, and now knowing the culprits behind it. She was sure Goyle and Cormac would not dare take things to the extreme.
She asked hopefully, "By any chance are you coming with me instead of Malfoy?"
Hannah chuckled, "I'm afraid not. I'll take my leave once the blonde idiot arrives."
A loud knock on the door cut through their conversation. They exchanged an amused look, and Hannah sighed, set down her bowl, and opened the door when it became clear that Hermione could not be bothered.
Draco stood outside looking fresh and handsome in a set of laundered black Auror robes that she noticed gave off the faint smell of fabric softener. He ran his fingers through his hair, and strands fell carelessly across his forehead.
"Good morning, Abbott," Draco cheerfully greeted as he stepped into the flat and shut the door behind him.
Hannah grinned and retorted with dripping sarcasm, "Morning, partner. I missed you yesterday when I falsely arrested an arsehole I believed to be the Dollhouse Strangler."
Hermione choked on her coffee and cried in disbelief, "What?"
Draco raised a curious brow, "What happened?" However, he kept his wits and didn’t show too much concern.
Hannah sighed in exasperation but waved it aside, "It's best explained with a drink in hand, but suffice to say, Thomas was not best pleased."
Hermione frowned, "You can't just leave us with that." She wanted to know everything.
Hannah placed the dirty dish in the sink and smiled, "Well, you two best get going. I promise I’ll go into further detail later."
Draco playfully tugged on his partner's ponytail and drawled, "Tease." He would coax her into spilling the beans later.
After adjusting his wayward name tag, Hannah replied coyly, "I do love to keep you guessing."
Hermione shifted uncomfortably. Were they flirting? No, it wasn't possible. Still, the affectionate display clawed unpleasantly at her insides.
Draco saw Hannah to the front door and regarded her fondly. The duo exchanged a few words that caused him to smirk. She waved at Hermione and left shortly afterwards.
Fetching her bag, Hermione tapped her foot impatiently and blurted out, "If you are done canoodling with Hannah, we can leave since Ginny has rung me no less than three times already. She's waiting for us."
Draco shut the door, turned to give his fiancé his undivided attention and said with smug satisfaction, "Is that a hint of jealousy I hear in your tone?"
Hermione looked repulsed and fired back, "Do not flatter yourself, Malfoy."
"Shall we?" Draco asked with a slight grin.
Hermione closed the distance between them with a definite roll of her eyes, took his hand in hers and waved her wand over them as she muttered, "No 12, Grimmauld Place."
In a split second, as they disappeared, Draco snaked his arm around Hermione's waist pinning her hand to the small of her back and pulling her close.
She was taken aback, but he smiled down at her and tightened his hold. He bent to kiss the side of her neck, sending shockwaves throughout her treacherous body. It was petty, but Draco sincerely enjoyed her surprise and mild discomfort.
Hermione inhaled deeply. Merlin, he smelled sinfully delightful. She found herself offering more of herself for him to feast on.
His actions were causing her to severely lose focus and if she didn't concentrate on their destination the whole trip could end in disaster.
Focus, Granger. Mmm, his lips felt so heavenly against her skin.
They drove silently and passed plenty of buildings and houses, and Sarah assumed it would take a little over half an hour to reach London. She desperately hung onto every detail, committing every landmark and signpost to memory.
It had begun to drizzle, making the muggle city look shabbier through droplets on the windscreen and her weary eyes. St. Paul’s Cathedral's once splendorous sight would have impressed her, but its columns and arches now looked dreary. Its faded dome a drab, duck-egg blue.
He parked near Petticoat Lane, shut off the engine and looked around nervously. It was much more crowded than he had imagined when shopping in the district, but it would have to do. There was no going back; if she disobeyed him, she would pay dearly. He expected absolute obedience.
Sarah looked out the window anxiously and took in the crowds of people going about their day, chatting, shopping and having a bite to eat. They all walked so fast she wondered how people didn’t fall and become swallowed up in the throng. Then, she spotted a couple laughing together. It almost made her cry out.
Suddenly, she felt claustrophobic inside the car and wanted nothing more than to bolt. Before acting on her instincts, a hand grabbed her arm, and he issued a dire warning, "Behave, my darling. If you misbehave, the consequences for your actions will be regrettable."
The man instructed her to remain seated while he got out of the car and went around to open the passenger door for her. Again, her courage deserted her entirely, and once again, she did his bidding and followed his instructions as if disobeying would be the final nail in her coffin. However, she knew he would make her suffer before performing the final deed.
He threw the door open wide and offered his hand for her to take with a forced happy smile, "Take my hand, Sarah."
She did as commanded, stood on the pavement and kept her head down.
He had succeeded in crushing her spirit. She was once known at Hogwarts and after for her fiery spirit and bravery. Still, she hoped she had some fight left in her.
Run! Her inner voice screamed. Run, you coward.
She wanted to escape but found herself paralysed with fear. Finally, the man took her hand and led her toward an East End thrift store. She could see a street market in the distance, and some parts of her surroundings seemed familiar.
Had she ventured to this part of London with her mates? Think, Sarah. For fuck sake!
The shop looked like a decent place, but she wouldn't have been caught dead in a thrift store in her previous life, mainly because she worked for the most prestigious designer boutique in wizarding Britain. Wearing second-hand items wasn’t the done thing.
The monster squeezed her arm before entering the store, a quick warning to behave. Sarah understood what was expected from her. She smoothed her dress, plastered on a fake smile and took in the rows of clothes.
A middle-aged woman in a greyish uniform greeted them and asked, "Good morning. How may I be of assistance?" Her features contorted unpleasantly once she saw the scared face of the man. It wasn't purposely done but an involuntary reaction to seeing something out of the ordinary.
The man turned his face away and muttered, "My fiancé needs clothes similar to what she's wearing."
Sarah flinched but said nothing. Instead, she kept her eyes downcast and nervously chewed on her bottom lip.
The shop assistant eyed the outfit and frowned. The outfit was designed to the tastes of a much older woman. She had seen some oddballs, but this couple struck her as extremely strange, especially the young woman.
She ignored the obvious red flags for the moment, such as his possessive nature and dominating behaviour and the woman’s vacant, almost haunted expression, because there weren’t any visible bruises or outward signs of physical abuse.
Looking through the rows of hanging clothes, she overlooked what Sarah was wearing and picked what she thought would be appropriate for a young woman.
The man laced his fingers through Sarah's and tightened his hold. It was evident with every passing second that his nervousness was getting the better of him, and he regretted bringing her into the city.
Of course, Muggles were blissfully unaware of disappearances in the magical world, but plenty of Aurors paraded the streets of London in disguise to gather intelligence on pending cases.
She carefully handed Sarah a few dresses and blouses, who took them with a pained expression. He looked at the items in her arms critically and gave a short nod of approval.
However, the woman in the store did not take kindly to this overbearing, possessive behaviour, and she spoke directly to Sarah and offered, "It's best if you try them on."
Sarah glanced at the man by her side anxiously and nodded, but he didn't let go of her hand and came with her.
The store helper intervened with a raised brow, "I'm sorry, sir, but we do not allow gentlemen in the ladies' changing rooms."
The man fumed but not wanting to cause a scene, he smiled politely and let go of his captive.
Sarah glanced over her shoulder as she followed the woman to the back of the store, where the changing rooms were located.
The store assistant, Patrice, questioned in concern once they were out of earshot, "Are you okay, love? I can help you if you want." Her gut feelings were usually right on the money.
This is your chance, Sarah. Take it! Run for your life.
Sarah hugged the clothes close to her chest and vigorously shook her head before replying in a panicked voice, "No. I swear everything is fine. He's just a little intense." Her voice cracked from lack of use.
Patrice wasn't convinced but couldn't do anything unless the young woman admitted her life was in danger and required assistance. She knew the signs of domestic abuse like the back of her hand and had the scars to prove it.
Sarah hurried into the dressing room and doubled over, trying to catch her breath. She was a nervous wreck and utterly disgusted with herself. It was an internal battle between fear and courage, and fear was winning hands down.
She needed to get out of the store. Without bothering to try on many of the items, she held them up to her frail, thin body and estimated it would be a decent fit. The outfits were ghastly and not to her taste, but it wasn't like she would be hosting dinner parties.
Her reflection in the floor-length mirror startled her, and she barely recognised the gaunt woman staring back at her. She was a shadow of her former self, and seeing herself in such a pitiful state caused the tears she held back to spill over.
Patrice was concerned about her client and timidly knocked on the door, “Is everything alright in there?”
Sarah glanced at the door in alarm. She hurriedly wiped away the tears, took a deep breath and composed herself. He would punish her severely if she gave him away.
After leaving the dressing room, she quickly told the woman guarding the way, "These are fine. Please ring them up."
The man awaited her return anxiously, pacing up and down and looking deranged.
However, he calmed down considerably once Sarah came into view and fought the urge to kiss her in front of strangers.
His love had returned to him when she had the opportunity to escape. She came to him. He convinced himself that it meant she loved him as he did her. They were complete; once a baby arrived, their little family would thrive and want for nothing. He was a pathetic, delusional bastard.
The cashier eyed them suspiciously but said nothing, as it wasn’t her place. She bagged up the items and gave the receipt, which the man paid in cash without a fuss. He took the bag of items and rushed Sarah out of the store without a backwards glance. It was time to return home and enjoy the fruits of his labour.
Patrice stared out the window with a frown etched onto her face as the man shoved the young woman into the car, scrambled to his side, started the car and sped off in the opposite direction.
She felt a shiver go down her spine. There was something that didn't seem right about the couple.
Sarah wanted to scream but instead pursed her lips, sat on her hands and rocked back and forth. She had missed her chance of escape. What was the matter with her? Did she want to die or, worse, be married to and bear a maniac's children?
His voice bore into her thoughts, "You were excellent, darling. I love you so much." She had gained much of his trust with her behaviour.
When Sarah remained silent, he continued, "Next time, we can have dinner at a quiet restaurant if you like."
That bit of information piqued Sarah's interest—next time. There would be a next time. Relief washed over her once she knew she would get another chance.
Clearly, her obedience had pleased him, and maybe not all was lost. She decided to compel herself to be stronger. Strong enough to break free from his heinous clutches.
"I want you before I go to work," he drawled huskily before reaching over and slipping his fingers underneath her dress. She didn't dare move away and ruin the little progress she had made.
Gathering her inner strength, she spread her legs, giving him better access to stroke her inner thigh while he drove steadily.
He grinned devilishly, "Beautiful." He moved a finger under the flimsy material of her undergarment and sensually stroked her exposed cunt. His gentle brushes caused her body to betray her and fluids to coat her pussy lips generously.
Withdrawing his hand after a few moments, he brought his coated fingers to his nose and inhaled deeply, "Mmm, you smell ravishing."
Sarah clamped her legs together and refused to acknowledge the fully aroused man driving them to her prison.
His erection was clearly visible, and she sneaked a peak and almost gagged. He would fuck her without abandon once they were alone.
He added on cue, "We will be home soon."
Survive, Sarah, she told herself. You must live to tell this tale.
No 12, Grimmauld Place
Hermione sat at the table in the kitchen with a cup of tea in her hands. Ginny was busy plating biscuits and slices of chocolate sponge cake with a thick gooey chocolate frosting she had left from the night before.
She glanced over her shoulder as she cut the cake into equal pieces and said with a slight smirk, "You look nervous, Malfoy. Have a seat."
Draco stiffened. He wasn't nervous per se, but it was odd to be standing in Potter's kitchen and be served goodies by the youngest Weasley. It was so jarring that he couldn't bring himself to sit nor drink the cup of tea Ginny kindly offered.
Hermione scolded, "Sit down." She was somewhat embarrassed by his uneasy behaviour. If anything, they had plenty of reason to doubt him, but not the other way around. Harry had risked a lot to save his blonde arse on multiple occasions.
Ginny set down the plate on the wooden table and smiled at Draco. It was genuine and heartfelt.
She insisted with a half smirk, "Come on, Malfoy. Have a slice. I swear it's not poisoned."
Hermione stifled a laugh and reached for a piece of cake. She took a bite and savoured the taste, "Mmm, that's delicious."
Still, Draco, who was partial to anything chocolate, kept his distance, stood behind a seated Granger and looked utterly uncomfortable.
Ginny had extended an olive branch but couldn't shove it down anyone's throat. So instead, she sat down beside Hermione, drank her tea and spoke about their upcoming trip to Hawaii.
"Have you packed?" Ginny asked curiously.
Hermione shook her head and sighed, "Not in the least. I've barely started. I'll probably toss some essential things into a bag and be done with it."
Ginny teased openly, even though Malfoy was present and listening to every word, "Hmm, perhaps you should pay some attention to your wardrobe."
Hermione blushed profusely, "Ginny, behave yourself." She knew without a doubt her friend was referring to lingerie.
"What? I have one hundred Galleons riding on this," Ginny argued with an amused expression.
Draco heard word for word and raised a perplexed brow. What in the name of Salazar was going on? Did he even want to know?
Hearing the voices, Harry came into the room, dressed for work and made his displeasure quite evident, "What the hell is he doing here?"
It was one thing to tolerate Malfoy at the DMLE, but he had no immediate plans to become chummy with the ex-Slytherin.
Draco opened his mouth to offer a sensible retort. Still, Hermione beat him to it in a somewhat annoyed tone, "He's my bodyguard, or have you forgotten that you assigned him to my security detail?"
"Not that I need one." She reminded hotly.
Harry felt like a right arse. He had momentarily forgotten that Hermione was under DMLE protection. There was so much on his mind, from harbouring the Romanian Minister, containing the werewolf threat, and, most importantly, finding out who was behind it all.
He helped himself to a piece of cake and replied, "Oh, right. I forgot Hannah's with Thomas today. She arrested a wrong bloke yesterday, and it's a bloody miracle he didn't sue the DMLE."
Hermione answered, "She mentioned it vaguely but refrained from going into detail."
She leaned forward and insisted, "What exactly happened, Harry?"
Harry defended one of his best recruits, "Hmm, well, it was not her finest moment, but we all make mistakes."
Draco grew thoughtful and chimed in, "Indeed." Hannah was his partner, and a good one at that. He was sure she had probable cause for arresting the man and the following events.
However, he also knew how desperate she was to catch the Dollhouse Strangler.
Harry narrowed his eyes and gritted out, "Some mistakes are more costly than others, Malfoy. You would be wise to remember that."
Draco gave a half smirk but let the snide remark slip, "I will keep that in mind, Potter." His words dripped with sarcasm but not enough to insult nor rattle the Chosen One.
Hermione swapped a look of concern with Ginny and loudly cleared her throat. Harry was being openly hostile without cause. She supposed he had difficulty regarding Malfoy as a colleague even though he decided to hire the man.
Harry took the hint and directed a question towards his beloved wife, "Where are you off to?"
Ginny rolled her eyes and accused, "Honestly, do you never listen?" He had a mind like a sieve regarding anything unrelated to the DMLE.
Harry shrugged and, wracking his brains to figure out what he had forgotten, asked almost innocently, "What?" Blimey, he had gone and done it now. It was most definitely Quidditch-related.
Hermione sipped her tea and chuckled. Harry was such a scatterbrain at times. It was hilarious.
Draco watched the interaction with an amused expression. It pleased him that Potter had some flaws. Apparently, being a rather forgetful husband was one of them.
Ginny frowned and impatiently summarised, "We are going to Hogwarts. Madam Hooch asked me to supervise a few lessons." Of course, she wouldn't detail Madam Hooch's injury and whatnot, but she said the words slowly as if explaining to a child.
Harry's features contorted unpleasantly. His stony gaze fell on the other man in the room.
He pointed to Malfoy and almost barked, "And he's going with you?" The man had let Death Eaters into the castle. It was hard to forget that act of treason.
Hermione squirmed uncomfortably, "Um, I never gave it much thought." She honestly hadn't, and now it was all she could think about. Thanks a bunch, Harry.
Ginny busied herself with making Harry a roast beef sandwich. She sliced the meat into even-sized pieces before cutting up a ripe tomato.
Still, she listened intently and kept valid points on standby to defend Malfoy if needed. The ice blonde wasn't her favourite person, but she could see he was trying to make amends for his past misdeeds.
Harry elucidated, "He's not been back there since Voldemort died."
Draco took a deep breath to calm his inner thoughts and explained, "I've put my past behind me, Potter. I expect the visit to go smoothly."
If anyone should feel uncomfortable about the whole thing, it should be him. Quite honestly, he dreaded facing Minerva McGonagall, a far worse disciplinarian than Dumbledore and much less forgiving.
Harry laughed cynically and raised a curious brow, "Right, but has your past put you behind it? You might not get a grand welcome from the portraits or professors." Malfoy dared to walk into a place he had caused severe harm.
All's well that ends well, but Harry found it hard to let go of Malfoy’s complete disregard at the time for the security of his peers and teachers among plenty of the other lives.
Ginny placed the plate before her husband and argued with good reason, "Harry, it's been nearly ten years. Old students have left, and the new ones probably have no bloody clue who Draco Malfoy is. Besides, all the professors know about Malfoy's unfortunate circumstances."
She looked directly at Draco and slightly smiled. It was genuine and meant to offer comfort. Still, he observed her perplexedly, probably wondering why she came to his defence, but he was immensely grateful that she did.
Lost to her thoughts, Hermione drowned out the others, remained silent and contemplated whether visiting Hogwarts with Malfoy in tow was a wise decision.
Harry conceded defeat and said with a happier deposition, "Well, whatever, have a good visit. Give Hagrid my regards and tell him a meet-up at The Hogshead is overdue." He hadn't seen his good friend and old professor in months and truly missed the half-giants antics.
Ginny offered further insight into their travel plans, "I wrote to the Headmistress that we would be using the Floo network in her office. She wrote back with her approval."
They had kept the network open from when Grimmauld Place was used as headquarters for The Order of the Phoenix. Even though they hardly used it, it beat apparating and walking the distance to the castle.
Draco paled. Minerva McGonagall was not someone he looked forward to meeting after all these years.
Ginny turned to Harry and enlightened, "Mum will be by shortly to pick up James."
Harry took a large bite of his sandwich and acknowledged her words with a short grunt.
She kissed his unkempt head of hair and said, "Have a good day, darling."
Hermione got to her feet and smiled broadly, "Bye, Harry. See you later."
Draco nodded curtly, "Potter."
Harry narrowed his eyes and replied with a slight nod of his own, "Malfoy."
The disfigured man fished a long dress from the bags and tossed it on the bed.
He gazed at his beloved lovingly and drawled, "Red is your colour, Sarah."
She had heard plenty of times before.
Sarah stared at the dress and grimaced. What sick fantasy did he have in mind? Hadn't he degraded her enough?
Her inner voice screamed obscenities. You didn't run, you stupid fucking bitch. Maybe you like being fucked raw and controlled?
He licked his lips and hissed, "Wear it. Model for me." He forgot about being on time for his job.
Sarah cried in despair, "What?" He had never asked her to model for him before, but he hardly let her wear any clothes. Instead, she was primarily naked and chained to the bed so he could touch and feel her when he wished.
"You heard me. I want to watch you." He replied calmly and sat on the bed's edge.
Sarah swallowed hard, picked up the dress and turned her back on him to undress.
He stopped her with a frosty glare and demanded, "Don't you dare turn your back on me."
She swallowed hard and began to undress slowly. His excitement was plain to see since he was practically drooling.
Sarah was repulsed, but once she was down to her undergarments, she stepped into the new red dress and pulled it up slowly while his one good eye roved greedily over her semi-naked form. He never seemed to tire of her body.
After securing the dress at the back, Sarah stood still and awaited further instruction nervously. She fidgeted and picked at the material with her unkempt fingernails.
The man looked her up and down as though she were a piece of meat. Then, he patted the area above his knee and requested, "Sit on my lap."
It wasn't a request.
Sarah bit her bottom lip, closed the distance between them and sat on his lap. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her close to his groin.
He rocked back and forth and leered, "Can you feel that?" His voice was heavy and husky with sexual arousal. Sarah braced herself for what would inevitably follow.
Barely, she thought but nodded timidly, "Yes."
It took but a second for him to push the dress up and tear the panties from her body. Then, he bent her over the bed and entered her swiftly, not caring about the discomfort and pain he caused her. He had never cared, and she doubted he ever would.
He brutally violated her and viciously pushed her head down, causing her muffled cries to be almost silenced against the bedding. His repeated groans and grunts of pleasure filled the room, and Sarah wished she could deafen herself so she would no longer have to hear him, but it was futile.
Why couldn't she escape?
Why didn't she run for her life?
What was happening to her?
Hogwarts
The centuries-old fireplace sprang to life, and Minerva McGonagall glanced at it, pushed her spectacles further up her nose and readied herself to meet the visitors.
One by one, they stepped out of the fireplace. Once everyone had arrived, Headmistress McGonagall waved her wand and sealed the Floo network so no unscrupulous characters could access the passageway.
She smiled at her former students and fondly greeted them, "Good morning."
Ginny and Hermione came forward while Draco hovered uncomfortably in the background and studied his surroundings. It was quite different from what Dumbledore's office had been. There were more shelves dedicated to books and important looking knick-knacks. The entire space had a distinctive feminine touch that would put anyone at ease.
Finally, with some prompting from Granger, he pushed past thoughts out of his head, straightened and followed the others.
Hermione smiled brightly, "Good morning, Professor McGonagall."
However, Headmistress McGonagall hardly heard the greeting. She had aged gracefully and while she had a head full of grey hair and prominent wrinkles her mind was as sharp as whip.
Instead, she looked past the women and her stern gaze settled on the silent, imposing, pale man in their company who seemed to want to blend into the background and discourage any attention to himself. An impossible feat considering who he was and his illustrious family history.
She studied him for a moment and concluded that he seemed somewhat anxious. His feelings were understandable, considering his past relationship with Hogwarts.
Minvera McGonagall spoke frankly, "Mr Malfoy, I was wondering when we would run into each other. It's been a while."
Draco came forward, cleared his throat and replied, "Yes…."
Professor McGonagall lifted her chin, stared at the admirable name tag pinned to his breast pocket and grinned, "I see you're an Auror. Impressive."
Draco returned the smile and answered, "I'm in training for the trials, Headmistress."
Professor McGonagall could hardly keep her feelings towards the matter concealed.
She retorted with a nod of approval, "Good."
Hermione and Ginny swapped a look of disbelief.
Professor McGonagall addressed the new couple, "Ah, Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy, I believe congratulations are in order." She had read about their union. Their engagement had caused quite a scandal among the Slytherin and Gryffindor students for no good reason.
Draco bowed slightly and took the wishes positively, "Thank you."
However, Hermione was not easily swayed to the side of happiness regarding their upcoming nuptials and stated, "You really don't have to, professor."
Professor McGonagall leaned back into her chair, looked at the both of them and stated bluntly, "I have to admit it was rather a shock." She wasn't known for beating around the bush.
"To us all, professor," Hermione replied instantly with a roll of her eyes and a glance at Ginny, who seemed highly entertained by the whole thing.
Hermione wished the conversation would take another path, and Professor McGonagall obliged without further dwelling on the unlikely match.
She spoke directly to Ginny, "Madam Hooch is recovering nicely, Miss Weasley. She should be back on her feet in no time." Unfortunately, the flying instructor was a stubborn old mule who simply would not listen until threatened with forced retirement.
Ginny beamed, "That's good news." She was fond of Madam Hooch, who never blew smoke up anyone's arse and called it how she saw fit, much like herself.
The Headmistress nodded yet annoyedly but softened as she recited her requirements, "Meanwhile, the first years need your help and guidance."
After Madam Hooch's retirement, she harboured a strong desire to employ the former Gryffindor. She knew Ginny would make an excellent instructor, but it was doubtful she would accept the offer with a son and husband to look after.
Ginny couldn't help but bloom with happiness. It felt satisfying to be appreciated.
She could hear from her past professor's voice that she was regarded highly and answered without hesitation, "Of course, professor. I'm glad to help." It was good to leave the house and do something for herself for a change. She would be lying if she said she didn't miss the Harpies and teammates. Sometimes it hurt to think of what she had given up to look after her family.
The Headmistress dismissed the girls with a wave of her hand and firmly said, "Please wait outside. I wish to have a quick word with Mr Malfoy."
Draco stiffened, and a thin layer of sweat coated his upper lip. All he could think was, fuck.
Hermione hesitated for barely a millisecond, knowing better than to argue with Professor McGonagall. She glanced his way sympathetically and mouthed, "Don't worry," as she reluctantly followed Ginny out.
As they went down the spiral staircase, Ginny raised a sceptical brow, "He looked bloody nervous. Do you think he'll be alright?"
Hermione shrugged, "He’s faced much worse.”
They reached the bottom step, stood to the side and waited for Draco to appear. Hopefully, McGonagall wouldn't keep him too long.
Professor McGonagall gestured kindly to the seat before her and requested, “Have a seat, Draco.”
Draco obliged by pulling the heavy chair back and lowering himself into its comfort while muttering, “Thank you, professor.”
Professor McGonagall scrutinised the man before her, he certainly looked like a replica of Lucius Malfoy, but there were significant differences. Draco Malfoy’s eyes were kinder and more knowing.
She smiled and said politely, “You look well.” She hoped her words would put the boy at ease.
Draco cleared his throat and replied, “So do you, professor. I mean, Headmistress.” He couldn't fathom what she required from him. Perhaps it was an explanation for his absence or, worse, his actions.
Headmistress McGonagall chuckled, “I still teach the odd N.E.W.T class now and then.” It was the first time Draco had heard the strict teacher show any signs of amusement.
He merely acknowledged her answer with a prolonged “Ah….”
She filled the void by stating the obvious, “I’m sure coming back wasn't easy.” She wanted to offer her condolences for his father’s passing but thought against it.
Draco exhaled, “No, it wasn’t, but my mother needed me.” It was the truth. His mother took precedence over everything else.
The wise professor nodded in understanding, “Of course. I appreciate your reason for returning.”
Draco cracked his knuckles. It was excruciating to make small talk with the Headmistress of Hogwarts.
Professor McGonagall spoke frankly, “You seem changed.” The arrogance emitted from him in his younger years was non-existent, and in its place was an aurora of humility and peace.
“I have changed,” Draco concurred without hesitation. His time at the temple had taught him much about the more essential aspects of life.
Professor McGonagall softened her gaze and said, “I never found the opportunity to speak to you, especially since your departure from Hogwarts was rather unorthodox.” After the trial, he had disappeared, and Narcissa kept mum about his whereabouts. She could not be persuaded into revealing her son’s secret.
Draco sighed, “I regret my actions, Professor.” If he could use a time-turner and go back, he would do so within a heartbeat.
Professor McGonagall felt a sense of immense pride towards the man in her company. For a second, she recalled a pointy-nosed, scared boy desperately seeking his father's approval.
However, she could see he was genuine and made her thoughts known, “I can see you do. It fills me with joy to see you doing so well, Draco. No one blames you for what transpired. We are well aware of the pressure you were under, and I must say, for one so young, you certainly held it together.”
Draco’s lips curved slightly upwards to form a sad smile, “It didn't seem so at the time.” He had felt the weight of the world on his adolescent shoulders and the sheer magnitude of his actions crushed his soul.
Professor McGonagall nodded in understanding but reassured a moment later with a smile, “Dumbledore always knew you were destined for greater things.”
She included somewhat guiltily, “Unfortunately, it wasn't a sentiment we all shared, but clearly, he saw something in you that none of us did.”
A familiar voice said pleasantly, “Indeed I did, Minerva.”
Professor Dumbledore beamed, “Good morning, Draco.”
Bollocks, Draco thought and cracked a smile, “Good morning, sir.”
Professor Dumbledore queried happily, “I trust you are well.”
Draco replied instantly, “Yes, I'm fine, sir.”
“Good. And your dear mother?” Dumbledore inquired politely.
Draco looked at the massive and realistic portrait of Albus Dumbledore that hung proudly on the wall behind Headmistress McGonagall's head. The once formidable wizard wore his famous dark purple bejewelled robes, and his silvery beard nearly touched the ground.
The frame next to him was oddly empty, and what remained was a tasteful painting of a garden abundant with white lilies and beautiful doe drinking water from a babbling brook. The visible gentle breeze that swept across the image was mesmerising, and Draco felt strangely drawn to its beauty. He stared longer than necessary.
Albus Dumbledore caught sight of the young wizard's wandering gaze and smiled.
Draco returned to his senses and answered, “She's quite well, sir. She keeps herself busy with the running of the Manor.”
A somewhat emotionless voice made it to Draco’s ear, “Draco. It is good to see you.” He had heard that particular tone multiple times years ago, but to listen to it again made the whole situation seem surreal.
The slow drawl made him stiffen and sit up straight. Then, finally, he breathed, “Professor Snape.”
Severus Snape’s painting was strategically placed next to Dumbledore’s but paled in comparison. Yet, the artist had captured the potion master's essence by incorporating shades of black and elegant brush strokes that brought out his sharp features.
Professor Snape frowned, "I hardly recognise you. You've changed."
Draco bared his teeth as the words sunk in. Finally, he said, "As all things do with time, I suppose."
He wondered why his temper was getting the better of him. Snape had been a double agent, loyal to Dumbledore until the end. He couldn’t fathom why he felt anger towards his previous Slytherin house head.
Somehow, Draco felt betrayed by the man even though he had prevented him from committing murder and saved his soul.
Snape ignored the obvious discomfort emitting from Draco and criticised, "You look like Lucius, but I assume you are nothing like your father?"
Draco exhaled and replied with every politeness he could muster, "No, sir. I assure you I am not. I left that life years ago."
Dumbledore seemed overly pleased with the answer. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and his painted mouth curved upwards to form a genuine smile.
Snape stared unwaveringly, making Draco slightly uncomfortable and said, “Good. I'm glad to hear it. Please give Narcissa my regards.”
Draco almost sighed in relief, “I will.” Even in death, Severus Snape was an intimidating presence.
An awkward silence engulfed them, and when Professor McGonagall tried to dismiss Draco, Professor Snape thoughtfully said, “I heard Minerva speak about your upcoming nuptials to Miss Granger.”
Draco took a deep breath. He felt somewhat ambushed by the current and past heads of Hogwarts.
He cleared his throat and managed a plausible reply, “Ah, yes, we were paired through a Ministry-approved Algorithm.”
The former potions master raised a perfectly painted brow and inquired curiously, “I trust you will treat Miss Granger without prejudice?”
Such a hypocritical question took Draco aback. He had witnessed Snape’s unfair treatment of Granger countless times, and it was certainly not part of some ploy to fool Voldemort.
He fired back with a sensible retort, “I intend to. I care greatly for Hermione's wellbeing.”
While Draco expected Snape to inject a snide remark, Dumbledore answered, “Well, that's certainly comforting to know, Draco.”
“Indeed,” Snape concurred, and Draco was sure he saw the hint of an uncharacteristic smile on the stern face of his former potions professor.
Professor McGonagall glanced at the giant antique clock and decided they had taken up plenty of Mr Malfoy's time.
She grinned slightly and quipped, “I can practically feel Miss Granger’s impatience seep through the walls. So, off you go, Mr Malfoy.”
Without further adieu, Draco promptly shot to his feet, adjusted his heavy Auror robes and smiled gratefully, “Thank you, professor.”
Professor Dumbledore chimed in after a moment, “It was good to see you, Draco.”
Draco returned the enthusiasm, “It is rather good to be back, Professor.” He turned his back on his old professors and, without a backwards glance, hurried his footsteps and left the office searching for Granger and Weasley.
Headmistress McGonagall leaned back and said in mild disbelief, “Remarkable, isn't it?”
Professor Dumbledore added his valid input with a genuine smile, “The change in him is unparalleled.”
Professor McGonagall removed her glasses and massaged the bridge of her nose, “Indeed. I would have never guessed Draco Malfoy would become an Auror.”
Snape clarified his opinion: "I'm not that surprised, to be honest. He was pretty skilled as a child, especially at Potions.”
Professor McGonagall felt compelled to ask her colleagues, “Do you think The Algorithm has made a dreadful mistake?”
Severus Snape replied thoughtfully, “Miss Granger is headstrong, but Draco is never one to back down.”
However, Dumbledore gushed, “Only time will tell, dear Minvera.”
Hermione stopped tapping her heel against the floor once Malfoy came into view. He looked paler than usual and somewhat dishevelled. Curiosity got the better of her, and she asked at once, “What was that all about?”
Ginny interrupted and answered on behalf of Draco. She sounded almost bored with the proceedings, “Isn't it obvious? He's been gone for nearly ten years, and she's curious about what he's been up to.”
Draco smiled, “Quite right, Weasley.” He omitted that he had spoken to Snape and Dumbledore during his back-to-Hogwarts interrogation. Even though it wasn't, it certainly felt like one.
Hermione wasn't convinced but let it slide, “Hmm, I suppose.”
Ginny urged impatiently, “Come on, you two. We need to meet Madam Hooch in the infirmary, pick up the schedule and get to it?” She had a job, and perhaps it wasn't the wisest of ideas for Hermione and Malfoy to tag along.
Leaving the couple, Ginny strode off toward the hospital wing.
Draco hung back, ran his fingers through his hair and mumbled so only Hermione could hear, “I, err, spoke to Snape. Well, to his portrait. Still, it brought back some unpleasant memories.”
Hermione came to an abrupt halt. She could gather by his tone that he was conflicted.
She looked at him in concern and asked solemnly, “Oh, are you okay?” Her heart beat fast and slammed against her ribcage. Seeing him look so vulnerable compelled her to comfort him.
Draco exhaled and composed himself. Then, he gathered his thoughts and said, “He was a great man, wasn't he?” However, he was not wholly convinced since he had witnessed first-hand what Severus Snape could do.
The vicious murder of Professor Charity Burbage came to mind vividly. Even though Snape had not been directly involved, he had watched unaffected as Nagini feasted on the woman.
She had begged him to help her, but he had done nothing. Of course, he couldn’t have without making it known to Voldemort that he was a traitor.
Hermione chewed on her bottom lip in thought and answered, “Yes, he was.” While Snape’s deeds had been guided by his unwavering love for Harry’s mother, he had gone out of his way to be horrid to Harry, probably because he was the one constant reminder of the loving bond between Lily and James.
Ginny looked over her shoulder and scolded, “Stop dragging your feet, you two.” She was nearly at the end of the hallway and about to turn left.
Draco raised a brow and mused, “She’s strict. I almost feel sorry for Potter.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, “You have no idea.”
Ginny glared sternly with hands on her hip, “I heard that.”
The corridors were empty, and a few older students occupied the Great Hall, but nothing much had changed. Still, Draco couldn't help but look around and take in the grandeur and splendour that was Hogwarts. His eyes lingered on the Slytherin banners and emerald green snake emblem. He still treasured his house but not the foundation of its ancestry,
He had a few good memories, but most of his time was spent being nasty to others, along with Crabbe and Goyle. He cringed as he recalled Dolores Umbridge pinning a badge on him and how utterly pathetic it was, but he had followed his father's orders as usual.
Draco fondly touched a wall as they passed a few students hurrying to get to class on time and gave a half smirk, “If these walls could talk….”
Intrigued by his words, Hermione grinned, “What would they say, Malfoy?”
He took her arm, pulled her close and drawled huskily, “How about we get lost for a bit? I'm sure we can benefit from the Room of Requirement.” His last memory of the legendary room was engulfed in cursed fire that Crabbe had let loose when they had made the foolhardy decision to ambush Potter. He wondered if the room was accessible after being destroyed. Perhaps it had mended itself.
His sensual tones ghosted over the sensitive shell of Hermione’s ear, but she kept her composure intact and hissed, “Certainly not. Ginny will have our heads.”
He gently bit down her earlobe, noticed she had not worn earrings and rasped, “We could make some new memories. Besides, Weasley doesn't need us.”
Hermione felt her knees buckle but she pushed him away and reprimanded most severely, “Behave yourself, Malfoy. Please exercise some level of control and professional etiquette.”
Ginny, who had been eavesdropping, laughed aloud, "Yes, especially in my presence. I do not want to see you two snogging in the hallway. That would traumatise me greatly."
Hermione blushed and faked disgust, “Ugh, not a chance.”
Draco was insulted by her crude response. He frowned to make his displeasure evident and questioned, “Ugh? Really, Granger?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and quipped, “Remind us again why we are here. I assume you will not be teaching first-years to ride a broom.”
Ginny chuckled, and Hermione threw her a dirty look.
“I would pay good money to watch that,” Draco mocked openly, goading her into a frustrated response.
Hermione frowned, “Very funny, Malfoy. Well, it's been a while since I came by, so I took this as the perfect opportunity to visit.”
Draco raised a curious brow, “Are you excited about Hawaii?”
Hermione showed indifference and shrugged, “Not much.” Her trusty beaded bag came to mind. She would pack her belongings into the fashionable tote bag.
Ginny nudged her friend and mused, “Speak for yourself. I’m looking forward to lying on the beach doing practically nothing.” She hadn't taken time off for herself since leaving the Harpies.
Hermione sighed, “I still think it's horrible timing. There's simply too much going on. Harry needs me.” She was torn apart by wanting to go and her duty to the wizarding world. Did it have to come at such a perilous time? Life, indeed, was unfair. Well, obviously, considering who she was forced to wed.
Ginny scoffed, “Well, thank you for making me seem like an ungrateful bitch.” She was overcome with guilt for deciding to leave Harry during this tumultuous time, but when would such a golden opportunity present itself? She was allowed one selfish act, wasn't she? Motherhood was beautiful but exhausting at times.
Hermione felt awful and sought to make amends, “I didn't mean it that way, Ginny. You need a break. I was referring to Ministry business.”
Shockingly, Draco agreed with Hermione wholeheartedly, “I agree with Granger. Unfortunately, it won't be much of a holiday since I have to prepare for the upcoming Auror trials.” He had some potions to perfect and a few hundred pages to memorise on defensive spells. Why couldn't he live off the Malfoy gold and be done with it?
Ginny rolled her eyes, “It's only for two days, Malfoy. Must you be so dramatic?”
Madam Pomfrey came rushing out of the hospital wing and barged into Hermione, who squeaked and would have had a nasty fall if not for the sturdy arm around her waist holding her upright.
Draco released Hermione at once and stood by her side with his hands clasped together.
Madam Pomfrey regained her composure, smoothed her pearl white skirt and exclaimed, “Oh my, it's been a while since I saw you, Hermione, Ginny and….”
Draco smiled and reintroduced himself, “Draco Malfoy.” Madam Pomfrey had not aged a day, and she looked the same as he remembered.
The matron gasped, “Bless my stars, is that you, Mr Malfoy?”
She muttered to no one in particular, “I didn't believe the paintings or ghosts. The Bloody Baron is seldom right.”
Draco cleared his throat, “Yes, it is me.” He wondered how many times he would have to reintroduce himself before the end of the day.
Madam Pomfrey stared at the man towering over her and said, “I read about your return but didn't think too much of it then.”
Oh, bloody hell, Ginny thought exasperatedly. Not another one roping Malfoy into a conversation and wasting time. She felt as if she were on a press tour announcing Draco Malfoy’s illustrious return.
Deciding to nip the conversation in the bud, Ginny asked straightforwardly, “Madam Pomfrey, we were wondering if Madam Hooch is still in your care.”
Madam Pomfrey scoffed, “That stubborn old owl? Not a chance, she insisted she was fine and off she went. You should be able to find her in her office.”
Draco craned his neck to get a better look inside the infirmary he spent a few nights in during his youth and learned that nothing much had changed there either. It was still surgically clean and organised, but more beds occupied the floor.
The only noticeable difference was Madam Pomfrey’s young assistant. She was a relatively pretty blonde with an impressive figure who batted her eyelashes at the ice-blonde wizard staring at her.
Still, it was short-lived since Hermione pulled Draco away, breaking eye contact and hissed, “Enjoying the view, are we? How about I give you a reason to end up in the hospital wing?”
Draco chuckled, “I'll pass, thank you very much. Unfortunately, I've been on the receiving end of your physical abuse, and I can't say I care for it.” There was something attractive about watching Granger sail into battle. He admired her tenacity.
Ginny ignored the banter, exchanged a few words with Madam Pomfrey and gushed, “Thank you.”
Madam Pomfrey bid them a fond farewell, “Good day, children.” She stared after them in awe and respect. They had turned out quite well despite their many hurdles growing up.
She was happy to note that Draco Malfoy had undoubtedly grown up to be quite the lad.
Hermione and Draco followed Ginny’s lead. Regrettably, they had no idea where Madam Hooch’s office was. Of course, it was a well-kept secret since the official Quidditch balls of Hogwarts were stored in her office during games, but that didn't stop Dobby from breaking in and tampering with them.
They descended a flight of stairs and came across a large wooden door that looked ancient. Ginny knocked on the door and stood back. They heard many curse words and the unmistakable sound of brooms toppling to the floor.
The door flew open almost off its handle, and Madam Hooch greeted them with her arm in a sling, sporting a black eye and bandage covering half her head. It looked painful and positively frightful.
Despite her altered appearance due to her mishap on the field, she looked older and ill-tempered.
Hermione entered and inquired meekly, “Madam Hooch?”
Offended by the tone, Madam Hooch scowled, “Yes, of course, it's me. Were you expecting the bloody tooth fairy?” She never paid much attention to Hermione Granger. The girl had no sporting abilities, always with her nose buried in books.
Draco snorted. Granger was used to being treated superiorly by the teachers' but Snape and Hooch were the exceptions to that rule. He took in the contents of the messy room, several old brooms from different manufacturers covered a third of the floor, and a glass cabinet housed several trophies, medals and picture frames.
Madam caught sight of Ginny and immediately waved her in, “Ah, Miss Weasley. Come in, come in!” She was bent over her cluttered desk and winced in pain as she endlessly searched for pieces of parchment.
Ginny apologised for their tardiness, “Sorry, miss, but are we late? The Headmistress held us up.”
Madam Hooch scoffed, “I can imagine why. The nosy old bird probably wanted to know about Mr Malfoy’s famous disappearance.”
She continued to toss papers to the ground and groaned, “Where's that bloody schedule?”
Finally, she found it under a heavy book and waved it triumphantly with her good hand, saying, “Ah, here’s the nasty bugger.”
She paid attention to the others and smirked, “Oh, I see you've brought help. Oliver stopped by just the other day.”
“Oh, did he? I hope he’s well,” Ginny gushed. Oliver Wood was legendary, and Harry met him for an odd pint now and then.
Madam Hooch regarded Hermione and her outfit critically, “Miss Granger, I didn't think you would be too keen to teach first and second years how to fly.”
The judgemental old cow.
Hermione pursed her lips and barely muttered, “Oh, I'm not. I just tagged along.”
Madam Hooch frowned, “Right then.” It was unfathomable to her that someone would tag along to watch first years falling unceremoniously off their brooms. Miss Granger clearly needed to find a better pastime.
The seasoned referee pointed to Draco and gave a nod of approval, “But this one here can lend you a hand, Ginny. You were a decent Seeker, if I recall, Mr Malfoy.”
Draco was humbled by the compliment and surprised she remembered.
He smiled in reply, “It's been a few years, miss, but I will be happy to oblige.” Besides his mother, it was the one thing he missed most while training in China. Even Kungfu and meditation could not fill that void of flying through the clouds.
Madam Hooch clamped him on the shoulder with her good hand and beamed, “That's the spirit.”
She glanced at the only window in her room, where rays of sunshine streamed through the slightly dirty glass and sighed, “I should be up there teaching.”
She included bitterly, “But the Headmistress insisted I stay off my feet for a few days. It's rubbish, I tell you.”
Ginny reassured, “Don't worry, Madam Hooch. The students are in good hands.”
Madam Hooch smiled, displaying a few missing teeth, “Oh, I have no doubt.” She had taken quite a nasty fall off her broom.
She shoved the crumpled paper into Ginny’s hand and almost shoved them out of the room, “Here you go. Now off with you lot. If you face any issues, let me know.”
Ginny nodded, “We will, Madam Hooch.”
Madam Hooch widened her eyes with realisation and pulled Ginny abruptly to her side and warned, “Oh and keep an eye on this one Slytherin boy. He's got a Beaters build and bullies the rest. Last week alone, he disrupted the class and made a handful of girls cry.” The boy was a nasty piece of work
Ginny smirked, “I think we can manage, miss.” She had helped in the past but under the supervision of the strict flying instructor. It would be an entirely new experience she looked forward to.
Madam Hooch recalled a vital instruction and wearily recited, “A quick reminder that you cannot use spells to discipline the children, no matter how horridly they behave.” Personally, she believed in good old-fashioned thrashing, but times were different, and children were considered more sensitive.
Draco paled as he recalled Barty Crouch Jr masquerading as Mad-Eye Moody under the influence of Polyjuice Potion. The nutter had turned him into a ferret in front of the student populace. It was perhaps the single most humiliating moment of his younger days.
Ginny forced a smile, “Yes, we understand.”
They left Madam Hooch to organise her books and things.
Hermione mumbled as they left, “Well, this is certainly going to be fun.”
Ginny sorted, “Loads.”
She glanced at the schedule and said, "Well, we have about an hour before the Slytherin first years make it onto the pitch. Shall we make use of the time to pay Hagrid a quick visit?"
The Institution
Terry kept his forehead against the cool wall and closed his eyes.
He could return to his life as an Auror in a few weeks. He still went through withdrawal, and some days were better than others, but Hermione’s visit gave him the strength to persevere and better himself for her sake.
It angered him that she would have to marry Malfoy, but he knew there was no escaping the algorithm. Still, their romance could flourish in the background, behind hidden doors and dark corners, away from prying eyes until the right moment.
Chapter 62
Notes:
To all the comments:- Thank you all for the lovely comments. Much love!
Draco faces his past and struggles to deal with it.
Hagrid makes his first appearance.
The Alpha reveals his true self to Dorian and entrusts him with an important task.
I hope everyone enjoys the update!
Enjoy Chapter Sixty-Two!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Avery Manor
Dorian walked cautiously into the bowels of Avery Manor. He wasn't used to being summoned by the Master. Even though his loyalties lay elsewhere, as a werewolf, he was bound by blood to obey his Alpha’s every whim, especially when transformed.
He had done a reasonably good job of shielding his thoughts and hiding any trace of his interactions with the Ministry. Still, this unscheduled meeting worried him. He had long since given up on any hope of a natural death. His death would be gruesome, and if this was to be his end, then so be it. At least he would be doing the right thing for once.
The helpless screams of his many victims haunted him each night. The atrocities he had committed were under direct orders from Fenrir Greyback, but still, it was blood on his hands.
Ah, Greyback, the beast without a shred of compassion. Dorian had witnessed the fiend rip apart his victims while they screamed in agony for mercy. It was enough to make one's stomach turn.
Dorian hurriedly went down the stairs, further into the dungeons, and found dim lights illuminating his way. The surrounding walls were solid rock and stone, designed to muffle screams or cries for help.
He could make out an iron door in the distance and concluded it was the doorway to the leader's private quarters. They usually met as a group in the great hall of the manor.
Making a fist, he hesitated, then knocked on the door and awaited permission to enter.
A few seconds later, an authoritative voice said, “Enter.” The deep voice seemed to echo, sending a shiver down Dorian’s spine.
Nevertheless, swallowing the fear bubbling to the surface, Dorian pushed open the otherwise heavy door effortlessly and strode in confidently. His astute eyes took in the grim surroundings and shelves jammed with books and jars upon jars of ingredients and vials of what looked unmistakably like human blood.
He could not help but take a deep breath and inhale the sweet fragrance. Ah, definitely the fresh scent of human blood. It enticed and called to him, but he had sworn off the stuff nearly a decade ago.
With his hands at his side, maintaining a comfortable distance between them, Dorian said eagerly, “My Lord, you requested my presence.”
The Master smiled slightly though distracted and replied, “Yes, I did. Please have a seat, Dorian. Make yourself comfortable.”
Dorian didn't care for the condescending yet casual undertone and instantly became suspicious. Such was his nature, but he graciously accepted, “Thank you, Master.” Merlin, he needed a fucking drink and a safer line of work.
The flutter of wings distracted him. He looked towards the source and caught sight of a large barn owl feasting on a rat. It held the helpless creature down with its foot, digging its talons deep into its flesh as blood seeped out while it squirmed, trying to escape the predator's clutches, but it was futile.
The owl let out a loud hoot, used its sharp beak to penetrate the skin, pulled out the rat's innards, and devoured the tiny creature. Blood and guts spilt onto the floor, and Dorian stared transfixed at the display and swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, but the Master’s voice pulled him out of his irrational thoughts.
The leader explained the owl's morbid presence, “Excuse me, my beloved Mika has sent an urgent owl.” He opened the letter the owl delivered, hurriedly read the words in his head, and smiled smugly, displaying sharp teeth.
Dorian nodded curtly and averted his gaze from the leftovers of the rat falling to the floor.
He saw the smile on the Master’s face and felt compelled to inquire, “Good news?”
“Yes,” the Alpha replied with a short answer. Clearly, he wouldn't divulge anything further, and Dorian didn't pursue the subject. He shouldn't have asked in the first place and inwardly cursed his stupidity.
After locking the letter safely in the drawer, the Master adjusted the dark mask that concealed his identity and sat down. An uncomfortable silence engulfed them, and Dorian wished he was elsewhere.
The Alpha enjoyed his servant's discomfort. It was amusing to him to watch the man squirm.
He almost glared sternly at Dorian and leered, “You must be wondering why I sent for you.”
Dorian became instantly alert. He sat up straight and answered truthfully, “Yes.” He concealed his nervousness and fear to the best of his ability.
The Master narrowed his eyes and queried, “How do you feel around me?” It was a seemingly harmless question, but Dorian knew it had a deep meaning.
Without hesitation, Dorian graced his Alpha with a plausible answer, “Compelled to obey, my Lord.” He could see from the Master’s expression that his answer pleased him because he rose from his seated position and started to close the gap between them, causing Dorian to panic and move his chair backwards.
It was instinctive. He was supposed to keep a low profile, mind his business, and report to Potter and Thomas. He couldn't afford to get too close to the Alpha and reveal everything endangering the mission and everyone involved.
Granted, he was an accomplished Legimens, but there was only so much one could suppress under the Cruciatus curse. As a precautionary measure, Dorian always carried a cyanide pill in his pocket. It was a Muggle tactic embraced by mostly terrorists who bit down on the deadly capsule to escape interrogation and capture.
If things became unbearable, he would resort to taking it without hesitation. However, he needed to figure out how the effects would work on a werewolf.
The Alpha spoke with a demanding undertone, “Do you know what I am?”
Dorian cringed as the weight of his Master's commanding voice bore down on him. Still, he lifted his head so their eyes met and gave a single nod of acknowledgement, “Yes, I do, my Lord.”
The shrouded man asked thoughtfully, “Do the others know?” He was convinced they didn't or chose to turn a blind eye which was unthinkable since pureblood wizards were prejudiced against his kind.
Dorian cleared his throat and answered, “Besides, Julius? No, they do not.” His features contorted unpleasantly against his will as a bitter thought came to mind. Wizards weren't a brilliant bunch except for a select few. Most accepted what they saw rather than the obvious.
A low, sinister laugh filled the void, and the Master said with dripping sarcasm, “They are in for a nasty shock, but no matter, I require their funding and somewhat mediocre skills to further the cause. Once they have fulfilled their purpose, they will be disposed or turned to serve a greater purpose.”
Dorian reluctantly nodded in agreement, “Indeed, my Lord. Some, such as Goyle, would make a formidable werewolf.” The man was built like a mountain and, if turned, would be a ruthless force to be reckoned with.
However, the Alpha seemed sceptical and bluntly criticised, “Goyle lacks intelligence and patience. His recent stunt concerning Hermione Granger was proof of his immaturity. I expected better from Cormac McLaggen.”
Dorian choked back a sarcastic retort. McLaggen was treated like a servant, and the former Gryffindor was terrified of the others. Goyle was intimidating and capable of following through on a threat. The man was unhinged, unpredictable, and best kept on a short leash.
The black and jewelled mask stayed in place, making it difficult for Dorian to see any facial reactions, but from the tone of voice, it was evident their leader was far from pleased.
The Alpha brought his fist down on the table and scowled, “Their activities are perverse and portray us in a light that I certainly do not approve of. They are spared for the moment, but any further incidents will result in dire circumstances.” He would end their miserable existence with his own hands if they dared to disobey him.
Dorian couldn't help but agree, “It was in poor taste. They have placed Hermione Granger under DMLE protection.” He had seen her and couldn't fathom what the fuss was about. He assumed she had a sensual body under her stylish suits, but her features and hair weren't to his taste. He preferred straight-haired blondes with big lips and doe eyes willing to do whatever his heart desired.
The Alpha asked curiously, “What do you know about Draco Malfoy?” He had meant his query to sound offhanded but failed to keep the keenness out of his voice.
Dorian was taken aback momentarily but not by much. Despite their fall from grace, the Malfoys were still affluent members of the wizarding world and one of scared twenty-eight. His parents had supported Voldemort, and the family was extremely wealthy.
He shrugged to show indifference and hoped it was enough to discourage, “Not much, my Lord.” He recalled his conversation with Thomas regarding the Malfoy brat and then again with Kingsley.
The Alpha grew thoughtful and exclaimed, “I'm intrigued by his recent transformation.”
The statement piqued Dorian's interest. He knew the leader would set his sights on the Malfoy heir but was surprised he was discussing the matter with him. Still, he showed avid interest and probed, “How so, my Lord? I highly doubt Malfoy will be sympathetic to our cause.” It would work in his favour to offer insight and point out flaws that would hurt their revolution.
However, the Alpha was unconvinced and insisted, “His current employment and future bride may prove advantageous to our needs.” Having one of their own close to Harry Potter and Undersecretary, Hermione Granger, would be a significant advantage. She had the most access to the Minister of Magic besides his wife.
Dorian wasn't keen on the narrative of the conversation, but had he expected anything else?
He kept his true feelings hidden and asked earnestly, “What would you have me do, my Lord?”
The Alpha smiled shrewdly and commanded, “Keep an eye on the boy for the time being. At the opportune moment, befriend him without arousing suspicion.”
Dorian obeyed without hesitation, “As you wish.” Shit. He supposed it was easy enough since he and the Ministry were as thick as thieves. Once he informed them of the Alpha’s plan, they could facilitate a meeting between Malfoy and himself and take it from there.
The Master regarded Dorian suspiciously as he strode towards him, causing Dorian to get to his feet and take a step back unceremoniously. He looked at his fast-approaching Alpha with a perplexed yet cautious expression.
Yet, the Alpha never came too close. He maintained a healthy distance and said in a jagged voice of steel, “I asked you here because I wish to show you my true self, Dorian. I trust you have earned the right.”
Dorian could hear his heartbeat in his ears. He bowed and responded with sincere gratitude, “You honour me, Alpha.” This was an unprecedented turn of events that truly shocked him to the core. He was hardly in the Master’s inner circle. However, he completed every task assigned to him to everyone’s satisfaction, and perhaps the Master had noticed his devotion.
The leader gently grabbed hold of the mask covering his identity and pulled it off, revealing his true self. He brought his head up and smiled triumphantly while his eyes showed a blackness and lack of empathy that even Voldemort did not possess.
Dorian stumbled as he took another step back and almost kneeled. Looking into the stony eyes of the Alpha made him severely vulnerable and compelled to obey, but he fought the urge with all his might and found his voice, “But how? They captured you… it's impossible.” Even though they had their suspicions about who it could be, to stand in his presence was overwhelming and suffocating.
It made perfect sense that it was him. Antonin Dolohov. The man was once considered a powerful dark wizard, and now he was a werewolf.
Dorian stood transfixed with his mouth agape. He had expected it, but still, the revelation rendered him speechless.
Antonin seemed unfazed by Dorian's reaction and explained, “Indeed, but I learned some valuable lessons from the Dark Lord. I acted before they sent me off to rot in Azkaban.” He had been spared to lead a more significant revolution than the world had ever witnessed.
He threw his arms wide and flexed, causing ribbed nerves to appear along his bulging muscles.
Dorian continued to stare in disbelief. He knew the strength a werewolf possessed and, coupled with a wizard's blood, made this threat quite formidable.
Antonin exclaimed with raw hunger and determination, “I have a true purpose now, Dorian. We are the future.”
Dorian recalled the bodies of lesser beings, the cries of innocents, and blood thick and even flowing out of dismembered victims the last time a madman craved ultimate power.
The Alpha’s commanding voice bounced off the walls and almost caused Dorian to cower in his presence. He strengthened the walls he had placed to safeguard his memories and hesitantly faced Dolohov.
Dolohov leered as he divulged a cryptic portion of his plans to the man before him, “The Muggle Prime Minister will play a significant role, and I will reward those worthy with the gift of immortality.”
Dorian was curious as to what that statement meant. However, Antonin could have spent more time setting a task.
He hissed, making his displeasure evident, “They have captured one of my men. I believe Malfoy was involved in the arrest. The man’s name is Griffin Montague, and he is vital in supplying the ingredients I need to keep brewing the Polyjuice potion.”
Dorian found his voice and inquired, “What would you have me do, my Lord?”
Antonin went around his desk, sat down slowly, brought his hands together, and delivered what Dorian thought to be a death sentence, “Prove yourself worthy of being my lieutenant. Free him from Azkaban and bring him to me.” A low growl emitted from deep within him, causing Dorian to shudder and take a deep breath.
Fuck.
Dorian avoided eye contact and bowed in submission, “As you wish, my Alpha.”
He needed to meet with Thomas urgently.
Hogwarts
Ginny glanced at the training schedule and said, “Well, we have about an hour before the Slytherin first years make it onto the pitch. Shall we use the time to pay Hagrid a quick visit?”
Hermione glanced at Draco to see his reaction; sure enough, he looked rather solemn with pursed lips and an unreadable expression. Still, she ignored his obvious discomfort and replied excitedly, “That sounds brilliant.”
They made their way out of the castle, down the ancient steps, and towards Hagrid's hut. They could see the top of it as they cut across the grounds and surrounding gardens.
Ginny inhaled deeply and looked towards the sky while shielding her face from the harsh rays of sunlight with her hand. It was a beautiful sunny day, and she hoped it would remain that way until the training sessions were finished.
She nudged Draco and said with a smile plastered on her face, “Oh, the weather is ideal for flying. Don't you agree, Malfoy?”
Draco nodded in agreement and replied somewhat solemnly, “Definitely.”
They passed an empty paddock and walked towards a thriving vegetable patch East of the dwelling.
A giant figure tending carefully to the garden was clearly visible among the pumpkins, cabbages, and neat rows of tomato plants. Hagrid sported a wide-brim sun hat and hummed a tune as he pulled stubborn weeds from the hard earth.
Ginny approached first and called out loudly enough for the half-giant to hear, “Hagrid!”
Hagrid turned around and beamed. He wiped the dirt on his trousers and came towards them with the brightest, most welcoming smile and greeting, “Hermione! Ginny! How wonderful to see you. It's been ages.”
Draco moved to stand behind Hermione and made himself scarce and unnoticeable. It wasn't easy since he towered over her, but it was a valiant effort. He eyed the massive mass of a man with greying hair before them regretfully for how he had treated him. The gentle giant was as he remembered him, except a little rough around the edges but with the same kind eyes and a full beard.
Hermione looked ashamed and apologised profusely, “Yes, umm, sorry, Hagrid.”
Hagrid waved aside her apology and pouted much like a child, “Aye, I know you’re busy, but drop me an owl once in a while. I worry about you lot.”
Ginny replied, somewhat guilty, “Of course, Hagrid.” They were so caught up with their lives that they had momentarily forgotten a great friend and teacher. It was inexcusable, and she made a mental note to visit more often with James.
Draco still went unnoticed, and Hagrid chatted excitedly about their reason to visit and walked alongside them towards his hut, which seemed freshly painted.
Hagrid looked at Hermione and raised a curious thick bushy brow, “By the way, did you get out of marrying Malfoy?”
Draco stiffened but said nothing. On the other hand, Hermione inquired suspiciously, “No, but….” How would Hagrid know about her pending nuptials? She was sure he didn't read Witch Weekly Magazine.
Hagrid frowned. Clearly, he had let too much slip, but the damage was done, and he thought he might as well confess the truth. Poor Ron.
Taking a deep breath, he hesitantly explained, “Ron mentioned it. He was quite upset by the prospect. Spent a whole day with me getting drunk and going on and on about how he couldn't stomach it.”
Ginny rolled her eyes and pursed her lips before something damaging slipped out. Her brother was a certifiable idiot.
Hermione managed to compose herself and gritted out, “Did he? How charming.” The bastard.
Hagrid smiled, “He still loves you, Hermione.”
Ginny scoffed, “For Merlin's sake….”
Hermione blushed and opened her mouth to say something truly nasty, but Draco grabbed her hand and coughed loudly, drawing all attention to himself. He hadn't intended on making a scene, but it seemed necessary at the time to save Granger from saying something drastic.
Hagrid finally noticed the stranger among them and asked, “Ah, who's this then?”
Hermione pulled a reluctant Draco forward to introduce him, “Oh, this is…..”
Hagrid chuckled, “He looks an awful lot like Malfoys spoiled brat, doesn't he?”
Ginny started to giggle but managed to say, “Um, Hagrid….”
Hagrid frowned and spoke his mind freely, “Merlin, what a pampered little Prince Draco Malfoy was. Annoying bloody git, I hated that boy.”
Ginny nodded in agreement, “The entitled wanker.”
Draco hid a smile and mused, “Indeed.”
Hagrid addressed the girls and laughed, “Do you remember how he started bawling after Buckbeak barely grazed him?”
Hermione panicked and tried her best to finish a sentence, “Yes, but, Hagrid…..” Yet again, she was rudely interrupted.
Draco let go of Hermione’s hand, crossed his arms over his chest, and argued, “It was much more than just a graze, mate.” It had been quite a deep cut, and he had the scar to prove it.
Hagrid ignored the blonde man and said thoughtfully, “Wonder where he's at, eh? Probably making life miserable for some poor lass.”
Ginny almost doubled over with laughter, “Well, you’re not wrong there.”
Hermione injected with an amused expression, “Funny story.”
Hagrid regarded her curiously, “Hmm….”
Hermione pushed Draco forward with all her might and formally introduced, “Hagrid, meet Draco Malfoy.”
Hagrids eyes bulged out of his head, and he stared in utter disbelief while managing a single word, “Blimey.”
Draco smiled awkwardly and said, “Good to see you, Hagrid.”
An uncomfortable silence surrounded them as Hagrid led the group inside, served them some of his inedible rock cakes, and hurried to make tea.
To be polite, Draco reached for one, but Hermione shot him a warning look causing him to take his hand back at once and rest it on his lap.
“Umm, Hagrid, are you alright?” Ginny asked in concern. The shock of meeting Malfoy had obviously affected Hagrid on a deeper level.
Hagrid avoided looking at Draco and Hermione and answered gravely, “I'm fine.” How the ruddy hell was he supposed to react? Should he congratulate them? Definitely not!
Hermione swapped a look with Draco, got to her feet, and started to help Hagrid prepare tea, and once they were out of earshot, she spoke softly, “Hagrid, I decided to marry Malfoy.”
She added quickly, hoping to appease, “We will divorce after the mandatory time has passed.”
Hagrid sighed, “I’m worried about you. This isn't some random bloke, Hermione.”
Hermione touched his arm and smiled reassuringly, “I know, Hagrid, but we have to abide by the laws of the Ministry no matter how ridiculous they are.”
“Well, if he hurts you, he will answer to me,” Hagrid countered sternly without hesitation.
Hermione hugged him then and fought the tears that clawed their way to the surface.
Draco grew slightly alarmed and asked Ginny, “What do you suppose they are discussing?”
Ginny retorted rather mischievously, “They’re probably going over ways to murder you and dispose of the body. Hagrid does have a multitude of magical creatures willing to do his bidding. Have you ever met his pet Acromantula?” Of course, Aragog was long since dead, but plenty of his offspring were alive.
Draco paled, “What?” He was undoubtedly sure Ginny was joking, but the little voice in his head advised him to skip tea or whatever beverage Hagrid served.
Hermione reappeared with Hagrid and hot cups of freshly brewed tea. She took in Malfoy’s ashen face and raised a questioning brow. Meanwhile, Ginny stifled a laugh and thanked Hagrid for the tea before sipping the sugary concoction.
Hagrid stared unblinkingly at Draco, making him entirely uncomfortable. He couldn't quite bring himself to put his thoughts into words. They couldn't make small talk like ordinary people.
Unable to take the scrutinising gaze any longer, Draco spoke kindly, “Lovely place you have here.”
Ginny burst out laughing. It was honestly too much. Malfoy was a complete trainwreck, and it was highly amusing.
Hermione struggled to hold back her laughter but succeeded somewhat and scolded, “Ginny, stop it.” She threw Malfoy a sympathetic glance and wished he would relax.
Draco took a sip of the tea and grimaced. Salazar, he had never tasted something so disgustingly sweet.
Ginny composed herself, glanced at her watch, and gasped, “Oh, we need to get going, Hagrid.”
Still, Hagrid never stopped staring at Draco.
Hermione injected, “Well, we will catch you after practice then, Hagrid.”
Ginny included with a devilish glint, “Do you fancy a pint at the Three Broomsticks?”
Only then did the gentle giant look away and smile broadly in reply, “Brilliant.”
Draco abruptly shot to his feet and thanked Hagrid for the tea before bolting out of the hut.
Hermione grinned sheepishly and followed a thoroughly amused Ginny out.
Once outside, Ginny patted Draco on the back and chuckled, “You handled that beautifully.”
Draco massaged the bridge of his nose in exasperation and groaned.
Sarah stared at the ceiling while the man on top of her grunted and groaned in pleasure.
She thought endlessly about her lost opportunity.
She obsessed over why she didn't escape when she could.
He quickened his movements, and she knew he would be done shortly.
She could feel him empty his seed into her.
Sarah closed her eyes and pretended to be elsewhere as he pulled out of her and left the room without a word.
Quidditch Pitch - Hogwarts
Ginny managed to arrange the brooms into three neat rows just in time. A group of children walked towards them with sour expressions, looking unpleased to be out in the hot sun.
She groaned, “Ah, here come the little rascals.”
Hermione glanced at the stands and said, “I'll watch from the professors' box.” She felt wretched about leaving Ginny to mind the children alone, but she was as useless as a garden gnome when it came to flying.
“Good luck,” Draco exclaimed with an amused expression and followed Granger to the seats. He wondered if they had to watch the proceedings or if they could explore the surrounding areas. He was curious to see how Hogwarts had changed during his time away.
Hermione tapped him on the shoulder and asked curiously, “Are you alright?”
Draco turned to face her and replied with mixed feelings, “Yes, I'm fine. It's just a bit strange to be back.”
He cracked half a grin and mused, “Hagrid hates me.”
Hermione sat down on the hard bench and smiled, “Hmmm, I suppose he does, but I think you're handling all of this quite well.” She pulled out her wand and muttered an incantation. An umbrella sprouted out of the tip and offered some much-needed shade.
Draco took a refreshing deep breath, his wandering gaze caught sight of a flock of birds, and he recalled the numerous birds that gathered near the training grounds at the temple. Suri would often be seen scattering nuts for them to eat despite Master Chun’s many warnings that she stop encouraging the birds since they left a significant amount of droppings to clean.
He reflected upon Ginny’s earlier statement, “Weasley was right. It is a good day for flying.”
Hermione smiled sincerely, “You're dying to get out there, aren't you?”
Draco glanced over his shoulder at her seated form and frowned, “I'm here to protect you, not teach.”
Hermione defiantly argued, “I think I'm safe now. I highly doubt Cormac or Goyle will burst into the stadium and kidnap me.”
Draco turned to face her and glared sternly, “I don't find that amusing, Granger.”
Hermione attempted to lighten the gravity of the situation. She chuckled, “Admit it. It is rather hilarious that they would stoop to such childish methods to get my attention. I dated Cormac briefly, and Goyle, well, no comment.”
Draco’s nostrils flared. He saw nothing remotely amusing and clarified his thoughts, "There was nothing childish about what they sent or intended to do, Granger. I would take a threat from Goyle seriously. Besides, he’s not overly fond of me either and might hurt you to spark a reaction out of me.”
Hermione sighed, “Just go…help Ginny. She looks like she could use it.” True enough, Ginny struggled to control the many children chatting among themselves and refusing to listen.
She could practically feel Ginny about to explode with frustration. She was red in the face and fuming.
Draco grinned, “Hmm, you make a fair point. Weasley does look somewhat overwhelmed, but what do I know about children or teaching? I've hardly been around any.” That wasn't entirely true since he had spent many hours around the village children at the temple and taught them bits and pieces of english when Master Chun permitted.
Hermione shrugged but simultaneously encouraged wholeheartedly, “I’m sure you can figure it out, Malfoy. Now go!”
He raised a sceptical brow, “Why are you so eager to get rid of me?”
Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation, “Because you're smothering me.”
Draco conceded defeat and exhaled, “Fine! I’ll help your friend.” He placed significant emphasis on the word your. He descended the stairs and walked through the passageway the Quidditch teams usually used to enter the grounds. It brought back some fond yet painful memories of a less complicated time.
Ginny saw him approach and let out a massive sigh of relief. She was forced to admit that he was a rather imposing sight in his all-black Auror uniform, prominent aristocratic features, and unique blonde hair.
Once he got close, she welcomed him excitedly, “Come on, Malfoy.”
She tossed a broom at him and grinned, “Go on, give it a go.”
Instinctively, Draco’s fingers closed around the handle, and he felt a surge of excitement. It was an ancient-looking, rather frightfully damaged broom, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.
Ginny nudged Draco in the ribs and smirked, “All jokes aside, you were a decent Seeker, but of course, Harry was the absolute best.”
Draco frowned. How could he forget? While he won against the other houses, he had lost every match to Potter, and unfortunately, it still left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He recalled something Weasley would appreciate and shared the bit of information enthusiastically, “Blaise gifted me a broom. It is the latest in the Firebolt range. You should have a look sometime.”
“Sure! Blaise does have the latest stuff,” Ginny blushed for no good reason as she replied and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Draco crossed his arms over his chest and said, “I heard you played for the Harpies. That's quite impressive, Weasley.”
A few students had successfully mounted their brooms while most were still struggling to get their respective brooms to respond to them, and some sat on the ground cross-legged, picking at blades of grass.
Ginny answered happily, “Yeah, it was bloody fantastic.” Where did he hear it? Perhaps, Hermione had mentioned it in passing.
Angry voices interrupted him, and they turned around in time to catch two Slytherin boys fighting over a broom.
Ginny blew her whistle and hurried over to break up the scuffle. If these little shits thought they could create a nuisance during her teaching session, they had another thing coming.
They separated the boys, and Draco helped maintain the peace while Ginny ran the class through practice drills and assisted with broom handling. Some children took to flying naturally, while others struggled with the basics.
An hour passed by peacefully, and with Ginny’s guidance, all the children managed to kick off the ground and at least hover for a while. Still, the disciplined proceedings were shattered when a child fell off his broom after Ginny blew her whistle for them to return to the ground.
The poor boy let out a loud cry and broke his glasses in the process while another hefty-looking lad stood over him with a smug look of utter satisfaction.
Ginny reached the area and demanded, “Oi, what's your name?” The little sod. He was definitely the one Madam Hooch warned them about.
The overweight boy, who was a size more significant than the rest of the children, turned to face Ginny without a care in the world and replied with an air of arrogance, “Rupert.”
Ginny frowned, “Didn't you hear the whistle?”
Rupert nodded, “Yeah, I heard it but four eyes here did not so I helped him.”
Ginny was livid, “You pushed him to the ground, Rupert. You are in big trouble, young man.”
Rupert scowled, “You can't punish me because you’re not a professor.”
Ginny gritted out, “No, I'm not a professor, but I will become your worst nightmare if you disobey my instructions.”
Rupert pretended to be afraid and mocked, “Oh, I'm so scared.”
Ginny stepped forward and warned, “Listen to me, you little …….”
Draco held Ginny back and smiled, “I’ll handle this while you tend to the other one.”
Ginny stormed off toward the fallen boy, who held onto his broken glasses with tears in his eyes. She pulled out her wand, fixed the glasses, and proceeded to console the child.
Draco smiled kindly, “Hi, Rupert.” The boy bore a striking resemblance to Gregory Goyle though he was sure there was no connection. Rupert was far too old to be the child of his former friend.
Rupert smirked, “I know who you are.”
Fantastic, Draco thought but kept his cool and asked, “Do you?”
Rupert answered with a touch of disgust to his tone, “Yeah, aren't you Draco Malfoy? My father mentioned you one time.”
Great.
Draco showed indifference but decided to humour the child, who thought much of himself, and mused, “Did he now?”
Rupert laughed, causing his many chins to wobble and chubby face to shake, “He thinks you're a blood traitor and spineless git.”
Draco kept his composure and gritted out, “Well, good for him. Now get on the broom and do it right.”
His commanding tone wiped the smirk right off Rupert's face. However, the boy refused to adhere to the instructions and instead fired back a snarky reply, “Make me.”
Draco wasted no time. He grabbed the boy by the collar effortlessly and unceremoniously lifted him on to the broom.
Rupert squirmed and complained, “You can't do that. I'm going to complain to the Headmistress. My father will hear about this.”
That last bit sounded oddly familiar, and Draco flinched.
He smirked and issued a dire warning, “Complain to whoever you like, but if I catch you mistreating your classmates, I will transform you into a bloody piglet. Would you like that?”
Rupert stared wide-eyed and paled, “Teachers are not allowed to use transfiguration as a punishment.” The fear in his eyes was apparent. His father had also mentioned that Draco Malfoy was an ex-Death Eater.
Draco grinned, “Well, I'm not a teacher now, am I?”
The pudgy boy looked positively horrified.
Draco smiled faux sweetly and patted the boy on the back, “Off you go, Rupert.”
Rupert flew off in the opposite direction, and despite the child’s horrid attitude, Draco could not help but think that he would make a talented Beater one day.
He jogged over to where Ginny was and muttered, “Some kids are arseholes.”
Ginny was genuinely impressed, “Nicely done, Malfoy.”
She tapped her chin and teased, “You know, he reminds me of someone I once knew.”
Draco did not like the direction of the conversation but decided to humour her, “Oh?”
Ginny grinned, “Yeah, a certain pale blonde pointy-nosed Slytherin we went to school with.
Draco sighed, “Was I that bad?”
Ginny answered truthfully, “You were much worse.” It wasn't a lie. He had been unforgivably terrible to them without just cause.
Draco looked into the stands in time to catch Hermione yawning openly and staring into oblivion, looking positively and utterly bored.
Ginny cracked a smile, “Poor Hermione. She looks miserable.”
She insisted, “You can head back to her if you wish, Malfoy.”
Draco raised a brow, “But don’t you have another class to teach?”
Ginny smiled knowingly, “You like her, don't you?”
Draco snorted, “What gave it away?” It was clear from Ginny’s tone that she wasn't joking around.
She winked, “The way you look at her.”
Draco answered, perplexed, “I don't look at her any different than I would you.”
Ginny answered with a roll of her eyes and frustration, “Come off it, Malfoy. You simp after her like some wounded puppy dog.”
Draco frowned, “Thank you for that vivid comparison, but shall we finish up?” His handsome features contorted unpleasantly, making it clear that he did not appreciate the words she used to describe his attraction to Granger.
Ginny gave a half grin, “Sure. The Gryfindors are due any minute.” She decided to drop the subject for the moment since Malfoy was uncomfortable discussing it.
Dealing and teaching the Gryfindors proved less troublesome than the Slytherins. They followed instructions in an orderly manner except for a few rascals who thought they were above it all. One or two children stuck to Ginny’s side like awestruck fans bombarding her with questions about her time with the Holyhead Harpies.
Finally, the two-hour lesson was over, and quite frankly, Ginny and Draco were exhausted and impressed by Madam Hooch’s ability to do these lessons daily. It was no mystery why the professors at Hogwarts chose to remain childless.
Hermione yawned for possibly the millionth time and wished she had remained with Hagrid while Ginny concluded teaching, but thankfully it was over. She had blissfully forgotten about the remaining houses, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.
Ginny sat down on the grass and sighed. Draco followed suit, ran his fingers through his hair, and looked towards the stands to ensure Granger was still in one piece. He could easily make out his betrothed sitting uncomfortably, shifting from one butt cheek to another and bored out of her mind.
He tore his gaze away, looked at Ginny, and said, “This is certainly an experience.”
Ginny glanced at the wooden box beside her and countered, “We have some time. Shall I let the snitch out?”
Draco grinned instantly and shot to his feet. He mounted the broom closest to him and took a deep breath, “Yeah, go ahead.” No sooner did the Snitch come to life and take off; he kicked off the ground and followed it at tremendous speed despite the limitations of the broom he was riding.
It felt glorious to feel the wind through his hair and adrenaline pumping in his veins as he chased after the elusive snitch. There was nothing that could remotely compare to flying except meditation.
The weather worked in his favour, and before long, he spotted the fluttering of gold wings near the goalpost. He sped towards it and caught it effortlessly. The beautiful golden ball lay motionless on his palm and felt oddly cool against his skin.
Hermione watched intently as Draco flew at breakneck speed. It was apparent to even her that he was a bit out of touch, but she was impressed that he still managed to maintain grace and tact.
Snitch in hand, Draco flew towards his intended and, while still on his broom, offered her the fruit of his labour, “For the prettiest girl in the stands.” It was a long-standing tradition that the Seeker sometimes presented the Snitch they caught to their significant other. Draco never had the opportunity since he didn't have a steady girlfriend at Hogwarts.
Hermione blushed. She was aware of the tradition, having witnessed plenty of Seekers present the token to their person of interest.
She took the ball carefully and said shyly, “I'm the only person here.”
Draco smiled, “There could be a million people here, and you would outshine every single one.”
He flew off, leaving Hermione to stare after him in mild disbelief. The gesture made her speechless, and she unconsciously held onto the Snitch as if her life depended on it.
He landed safely and dismounted, and Ginny nodded approvingly, “Impressive.”
Draco shrugged, “It's a clear day.”
Ginny frowned and stated firmly, “It was a good catch. Take the compliment I give out so few of them.”
He couldn't help but laugh, and she joined in. They spent the rest of the day training and instructing the rest of the houses in companionable silence.
At nearly the end of the day, Hermione sat in the stands and looked at the practice session. She was bored, but she somewhat enjoyed watching Malfoy fly. There was a certain elegance to his movements that made it seem utterly easy. Ron was talented but often looked clumsy and lacked a certain flair to his actions, Viktor was a pro, but his bulky stature left much to be desired.
Once the Hufflepuff students left the grounds, Hermione approached them, clutching the snitch tightly and reluctantly handing it to Ginny to place in the box.
Draco held a broom out and teased, “Granger, you want to have a go.”
Hermione snorted and shook her head, “Not on your life. We all have our strengths, and flying was never one of mine.”
He gently took her hand, pulled her closed, and drawled huskily, “Come on, I'll take you up. I promise not to let you fall.”
Hermione swallowed hard and was sorely tempted to take him up on his offer, but good sense finally kicked in, and she quipped, “How many girls have fallen for that line?”
Draco smirked, ran his long fingers through his hair, and answered frankly, “Quite a few, but it means something now.”
Hermione blushed and averted her gaze, “Maybe later. Remember we promised Hagrid we would grab a drink with him before sunset?”
Draco regarded her with an amused expression, “Coward.” He was not looking forward to spending more time with Hagrid. It was a recipe for disaster, but clearly, the women were oblivious to it or chose to ignore it.
The harsh rays of sunshine had significantly reduced as the day progressed, and a pleasant coolness took its place. They heard Hagrid conversing with someone or something as they approached the hut and adjoining paddock. From their angle, it was impossible to see who or what it was, but as they drew closer, the creature Hagrid spoke so lovingly to came to light.
The feathers were darkened and greying, but the beast was still as magnificent as the first time they saw him.
Hagrid heard them approach and moved away so his beloved friend could have a good view. He beamed proudly, “Buckbeak, say hello to our guests.”
The majestic Hippogriff had no intention of displaying good manners. Instead, Buckbeak clawed at the dirt with his cloven hoofs and menacingly raised itself on its hind legs, towering over them in intimidation.
Hermione and Ginny came to an abrupt halt and even stepped back. Buckbeak had a mean streak that was not to be trifled with. Besides Hagrid, Sirius and Harry were the only known individuals Buckbeak tolerated.
Hagrid frowned and warned, “Oh, he's in a mood today. Best you lot stay clear of him.” As time passed, Buckbeak became overly temperamental and hard to please, but Hagrid did his best and cared for the beast as if he were his child.
Draco ignored the warning and slowly approached the hostile magical creature.
Hagrid bellowed, “Malfoy! Get back!” What the bloody hell was he thinking? Buckbeak probably remembered the git and disrespectful remarks he made all those years ago.
Hermione urgently hissed, “Draco, have you lost every shred of common sense?” Still, he ignored the warnings and slowly yet cautiously approached the fence.
Draco glanced over his shoulder and mused, “Are you worried about me?”
Hermione scoffed, “I am not worried, but I rather not deliver your mangled body to Narcissa.”
Draco smiled, “Have some faith, my love.”
Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and chuckled, “This should be good.”
When it became clear that Malfoy would not listen, Hermione took out her wand and kept it handy in case she needed to pull him out of harm's way or restrain Buckbeak.
Hagrid was right, Buckbeak did remember the slick-haired boy who insulted him, and he did not take kindly to him invading his space. He let out a threatening growl and clawed angrily at the dirt, clearly warning Draco to stay away.
However, Draco stayed on his path, and once he got close enough to feel the warmth of Buckbeak's breath on his cheek, he said with all the sincerity he could muster, “I owe you an apology, my friend. I never meant to insult such a magnificent creature.”
Hagrid, who had been ready to step in if needed, stood rooted to the spot and stared at the once arrogant Malfoy boy. He was dumbfounded and shocked by the boy’s actions.
Draco closed his eyes, bowed, and whispered, “Forgive me.” He gave himself over entirely, not bothered by the consequences that might follow.
The words pierced Hermione’s heart, and she felt an unfamiliar jolt.
Buckbeak curiously regarded the man before him for a few agonising seconds, sizing him up and trying to make sense of the situation. When he was satisfied that Draco had given his all to gain his trust, he bowed and closed the distance between them.
Draco opened his eyes to find Buckbeak kneeling before him and took the opportunity to jump over the fence and touch the mighty beast that terrified most. Buckbeak closed his eyes and relished the soothing feeling of fingers brushing over his feathers and fur.
Hagrid stared wide-eyed in utter shock, “Well, I certainly was not expecting that.”
He asked the girls quite seriously, “Are you absolutely sure this man is Draco Malfoy?”
Ginny stared at Draco and concurred, “I see what you mean.”
She voiced her thoughts, “He’s done a complete 180. Is it possible for someone to change so drastically?”
Hermione was lost in the moment and mumbled a half-hearted reply, “Hmm, I suppose it is possible but I'm still struggling to come to terms with it.” She watched as Draco continued to interact with Buckbeak. He seemed to be speaking to the creature, and shockingly, the Hippogriff understood every word.
Ginny nodded in agreement, “I can't say that I blame you, Hermione. He seems almost too good to be true.”
A low growl interrupted them, and they saw Fang taking a defensive stance and growling at the forest. The Great Dane had aged considerably and had trouble walking, but that didn't stop him from being protective.
Hagrid grabbed him by the collar and pulled him away. He glanced at the thick greenery and tall trees and said solemnly, “The forbidden forest is nearly a country on its own. Werewolves have gathered, hundreds of them. I've never seen anything like it.”
He added further information which piqued Hermione’s interest, “They move about in Hogsmeade but keep mostly to themselves. It’s like they’re waiting for something or someone, but their presence in the forest has caused an uproar among the centaurs, but no fights have broken out as far as I’m concerned.”
“The Ministry is aware, Hagrid. We are monitoring the situation closely, and hopefully, there will be a peaceful solution to all this without any blood being shed,” Hermione clarified, hoping it would appease Hagrid.
Draco climbed over the fence and came towards them with a slight smile, and Hagrid clamped him on the shoulder and roared, “You have balls, Malfoy, but I’m sure Buckbeak appreciated the apology.”
“I own many apologies, and I hope by the end of my time I will have righted my many wrongs,” Draco said to no one in particular, even though he locked eyes with Hermione and seemed to be addressing her directly.
Ginny sighed and said, “Well, I've had enough drama for the day. I need a bloody drink.”
Hagrid beamed, “Aye! I second that.”
Hermione couldn't stop staring at Draco. She felt her heart beat rapidly and slam against her ribcage. Numerous confusing feelings enveloped her, and she suffered silently at the uncertainty of the situation.
Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office - The Ministry of Magic
Perkins hissed, “Where the fuck is the report on the exploding toilets, John?”
John cowered and mumbled, “It’s not ready yet.”
Perkins was livid, “First you slack off, and now you’re late with the report. What the hell is going on with you?” His fingers accidentally brushed against a resting pencil, moving it slightly out of place.
John stared at the pencil and gritted out, “Do not touch my things.”
Perkins picked up the pencil and sneered, “Oh, yeah, and what the fuck are you going to do about it?”
Arthur Weasley chose that precise moment to enter the department and took in the tense situation with a stunned expression.
He glared sternly at the duo and asked, “What is happening? I heard raised voices.”
Perkins returned the pencil to its rightful place on John's neat desk and shrugged, “Just having a little fun, boss.”
Arthur looked at the other man in concern and asked, “Are you alright, John?”
John kept his head down and composed himself. He hated that prick Perkins.
Hogsmeade
Hagrid led the way, and the others trailed after him. Draco dragged his feet and looked around with keen interest. Most had stayed the same except for a couple of new establishments.
As they rounded the corner and the Three Broomsticks came into view, Draco began to panic, and Hermione noticed his shift in mood.
She moved closer to him and whispered, “What's the matter?”
He breathed deeply and confessed, “I used the Imperius curse on Madam Rosmerta.”
Hermione sighed, “It was a long time ago. Besides, I doubt she will remember, Draco.” How could they have forgotten that little fun fact before picking the Three Broomsticks?
They arrived at the pub, and without hesitation, Ginny and Hagrid entered the establishment while Draco and Hermione hung back and contemplated what they should do.
Hermione reassured the man beside her, “Look, I’m positive it’ll be fine, but if you want, we can leave. I’m sure Ginny and Hagrid will understand.” She concluded that they would have to face plenty of instances where Malfoy’s past misdeeds haunted them.
Draco stared at the name board of the pub and shook his head, “No. I need to do this and face the consequences.”
He faced Hermione, gently cupped her face, gazed deep into her eyes, and said, “I'm sorry I have to put you through this, Granger. You deserve so much better.”
Hermione held her head high and didn't break eye contact even a second. Instead, she took his hand and led him inside the mildly crowded pub.
Their presence caused quite a stir, and most patrons stopped what they were doing to stare at them. They gawked at them as if they were on display, but Hermione paid them no mind and led Draco to the table where Hagrid held court.
Once they sat down, Ginny offered words of comfort, “Don't mind them, Malfoy.” She said those words, not meaning them. Malfoy had much to face and pay for, but he didn't seem to shy away from taking responsibility for his actions, and she grudgingly admired him for it.
Madam Rosmerta came over with a broad smile and warm greeting, “Welcome! I haven't seen you two in a while, but I suppose you must be busy.”
She caught sight of Draco and shrieked, “Merlin’s beard, Draco Malfoy. I read about your return but the pictures don’t do you justice.” The young man before her was strikingly handsome.
Draco blushed and muttered, “Thank you. I hope you’re well.” She clearly did not remember their unfortunate interaction.
Rosmerta beamed, “Never better. Let me get you lot a round of drinks on the house.”
Hermione objected, “That's not necessary, Rosmerta.”
Rosmerta was having none of it. She waved her hand dismissively and replied, “Nonsense.”
She smiled at Hagrid, “The usual?”
Hagrid blushed crimson and laughed awkwardly, “Aye, the usual, Merta.”
Chapter 63
Notes:
Thank you, as always, for your tremendous support. Much love!
I have taken a few liberties, so please read with an open mind. :)
A pub brawl, sweet moments with Hagrid and more insight into how much Draco has changed.
Enjoy Chapter Sixty-Three!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
The Three Broomsticks
Draco looked around somewhat nervously. He felt many eyes on him, which was understandable since he had partially returned from the dead.
Still, he pursed his lips, sat up straighter, and keenly watched their surroundings. After all, he was there to protect Granger and not face the demons of his past, even though the lovely memories eagerly awaited him around every corner.
Plenty of patrons continued to look their way, causing Hermione to stiffen, but Hagrid's stern glare made the nosy onlookers finally turn away and mind their business.
Draco could feel Hermione's restfulness, and he ached to take her hand and reassure her that all would be well, but he could not bring himself to touch her. His sordid reputation tainted her image, and he was well aware of the toll it took on her even though she soldiered through with composure worthy of the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic.
Hagrid frowned, making his displeasure evident, "Bloody busybodies. Trying to stir up trouble." They hardly had dignitaries or infamous individuals gracing Hogsmeade, so the locals were rather curious and suspicious and more so of known Death Eaters. The consequences of Draco's recruitment or his age at the time mattered little.
Oblivious or in denial of the tension brewing in her pub, Madam Rosmerta perfectly balanced a wooden tray and smiled broadly as she approached, "Here you go. I hope Firewhiskey is good enough, but I got you some tequila shots with an extra special twist to start you off." She had graciously provided Hagrid with a more oversized shot glass equivalent to the size of a coffee mug by human standards.
She placed the tray in the centre, and everybody except Draco helped themselves to a shot with a grateful, "Thank you, Merta."
Draco smiled at their host and politely declined, "You are most kind, but unfortunately, I cannot partake in alcohol while on duty."
Rosmerta seemed slightly disappointed but concealed her feelings and presented warmly, "Mr Malfoy, might I offer you something else?" She wondered why the man seemed so incredibly nervous around her.
Draco gave a half smile, ran his fingers through his hair and responded, "Oh, please call me Draco. I don't mean to be rude, but I'm on the job and unable to indulge." It was regrettable since a drink would have helped ease his rattled nerves.
Rosmerta glanced at Hermione and grinned knowingly, "Ah, I see. Protecting your talented fiancé, I presume." The man seemed almost overly protective of the Undersecterary, and his duty to her exceeded what the Ministry mandated.
Hermione blushed. Her fingers tightened around the tiny shot glass, and she said, embarrassed, "Madam Rosmerta…."
However, Draco glanced sideways, interrupted with a cheeky grin and retorted, "You presume correctly."
Rosmerta helped herself to Draco's discarded shot, raised it and said happily, "Well, cheers."
"Good health," Hagrid chimed in with his gruff yet gentle voice.
Ginny was the first to down her shot and bite on the lime wedge. Her eyes widened, and she exclaimed, "Oh, yum."
Hermione licked her lips, savouring the saltiness and stated with a satisfied yet curious expression, "That's delicious. Much better than ordinary tequila shots. What's the secret?" It crackled and popped, leaving a pleasant aftertaste.
Madam Rosmerta threw her head back with laughter, "My lips are sealed, darling." She enjoyed experimenting with innovative methods to elevate simple alcoholic beverages.
Hagrid furrowed his brow and questioned sternly, "Why do you need Auror protection, Hermione? What haven't you told me?" He did not care for being left in the dark and made it abundantly clear via his tone of voice.
Hermione cleared her throat and wished she could have another shot, but Rosmerta had only served one round of tequila. Still, Hagrid's penetrating glare was not easy to escape, mainly since the others at the table avoided eye contact and seemed intent on avoiding the topic.
The reasons for her protection detail were on a need-to-know basis, but this was Hagrid and could be trusted. However, she decided it was best to play it by ear and deny any severe implications.
Hermione cracked a weak smile, "Oh, it's nothing like that, Hagrid. It's quite stupid, really. Harry is being paranoid."
Her poorly thought-out reply did nothing to appease the giant's curiosity, but thankfully he dropped the subject momentarily, and Ginny seized the opportunity to engage him in conversation.
Madam Romerta used the awkward silence well and offered enthusiastically, "Draco, can I tempt you with a mean fruit juice? I am known for my exotic passion fruit concoction."
She leaned closer and almost whispered, "My secret is I add a few chilli flakes to the mix."
Her prominent bosom was inches from Draco's face. He moved his head back and blushed profusely before responding sheepishly, "Intriguing. If it's not too much trouble."
Rosmerta patted him heartedly on the back and winked, "Not at all." She sashayed towards the well-stocked bar without a further word.
Draco watched her go with an amused expression. She had been a pretty woman in her day, but time had been kind to her because she was still quite lovely. Plenty of teenage boys lusted over the curvaceous landlady.
Hermione caught him looking and snorted, "Well, you've got her eating out of the palm of your hand." She vividly recalled Ron's crush on Rosmerta. He would fall to pieces in her presence and get severely tongue-tied, causing Harry to place orders on his behalf.
Draco flinched. He paled and stared at Hermione intently. Why would she make such a crude comment?
Hermione took in his horrified expression and realised her mistake. Fuck.
She massaged the bridge of her nose in exasperation and apologised, "I'm sorry that was a poor choice of words."
Ginny was getting restless and, quite frankly, bored. She handed tumblers of Firewhiskey to Hagrid and Hermione and insisted, "Come on. Let's drink up!"
Rosmerta returned shortly with a pitcher of a somewhat yellowish concoction with visible passion fruit seeds floating carefree on the surface. She placed a tall glass before Draco and poured him a generous portion.
Draco inhaled the aromatic fragrance that the mixture was emitting. It smelled refreshing, and fabulous water beads chased each other down the glass and became one with the rustic table's wooden surface.
He took a cautious sip of the tangy drink and was pleasantly surprised. A steady warmth spread through his body down to his toes. Had Rosmerta snuck in some alcohol?
An involuntary sultry tone escaped his luscious lips, "Mmm." His reaction was well received by Madam Rosmerta, who smiled broadly. She enjoyed watching her guests' responses to her efforts.
However, Hermione scoffed, "Steady on, Malfoy."
Draco ignored her entirely and proceeded to down his tasty drink. He desperately felt the need to liquidate his parched throat.
Ministry of Magic
Thomas sat in the deserted cafeteria, nursing a hot tea and munching on a stale pastry.
He wasn't hungry, not in the least, but he needed some nourishment or would collapse and be useless to anyone. His mind was in turmoil over the many disturbing revelations.
Abbott was still reviewing every picture and combing through evidence, hoping to find some lead on the Dollhouse Strangler. The madman had ceased all activity while that was a good thing, it also slimmed their chances of catching him.
A voice he wholeheartedly welcomed cut into his thoughts. The tone was laced with plenty of concern, "Working late?"
Thomas pushed aside the plate, leaned back in his chair and smiled at Audrey, "Yeah. Plenty of matters need my attention."
Audrey sighed. Thomas Spencer would never change. However, she still felt drawn to him.
She smiled warmly and asked, "Do you mind if I join you?"
Thomas used his leg to push back a chair and invited happily, "Not at all, Audrey. I welcome a distraction." He could spend hours in her company and never tire of it.
Loving her had been a losing game for everyone concerned, but perhaps it was the right time to rectify the many wrongs done in the past. He deserved some happiness, didn't he?
Audrey never beat around the bush and bluntly said what was on her mind. She stared at him intently, roving over the scars, fine lines of ageing and brilliant eyes that seemed weary.
She said solemnly, "You look tired."
Thomas chuckled, "What else is new?"
He asked keenly, "How are the recruits shaping up?" They were the future. His time was nearly at an end. After extinguishing the werewolf revolution, he would retire to the countryside and live off the land. Perhaps, Audrey could be persuaded to share his dream.
Audrey looked really pleased, "They have potential. Especially Dennis Creevey and Draco Malfoy."
Thomas scoffed, "Good to know. Hannah doesn't shut up about the Malfoy brat." Abbott unknowingly became Malfoy's advocate and defender to anyone who spoke ill of him.
Audrey became thoughtful and exclaimed, "He's quite skilled, Thomas. I feel like he will be a valuable addition to your team." She felt in her gut that Draco would make a formidable Auror surpassing those in his rank and above. His gifts were not limited to magic, and he had a great sense of control of his mind which enabled him to harness the magic following in him to unmeasurable lengths.
Thomas smirked, "You mean Potter's team." He could not help the sarcasm that generously coated his words.
Audrey replied with a distinct roll of her eyes, "Still sore about that?" She knew Thomas had been deeply insulted by Kingsley's decision to overlook his most senior and dedicated Auror for a position that was rightly his and hand it over to Harry Potter instead.
Thomas laughed, "Not really. The kid looks better on posters than I do." He pointedly looked at the stump where his hand used to be and casually shrugged.
Audrey argued, "Don't sell yourself short. You have a certain something."
That piqued Thomas's interest, and he insisted, "Oh, like what?" He wasn't what you would deem attractive, maybe once, but certainly not now, with a missing limb and multiple scars running down his face and body.
Still, Audrey stared at him as if he were something special and blushed, "I always thought you had rather unique eyes." He did have such mesmerising eyes filled to the brim with wisdom and worldly knowledge.
Thomas could not help but chuckle, "You've never told me that."
Audrey crossed her arms over her chest and defended, "I never got the opportunity to do so."
Putting caution to the wind, Thomas took a deep breath and asked somewhat timidly, "Audrey, are you free this weekend?" He had battled vicious beasts and madmen but was utterly useless and terrified in the presence of the woman he deeply cared for.
Audrey smiled slightly and quizzed, "Perhaps. What do you have in mind?" Her heart fluttered with endless hope. She had loved him since their training days, but tragedy ended their blossoming romance.
Swallowing his fear, Thomas offered wholeheartedly, "Dinner on Saturday?"
Audrey smiled, got to her feet, returned the chair to its original position, and reacted, "Sounds lovely."
Thomas visibly relaxed and sighed, "Good." He had been rather frightened of rejection
Audrey mused, "Do sleep at a reasonable hour, Thomas. You look dreadful." He looked like he needed to go to bed and not resurface for a week.
He queried in disappointment, "Leaving so soon?"
Audrey stifled a laugh, "I don't have much choice. My cat needs to be fed."
Thomas frowned, "Do you still have that mangy thing?" His features contorted unpleasantly.
Audrey nodded and replied, faintly amused, "I do."
With a slight smile, Thomas said, "Have a good evening, love."
She kissed him gently on the cheek, "You too."
His pocket burned far worse than his cheek. Thomas took out a battered Galleon with strange markings on the surface and frowned.
Dorian Blackwood requested his presence.
The Three Broomsticks
As the evening progressed, Rosmerta left them to attend to her other guests, and Draco was immensely grateful that she had no recollection of what transpired between them.
Hagrid had his share of alcoholic beverages, and by the end of their session, he was drunk and highly emotional. He brought up many stories that left Hermione and Ginny in tears or stitches as they laughed at the hilarious and illegal situations Hagrid unknowingly seemed to land himself in.
Hermione protested jokingly, "Stop, Hagrid! I can't listen to these shady dealings and look the other way."
Draco pondered about the giant's life with a smile on his face. Rubius Hagrid had a larger-than-life personality, and he was instantly drawn to the genuineness and humbleness displayed.
The door to the pub opened, and a gust of cold air swept through the place, and in walked a group of men who seemed to know their way about since they stopped at a few tables to speak and hackle the patrons.
Draco kept a watchful eye over the men. He could sense trouble from a mile away.
The evening took a turn for the worst when the rowdy bunch of men caught sight of the distinguished guests occupying one of the best tables in the establishment. With narrowed, disapproving eyes, they took in the ice-blonde man.
They seemed overly confident and reeked of cheap alcohol.
Without a word, they pushed a server aside, approached the table and stood menacingly on either side of Draco. They were upset by his presence and made it abundantly clear. The group consisted of four wizards in their early twenties, and one among them was quite fetching. He had an air of arrogance about him, but he was good-looking in an unkempt way.
Hermione clutched her drink and stiffened. The air around them instantly changed, and the tension that settled over the group could be cut with a knife.
Ginny glanced at the gathered men lazily, her hand dropped under the table, and her fingers wrapped around her trusty wand. She exchanged a look of concern with Hermione but pursed her lips and waited for the situation to unfold.
One of the men spat out his words, "We don't want your kind in here."
The fine hairs on the back of Draco's neck came alive, yet he smirked, "And what kind would that be, mate?" He willed himself to remain calm. There would be no bloodshed today.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath while Hermione looked at him out of the corner of her eye. She could make out his chest rising and falling with the urgent need to compose himself.
However, she could hardly hold back her sharp tongue, "That is not for you to say."
Hagrid somewhat drunkenly slurred, "Wasn't expecting to see you here today."
"Good to see you, Hagrid," One man hissed.
"Wish I could say the same, Paul," Hagrid gritted out.
He followed up with a direct question, "Was the hunt successful?"
Jack played it down and grinned from ear to ear, "Aye! It finished in record time. The buyer was most pleased."
He patted his pocket and winked, "Rewarded us handsomely."
Vultures. The men illegally peddled exotic creatures.
Hagrid narrowed his eyes. He seemed beyond irritated and hoped Hermione was paying close attention to the conversation.
Hermione, who had been listening intently, voiced her concerns and thoughts, "What hunt? I'm sure you know that poaching of magical creatures is strictly forbidden." Merlin, please give me a reason to lock away these bastards, she thought.
Jack was no fool and laughed aloud, "Who said anything about creatures? We were talking about mushrooms, weren't we, lads?"
The men laughed mockingly but in unison and nodded their heads in agreement.
Hermione regarded the men with a sour deposition and hissed, "Indeed. Will see about that."
A man wearing dark blue robes did not care for her tone.
He clenched his teeth and gritted out, "Is that a threat, Madam Undersecretary?"
"Have some respect, Marcus," Hagrid growled. He was not about to sit quietly on his arse and do nothing while they insulted Hermione.
Draco sized up the man speaking in such a disrespectful manner and felt his resolve begin to slip. Humiliating and insulting him was one thing, but he would not tolerate such behaviour towards Granger or his mother.
Hermione's pleasant features contorted, and she fired back, "It's a promise." One Patronus from her to the Ministry was all it would take to alert the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He would appear and apprehend the suspects for questioning.
Jack smirked and played the role of a reluctant mediator, "Gentlemen, play nice. It's not every day we have the honour of hosting such high-profile characters in Hogsmeade."
Hagrid hissed, spewing Firewhiskey in all directions, "Mind your manners." He was getting increasingly tired of their conduct.
Still, Jack was persistent. He spoke to everyone in general and walked about as he delivered his little impromptu speech, "I come in here expecting to celebrate, but instead, I'm faced with quite a dilemma.
Ginny scowled, "There's no dilemma here. There are plenty of other tables."
Jack snorted. He came up behind Draco, clamped him hard on the shoulder, and spat, "Unfortunately, we don't tolerate his filthy kind in any establishment." As far as he was concerned, Death Eaters were worse than the vilest scum.
Draco felt the man's fingers dig into his shoulder blade. He stiffened but kept silent. Part of atoning for his past misdeeds was to accept and embrace others' reactions within certain boundaries. It was only then he could seek true forgiveness from the wizarding world.
He felt Jack's warm breath on his cheek, "How's your bitch of a mother?"
It was instinct. Draco's fingers curled to form hardened fists, and his fingernails though short dug into the palm of his hand.
His hands shook with the anger charging through his body, but before he could act, Draco felt surprisingly soft fingers encircling his fist and fierce brown eyes pleading with him to remain calm.
They locked eyes, and much was exchanged between them. Hermione discreetly shook her head, and instantly Draco regained his composure and willed his anger to subside.
He recalled Master Chun's precious advice, "They are just words, Draco. They can only hurt if you let them. Pay them no mind, my son."
When Draco made no acknowledgement that he heard the hated words, Jack grew angry at being shown indifference and demanded, "Malfoy! Can you fucking hear me?"
However, it was Hermione who replied. She was annoyed with their tiresome behaviour and wanted nothing more than to continue the evening without any unpleasantness.
She insisted sternly and dismissed the men with an authoritative hand wave, "Move along. We don't want any trouble."
Jack laughed aloud, and the others joined him as they mocked and attempted to humiliate Draco.
The men purposely goaded, hoping to draw out a response, "Is she your mouthpiece? You cowardly git, hiding behind a woman's skirt."
These unruly arseholes were ruining her steady buzz, and Ginny was having none of it.
She warned, her blood boiling, "Leave him alone."
Still, Jack ignored Ginny and focused on Hermione. He issued a shrouded warning, "You're a long way from the Ministry, Madam Undersecretary. Your status means little to us."
Paul, who had been watching Draco's lack of movement, leered, "Look at this! The Death Eater is an Auror. Potter must be fucking desperate." His tone was laced with amusement. What was the DMLE thinking hiring a branded Death Eater?
Ginny sprang to her feet, wand drawn and spat, "What did you say, you little prick?"
Oh, no, Hermione thought despondently. This situation would end poorly. She had little choice but to stand her ground and defend her best friend's honour.
Pin-drop silence followed as witches and wizards at other tables turned their way and gave them their undivided attention but not a single soul rose to their defence or offered words of comfort.
Apparently, Hagrid shared her sentiment since he rose, and his imposing structure almost knocked the table over. Things had escalated, and Draco thought it best to intervene before the situation spiralled out of control.
Jack eyed Hagrid and Ginny cautiously. He recognised the redhead to be Potter's wife. His imbecile friend had gone and done it. They hardly, if never, spoke ill of the Chosen One.
Clearly, this was not a fight they would come out unscathed. Provoking the half-giant and his guests was a foolish endeavour. However, to go back on their word and beliefs would be far worse than a severe beating.
Draco pushed his chair back roughly. It skidded across the floor and hit Jack's knee. He slowly got to his feet, adjusted his Auror robes and tried to calm the situation.
Turning to face Jack, who looked furious, Draco smiled and inquired, "How can we help you fine gentlemen?" He knew exactly what they required, but it would not hurt to ask and have things out plainly.
Jack narrowed his eyes and hissed, "Get out, Malfoy." Was the fucker slow? Or just pretending?
Draco closed the distance between them, causing Jack to take an involuntary step back. The blonde grabbed the chair, returned it to its rightful place, and nodded in agreement, "Of course. If that's your wish."
Hermione reached for Draco and cried in outrage, "Malfoy is not going anywhere. He's with me and under the protection of the Ministry of Magic."
Marcus, Paul, and everyone within the establishment stared at her in shock and disbelief.
Meanwhile, Jack's astute eyes fell on the prominent engagement ring turning bright green. Of course, he knew about the pairing between the two. It caused quite a scandal that Hermione Granger was being made to copulate with Draco Malfoy. Still, judging by her responses and defensive nature, Jack shared no pity for the once Golden Girl.
However, he did appreciate a loyal, spirited, and lovely woman. Jack was particularly gifted with the opposite sex, and the brothel he frequented was happy to have him as a client. He did not have to work much to get their attention, and under all the fuss, Hermione Granger was nothing but a woman—a woman with plenty of needs that required fulfilment.
He closed the distance between them and cooed, "Pretty bird like you deserves far better than the likes of him."
Draco watched the situation unravel and felt the magic literally burn his insides. He narrowed his eyes and took in Granger's discomfort and anger. If Jack made one wrong move, the man would spend the night at St Mungo's.
Touch her, and you die. Like a sign, the words ran rampant through Draco's mind. A possessiveness he had never experienced seemed to swallow him whole, and quite frankly, the intensity scared him.
His teachings of self-control were slowly slipping out of his grasp as Jack moved closer to Granger until his lips almost touched her face.
Hermione stepped back the best she could and glared, "I'm warning you. Get away from me."
Ginny raised her wand and eyed the man who insulted Harry with contempt. She felt an unfamiliar rush of adrenaline. It had been years since she had been in a good fight.
Forgetting his audience and the situation at hand, Jack boldly requested, "Let me buy you a drink."
Hagrid came around the table, knocking down everything in his path, stood by Hermione's side protectively and sneered, "Jack! That is enough."
Hermione stood her ground and scowled, "I'll pass on your generous offer." She would rather have a drink with the giant squid.
Hagrid repeatedly warned, "Leave us alone, Jack and nobody gets hurt."
A man from the back snapped, "You should be ashamed, Hagrid. Sitting here and drinking with this bastard."
"Times have changed, Paul. Malfoy was never convicted. He was just a boy," Hagrid countered with the bitter truth everyone seemed to overlook. Yes, Malfoy was a horrid git and awful child but never a cold-blooded murderer.
Paul spat at Draco's feet and snarled, "Fucking Death Eater, scum. You lot owe me a father." His father was a Muggle-born but a talented wizard. He had been innocent, and the Snatchers that grabbed him showed no mercy when they took turns tormenting him with the Cruciatus curse.
Their actions and hatred towards him made a lot of sense, and Draco sympathised and bore no ill will despite everything.
He took a deep breath and sincerely apologised, "I am sorry for your pain and suffering, but I assure you I played no part in the atrocities Voldemort committed." That was not entirely true since, under due stress and forced orders from the madman, he had tortured plenty of innocents until they begged and pleaded for mercy.
There was a collectively sharp intake of breath and hissing upon hearing the Dark Lord's name.
Paul was having none of it, and without considering the consequences, he shoved Draco hard, "Fuck you, Malfoy."
However, Draco was not intimidated. He did not move a muscle or utter other words to defend his circumstances. Instead, he turned on his heel to leave, but Hermione called after him in alarm, "Draco, wait…."
Jack made the grave mistake of grabbing her forearm to stop her from rushing to her future husband's side. His fingers dug into her flesh, causing Hermione to wince in pain.
Draco stopped dead in his tracks. His face darkened. This would be the second time an outsider prevented her from coming to him. Except this was not Weasley but some random bloke who had bitten off more than he could chew.
Hagrid abruptly turned to grab Jack by the neck, but barely had he reached the man closest to them, whipped out his wand and pointed it directly at the half-giants chest. His hand trembled with uncertainty, but he made no effort to lower his wand.
Paul gritted out, "No! Let him leave."
Hermione struggled, but Jack was too strong. He applied more pressure, and she could feel the blood circulation in her arm being restricted. She would make sure he paid in spades for his reprehensible conduct.
However, she blocked out the pain and sneered, "Unhand me this instant." It was clear from her tone of voice that she meant business. Jack ignored her demands. He knew the damage was already done.
Draco regarded Jack with a firm expression and issued a dire warning, "Let her go." His demeanour turned frosty and instantly hostile. The transparent grey in his eyes hardened as he stared daggers at the man holding onto his fiancé.
He slowly counted to ten in his head, giving the reckless man ample time to come to his senses and foolishly hoped the man was wise enough to unhand his future bride, but unfortunately, it seemed unlikely.
To make matters worse, Jack moved closer to Hermione while she attempted to get away and inhaled deeply. He made quite the show of it, causing Hermione's face to contort unpleasantly.
The intimate gesture made Draco's blood boil and dormant magic surge to the surface.
Jack licked his lips suggestively, gave Draco his full attention and drawled almost seductively, "Or what?"
Ginny drew first blood. She shot a perfectly timed hex at the man threatening Hagrid, causing the shocked man to double over and blood to spurt out of his broken nose.
Draco smiled almost devilishly. Forgive me, Master Chun.
He closed the gap between Jack and him in less than two strides and swiftly kicked the man square in the chest with one well-placed foot. The arrogant man was forced to let Hermione go, who rushed back to the table and pulled out her wand from her purse.
She neatly shot a body-binding curse at a burly man trying to curse Ginny. He fell to the ground struggling against the ropes tightening around his torso.
Jack held onto his chest and stumbled but did not fall. He regained his balance, made a fist and clumsily swung, but Draco effortlessly dodged the poor attempt and countered the ill-timed attack with a vicious blow to his opponent's cheek, which shattered the bones and filled the space with a sickening crunch.
Ginny gasped, and Hermione flinched. They glanced at the blood seeping out of Jack's mouth as he choked on it.
A few minutes after impact, Jack's eyes rolled back in his head, and darkness claimed him. He should have used his wand, but it would have mattered little when faced with an adversary such as Draco Malfoy.
Hagrid caught one terrified man by the collar, lifted him clear off the ground, and shook him violently as if he were a rag doll.
"I told you arseholes to leave us alone," he yelled angrily. He personally hated confrontations of any sort. These dim-witted bastards had sealed their fate.
Draco carefully bent over Jack and checked the man's vitals. He was unconscious but still very much among the living. So much for his earlier promise of not spilling blood.
He hesitantly glanced at Hermione and awaited instructions. Jack had manhandled the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, which was a punishable offence in the eyes of the law.
Hermione glared at the unconscious man on the floor with a thin stream of blood trickling down his chin with little to no compassion and instructed sternly, "Arrest him and the others."
Draco nodded in acknowledgement, magically conjured restraints and handcuffed Jack and the others. He straightened as Jack came too and groaned in unimaginable pain. There was a visible cut along the cheek, and the skin was bruised and swollen.
Taking out his wand, Draco sent his dragon Patronus to the DMLE with summarised instructions. Within mere minutes, two hefty Aurors burst into the Three Broomsticks and hurriedly approached them.
They exchanged a few quick words with Draco, who explained the grave events that transpired.
Their expressions were grim. They nodded in acknowledgement, grabbed hold of the assailants, and disappeared while the men in custody pleaded and argued to be released.
The pub almost emptied, but a few loyal customers refused to budge, and the barmaids hiding behind the bar poked their heads out to ensure everything was still in one piece. Rosmerta was away on an errand and would not return until much later.
Ginny picked a fallen chair off the floor and sat down. Her heart beat rapidly, and she relished the feeling.
She calmed herself enough to suggest, "Another round?" She could not wait to get home and tell Harry about what happened. He would naturally make a mountain out of a molehill and confront the men responsible most harshly.
Hagrid roared in agreement, "Aye!" The barmaid rushed to fill their order and brought it over immediately.
Hermione pushed a tumbler with a splash of scotch towards Draco and insisted, "Have a drink, Malfoy. You could use it."
Draco massaged his wrist and responded solemnly, "I'm on duty, Granger."
She reached over, gingerly brushed his fingers with her own and mused, "That's an order, Malfoy."
Draco stared into her beautiful eyes and smirked, "I don't take my orders from you."
Hermione looked away, kept her eyes downcast and smiled. She sipped her drink while drowning in her thoughts.
Hagrid downed his drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, "Now, where were we."
Ginny took a sip and reminded with a half grin, "You were telling us about your camping trip in the mountains."
Brenda poured Michael a glass of red wine and served him dinner. It was a rare occasion that they were having a meal together. His latest assignment guarding the Muggle Prime Minister kept him out mostly, and they hardly saw each other.
She buttered a roll, handed it to her beloved and said offhandedly, "You seem quite distracted." She understood how demanding his job was and made sure not to add their relationship issues into the mix. Not that there was any, but this was the first meal they shared in weeks.
Michael snapped to attention and smiled, "Huh? Oh, I've got a bit on my mind, to be honest."
Brenda offered wholeheartedly, "Please, darling, tell me what's troubling you. Maybe I can help."
Michael brushed her question aside, "It's nothing. I guess I'm worried about Terry." He had not been around to see his best mate since his duties kept him pretty busy. Evans relied on him to identify unscrupulous characters with the aid of magic.
Brenda inquired, "How is he?" She knew Michael was lying, but he was not allowed to share mission details with her, and she wisely dropped the subject.
Michael pushed his food around the plate and smiled, "He's better and focused."
He could not tell her that more and more werewolves were following the Muggle Prime Minister, putting their lives at significant risk.
Evans came to the shuddering conclusion that the werewolves were not looking to kill the Muggle Prime Minister but mark him and change him into one of them, thus securing their position. His complete obedience would open the doors to their concealed world and possibly more followers. Muggles were always fascinated by the unknown.
One of the wolves they apprehended had grudgingly confessed under torture, leading them to assume what they thought was true.
Harry and Kingsley had been alarmed by the revelation. They added more undercover Aurors unbeknownst to Evan or the Minister and sought to inform leaders worldwide of the Alpha's true intentions.
Brenda and Michael ate the rest of the meal in companionable silence until it was time for him to return to his post. It gutted him to leave her, but it was only momentary and for a more significant cause.
Hagrid got horribly drunk and started singing while others in the pub joined in, and Draco could not help but sing the famous song at the top of his lungs.
The earlier incident was somewhat forgotten, and Hermione put her arm around Ginny's shoulder as they sang along with Hagrid and the others.
Ginny glanced at her watch and gasped. It was getting extremely late, and they needed to return to the castle.
Instantly, she was sober and ready to leave. She patted Hagrid on the arm and said gently, "Let's call it a night."
Hagrid reluctantly agreed. He did feel somewhat lightheaded, and it was best to leave while the night was still young.
Hermione tried to settle the bill, but Draco wouldn't let her. He paid for everyone while she sulked in the corner.
They saw Hagrid back to his hut, where he became a sobbing mess because he was so lonely.
Hagrid hiccupped and sobbed harder, "Nobody ever visits me."
Hermione and Ginny swapped a look of concern and said together, "Hagrid…."
Draco trailed after them in silence. He kept his eyes on the blubbering half-giant and could not help but feel his heart clench with sorrow.
Hagrid pulled out a dirty handkerchief, blew into it loudly and stuffed it back into his pocket.
He surfaced and confessed rather dreamy-eyed and smitten, "I miss Olympe."
Draco caught up with Hermione, pulled her to his side and whispered so only she could hear, "Olympe? The Beauxbaton Headmistress?"
Hermione smirked, "Yeah, they were a thing for a while."
Draco widened his eyes in utter disbelief, "I don't believe it." The two were as different as night and day.
Hermione frowned. She didn't quite like what Malfoy was insinuating and argued, "Oh, and why is that?
Draco realised how he came off and tried again, but this time he was more diplomatic and reasoned, "No offence to Hagrid, but wasn't she all fancy dresses and proper manners?"
Hermione replied thoughtfully, "Well, you would be surprised what love can overlook."
Draco inhaled the sweet scent of her hair and muttered, "I hope you enlighten me one day."
Hermione was sure she had misheard and turned to face him with a raised quizzical brow, "What?"
Draco avoided answering and instead questioned, "So, what ended the budding romance?"
Hermione merely shrugged, "We don't really know. Hagrid never talks about it. He only cries like a baby every time we bring it up, so we learned to keep our mouths shut."
After a moment's pause, she quipped, "However, Harry might know, but he won't spill the beans."
Draco stared at Hagrid's broad frame and sighed, "Poor bloke."
Ginny did her utmost to support Hagrid's hefty structure as he drunkenly swayed and spoke lovingly about Olympe Maxime.
Hermione's face fell with concern, "Yeah, it's heartbreaking, isn't it?"
Draco left her, jogged the short distance to Hagrid, took hold of his arm and instructed, "Come on, mate. Let's get you into bed."
Ginny was immensely grateful for the assistance and fell into step with Hermione, who could not stop staring at Malfoy, helping their friend with a sincere genuineness that would be hard to fake.
She looked at him confused but with a twinkle in her eyes, and Ginny nudged her, causing a blush to creep up her cheeks. They made it inside the hut, and with a discreet wave of his free hand, Draco could light the many candles that decorated the windowsill and side table.
The sudden light illuminated their way, and everything seemed less harsh, hidden by the shadows.
"You can't be Malfoy," Hagrid drunkenly slurred when they made it to his makeshift bedroom, which was tidier than Draco would have imagined. The massive man sat down on the bed, and it protested under his weight.
He peered intently into the ice-blonde man's face and struggled to find the right words to express his feelings.
Draco propped up a pillow for Hagrid to rest his head on and inquired curiously, "Why not?"
Hagrid snorted, "Because all the Malfoys hate me."
Draco cracked a smile, "Maybe once, but never again. I was a horrible judge of character back then."
Hagrid chuckled, "The Malfoy I remember was a right little shit."
Draco laughed, "Yeah, so I've heard countless times. I'll try to do better."
Hermione listened in keen interest with a slight smile on her face. The rough exterior around her heart she placed towards Malfoy was thawing rapidly.
Hagrid grabbed Draco by his robes and said firmly, "You be good to my Hermione."
The situation was comical, but Draco was deadly serious with his reply, "You have my word, Hagrid."
Hagrid laid down, closed his eyes, and requested, "Sing me a lullaby."
Draco stood frozen for what seemed like a lifetime before he found his voice, "What?"
Hagrid choked back a sob, "My father would sing to me until I fell asleep." An unbearable pain gripped his fragile heart.
Draco massaged the bridge of his nose in exhaustion, "For fuck sake."
Ginny doubled over with laughter, and Hermione turned away to hide her face.
Draco pulled up a chair resting in the corner, sat down, and complied, "Sure." He tried to recall one from his younger days, and it came to him within minutes. He sang a comforting sort of nursery rhyme he remembered in French.
Ferme tes jolis yeux
Car les heures sont brèves
Au pays merveilleux
Au doux pays des rêves
Ferme tes jolis yeu
Ginny could not help but be impressed and nudged Hermione, "The man can carry a tune."
Car tout n’est que mensonge
Le bonheur est un songe
Ferme tes jolis yeux
Hermione did not bother to reply. She was enthralled by the melodious words leaving Malfoy's mouth, even though she did not fully understand them. The man was full of surprises. She had no idea he was musically inclined.
He seemed entirely at ease with his eyes closed as he sang a song to soothe his once enemy—loud snores emitted from a fully asleep Hagrid. The half-giant turned on his side, pulled a large pillow towards him and cuddled it.
Draco slowly got to his feet and backed out of the room, taking care not to make any noise. He turned to find Weasley and Granger staring at him in utter bewilderment.
Their shocked faces were priceless.
Ginny's mouth was slightly agape as she struggled to process what she witnessed.
Draco shrugged and offered a plausible explanation, "What? My mother used to sing it to me."
Still, the women continued to stare at him without uttering a word. His actions seemed to have paralysed them.
He gritted out in mild annoyance, "Not a word to anyone about this."
Ginny covered her mouth to stop the laughter from escaping and quipped, "You sing beautifully, Malfoy."
Hermione stifled a laugh and promised, "Our lips are sealed."
They left the hut, and once outside, Draco took Hermione's hand in his and kissed it, "I enjoyed being here with you."
Hermione felt so conflicted it was suffocating and excruciating, but she swallowed her pride and responded, "Hmm, so did I."
Ginny rolled her eyes, looked around and offered cheekily, "You know, there are plenty of interesting spots to share a private moment. I would be happy to point them out." Although she was sure, Malfoy knew most of them.
Hermione scolded, "Ginny!"
Ginny was wholly unfazed and merely shrugged, "What? I had my fair share of romances before Harry came to his senses."
Draco looked to the heavens. Hundreds of sparkling stars and an almost full moon greeted him.
He stated the obvious, "It's getting late."
Ginny nodded in agreement, "Yes, I need to get back to James." She missed his warmth and wonderful baby smell.
Hermione sighed, "I need to pack." She also needed to prepare herself mentally for the upcoming trip.
Draco smiled, "I suppose we all have things to do." He had to pack, meditate, speak to Theo and have a long shower.
Teddy could hardly contain his excitement, "Tomorrow is going to be so much fun."
Andromeda covered the glass of water with a saucer and agreed, "I have no doubt."
Teddy ran around his room excitedly and said, "I really want to play Quidditch. Do you think Uncle Ron will join?"
Andromeda nodded, "Most probably."
Teddy fell onto his bed and chuckled, "It'll be wicked fun if he does."
Andromeda smiled and said, "Hush now. Off to bed with you."
Teddy kissed his grandmother on the cheek, "Good night, Gran. I love you."
Hogwarts
Professor McGonagall looked up from her pile of papers at the loud knock and called out, "Enter!"
She smiled at the people that arrived and said, "Ah, good evening. I trust everything went to plan."
Ginny exchanged a look of uncertainty with the others and hesitantly nodded, "Yes, Headmistress."
She added awkwardly, "We apologise for disturbing you so late."
Professor McGonagall waved her hand dismissively and responded, "Ah, think nothing of it. I was catching up on some neglected paperwork."
She continued amusedly, "I was told you visited Hagrid and then Rosmerta."
Hermione grew nervous but replied, "Um, yes." Had she also heard about the brawl?
Minerva McGonagall addressed Draco, "I am also aware some unpleasantness transpired at the Three Broomsticks." He shifted his feet uncomfortably and averted his gaze. How was he to explain his actions when he was ashamed of them?
Hermione frowned, "Yes, well, we certainly didn't start anything."
Ginny chuckled, "We definitely ended it."
Professor McGonagall thought momentarily and advised, "Hmm, yes, but I dare say you best brace yourself, Mr Malfoy. There's probably plenty more of the same sort headed your way."
Hermione paled, she was not keen on further confrontations, and Draco pursed his lips. He had no intention of exposing Granger or others to potentially life-threatening situations. He would atone for his past deeds alone.
A faint smile appeared on McGonagall's usually stern face, "I hear Buckbeak made a new friend."
Draco smiled and offered a plausible explanation, "I owed him an apology."
Professor McGonagall regarded the man before her evenly and reprimanded, "That was foolish, Mr Malfoy. Brave but stupid. The beast could have caused irreparable damage."
Draco argued, "It was a chance I was willing to take, Professor."
The Headmistress conceded defeat, "All's well that ends well. Albus was fond of those words. However, I have my reservations."
Hermione glanced at Malfoy from the corner of her eye and felt her heartbeat hasten and slam against her ribcage. A longish piece of platinum blonde hair fell carelessly across his forehead, adding much more to his appeal.
Professor McGonagall spoke kindly to Ginny, "Anyways, will you return next week, Miss Weasley?"
Ginny lit up and agreed without much thought, but afterwards, she hesitated, "I would be happy to…. oh, erm, if Madam Hooch permits."
McGonagall rolled her eyes and said exasperatedly, "She's not as young as she used to be, but she adamantly refuses an assistant."
Ginny nodded understandably. She knew first-hand how stubborn Madam Hooch could be.
The Headmistress pointed her wand at the fireplace and muttered a spell. The hearth came to life, and Hermione, Draco and Ginny hurriedly moved towards it.
She smiled, "It was good to see you all."
Draco nodded curtly, "Likewise, Professor."
"Good night, Headmistress," Hermione chimed in.
Minerva McGonagall smiled warmly, "I hope to see you again."
The man moved closer, kissed her cheek, and said, "You look lovely, Sarah."
Sarah tugged at the simple cotton dress and flinched, "Thank you."
He almost pleaded, "Please do not fear me anymore."
Sarah nodded, but her fingers played nervously with the material. Her feet were bare but clean.
The scarred man offered with a kind smile, "Shall we cook some dinner, my love?"
She nodded and let him lead her out of her room and into the kitchen, where various vegetables decorated the countertop. Her eyes fell on a red apple resting in a basket, and she swallowed her spit in greed.
The kitchen was spotless, not a thing was out of place, and she noticed plenty of utensils and knives of various shapes and sizes. A shudder ran down her spine. Had he used any of them to kill the women before her?
Sarah eyed the closest knife with keen interest. She caught her haggard reflection on its shiny surface as she passed it. Her gaze lingered for longer than necessary on the shining cleaver.
The man watched her intently and mused, "Do you want to kill me, Sarah?"
Sarah snapped back to attention, moved away and cowered. A strangled "No," left her quivering lips. Her spirit was utterly broken, and in its place was a shell of her former self.
He picked up the hefty cleaver and stared at it. His stoic appearance alarmed Sarah, but she turned away and waited for him to speak, and he did not disappoint, "I've done you a favour, you know?"
A favour? He was mental.
Undeterred, he elucidated, "You were living a life of sin. By becoming my wife, I have given you purpose. I only wish you were pure."
Sarah knew it bothered and angered him that she was not a virgin when he savagely claimed her, but she was glad he had no part of her that way.
The man's temper rose, hissing, "Did you lay with many men before me?" He would be her last and forever after in this life and the next.
Sarah replied timidly, "No." It was the truth. She had two serious partners because she had barely begun to live before the maniac had abducted and subjected her to this current gruesome existence.
Her answer appeased him, and instead of letting his anger spiral out of control, he handed her a bowl of raw potatoes and instructed, "Here, peel the potatoes."
Sarah reached for the metal peeler, but he stopped her and chuckled, "Wash them first. Have you not cooked before?"
She apologised profusely, "I'm sorry, I'm just nervous."
He cupped her face and cooed, "Oh, don't be, darling."
He beamed, placing a hand on her flat belly, "I wonder if you're pregnant."
Sarah cringed. She hoped she was infertile.
He asked thoughtfully, "When did you last bleed?"
Sarah chewed on her bottom lip and mumbled, "I don't remember."
Plucking a plump green grape from the bunch resting in the basket, he force-fed it to her, and she almost choked.
They cooked a simple meal in silence, and Sarah was grateful he kept his hands to himself.
Draco saw Hermione back to her flat after leaving Ginny at No. 12 Grimmauld Place. They had not lingered but left almost immediately.
He backed her toward the small, rather cluttered kitchen when their feet touched solid ground. He lifted her despite her protests, settled her on the counter, moved to stand between her legs, and kissed her deeply. Her lips parted, allowing him access despite being taken aback by his sudden brazen behaviour.
Still, her arms encircled his neck, and she pulled him closer, moulding her lips to his and returning his enthusiasm by pushing her tongue against his in fiery abandonment.
Their kisses were always intense and bordering on punishment. She loved every second of it.
Draco muttered between kisses, "I'm sorry about what happened earlier."
Breathless, Hermione replied, "Mm…It wasn't your fault." She reached for his hand and kissed the bruised knuckles. Watching him defend her honour was strangely erotic and immensely satisfying.
He trailed feathery kisses down her neck and rasped, "You didn't have to defend me."
Hermione's fingers moved into his hair, she threw her head back, and a sultry moan escaped her lips when he sucked on the pulse point of her delicate neck.
Still, she found her voice and argued, "It only seemed right that I do, but why didn't you do it yourself?" Moving her fingers from his hair to his clothing, she unbuttoned his heavy Auror coat and pushed it off his broad shoulders. Underneath he wore a classic black shirt and no tie, but she could feel the contours of his body as her fingertips danced over them.
Draco groaned and drawled huskily, "Because it would have been pointless. They were seeking a physical altercation."
Her legs went around him, trapping him to her body, and she felt his hardness press into the softness of her thigh. Merlin, she wanted to unsheathe him and have her wicked way with an almost virgin Draco Malfoy.
Draco cupped her face and implored, "Do you hate me?"
Hermione wished he would stop talking and carry her into the bedroom, but obviously, he was keen on answers, and she grudgingly obliged, "Hate is a strong word."
He buried his face in the valley between her breasts and sucked tenderly on the succulent flesh leaving his mark while offering encouraging words, "So soft…."
"Draco…" Hermione breathed. Her knickers dampened, and she wondered whether he would give her that sweet relief she ardently craved.
Using his thumb, Draco rubbed a sensitive area over the clothing and felt it pebble under the flat of his thumb. He reached inside, pulled down a cup, and took a rosy nipple between his lips.
He bit down gently and groaned, "I'm looking forward to our little trip."
Hermione's hand snaked down and cupped his growing package, "Uhuh…."
A thud of sorts made Draco stiffen and Hermione frown. He glanced at the door and sighed, "I think Hannah's outside."
Reluctantly, he moved away from the aroused woman and smiled sheepishly, "Mmm…shall we save ourselves for Hawaii."
Hermione hopped off the counter and adjusted her blouse to be covered again.
She kissed Draco passionately, pushed him away, and smirked, "Maybe."
Draco laughed low, "Tease."
Hermione licked her bottom lip and said, "No interruptions." You horny sod.
Draco chuckled, "With Theo around, that will be rather difficult."
They heard Hannah's irritated voice, "Are you two in there?"
Draco frowned and called out, "Just a minute, Abbott." He slipped back into his thick Auror coat, which thankfully hid his erection.
Hermione scoffed, "I think she misses you."
Draco stifled a laugh, "Who? Hannah? You're barking up the wrong tree, Granger."
Hermione scrunched her nose and asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"
Draco ignored Granger's penetrating stare. Still, he took his time opening the door, and by the time he did, his cock had softened, and there was no evidence of the physical intimacy that transpired not ten minutes ago.
They heard Hannah once again, "Are you shagging? Shall I come back later?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Someone needs to teach her good manners."
Draco opened the door and grinned, "Good evening, Abbott."
She stormed in and was not amused, "Cut the pleasantries. You were supposed to be back ages ago."
Draco shrugged, "We stopped by the Three Broomsticks for a drink with Hagrid, and then I had to beat up some sods for disrespecting our darling Madam Undersecretary. I guess the time got away from us."
Hannah ignored the fact that he got into a fight and said, "Lucky you. I was knee-deep in forensic files and crime scene photos."
Still, she looked at his knuckles and frowned, "Are you alright?" They were red and looked sore.
Draco smirked, "Never better. Did you make a breakthrough?" Hannah frowned, making her frustration evident.
She sighed, "I have a hunch. I can't stop thinking the pendant is the key to blowing this case wide open."
She looked repulsed, "Oh, by the way, the French tart was asking about you."
Hermione raised a curious brow, but Draco showed indifference, "Michelle is not my cup of tea."
Hannah mockingly fawned over him while adopting a fake French accent, "Where is Monsieur Draco?"
After her little display, she hissed, "Merlin, I wanted to fucking wring her neck." Draco rolled his eyes; he could not be bothered by Michelle's infatuations.
He said thoughtfully, "The owl and wand? Hmm, important bits of our world. You've been staring at the pictures for weeks."
Hannah gritted out, "Precisely." It was frustrating to keep looking at the same pictures without a single answer.
Draco scratched his chin and asked, "Can I look at the ones we have?"
Hannah agreed wholeheartedly, "Yeah, I can manage that. We have three in evidence." Perhaps Malfoy would see something they overlooked. He had seen the pictures before but not the real ones and certainly not scrutinised them for hours since he always had to return to Auror training.
Draco said offhandedly, "I think the killer is a Squib who targets women from different backgrounds."
Hannah listened intently, "Thomas had a similar theory since there were no traces of magic found on the bodies, and the women's wands have never been recovered."
Draco paced and said, "He probably keeps them as a souvenir. Perhaps he crafts the pendant to suit each victim. The wand could be a replica of theirs."
Hannah shook her head, "No. The wands are identical."
Draco cracked his knuckles, "Then surely it's personal."
Hermione watched from the sidelines as the two Aurors brainstormed. She felt out of place.
"Obviously," Hannah concurred.
Draco questioned, "I assume these women were educated in England."
Hannah frowned, "Yes, of course. What are you getting at?"
Draco responded thoughtfully, "I'm trying to understand his mind better. Has anyone checked what houses they belonged to? I'm guessing he's taken one from each house."
Hannah nodded in agreement, "One from each. I suppose he wants something he was denied."
She suggested, "Revenge?"
Draco took a deep breath and explained, "It's hard to say, but it could be a longing to belong. He has a type that could relate to some traumatic experience from his childhood."
Hannah looked impressed, "Yeah, Thomas suggested the same. It's weird how you two think alike."
Draco frowned, "Spencer thinks I am a massive waste of space."
He added after a beat, "I need to see those pendants."
Hannah suggested excitedly, "How about tomorrow morning?"
Draco grinned, "That would be perfect."
Hermione coughed lightly and made her presence known, "Um, Malfoy…."
Draco gave her his full attention, "Yes, darling?"
She reminded him of their plans, "You won't be here tomorrow."
He slapped his forehead, crestfallen, "Bollocks! Hawaii."
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and teased, "Slipped your mind, did it?"
Draco sighed, "First thing on Monday?"
Hannah pouted, "I'm going to miss you."
Draco tugged on her ponytail and replied, "Me too. Take care of yourself. I'll bring you back something."
Hannah punched his arm and grinned, "You better, Malfoy."
Draco kissed Hannah lightly on the cheek and said, "Good night."
He was gone before Hermione could form any words. The mannerless toad. Honestly!
Hannah peered into her friend's face and asked perplexed, "Erm, Hermione, are you alright?"
Hermione offered a sarcastic retort, "Peachy."
Her stomach grumbled, and she asked, "Do you want pizza for dinner?"
Hannah settled on the sofa, flipped on the telly, and replied enthusiastically, "Sounds good."
Chapter 64
Summary:
To all the comments:- Thank you all for taking the time to write such encouraging words. Much love and appreciation!
I mentioned this earlier and despite the time between chapters, please know I will never abandon this story. I am so invested in it and have the road mapped and drafted. Thank you so much for everyone's patience.
HAWAII IS COMING UP!
I hope everyone enjoys the update!
Much love to all!
Enjoy Chapter Sixty-Four!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Malfoy Manor
Bernard sat quietly by the hearth in Malfoy Manor and stared into the fire confined to their place. However, that did not stop the menacing sound of crackling wood and intimidating high flames that gave light to an otherwise dark room.
He was pretty cross with himself for being unable to remember where he had seen the wand, but perhaps it was a good thing since the murderer seemed to be related to him. It was an unpleasant thought, to say the least, not that his family were saints but never this disturbed.
Drink in hand and deep in thought, he searched for the answer but came up short. His mind had been exceedingly sharp as a lad, but it was apparent that old age was catching up with him.
He took a sip from his amber liquid in an exquisite tumbler and sighed.
“Bernard?” The sweet yet stern voice of his beloved invaded his solitude.
Looking at the entrance to the room, Bernard made his presence known, “In here, darling.”
Narcissa hurried into the room. Her long dress's navy blue raw silk material trailed behind her, dragging along the floor. She drank in the scene before her. Her significant other was seated, shrouded by uncertainty, surrounded by nothing but the luminescent glow of the fire before them.
She closed the distance between them, touched him gently on the shoulder and softly asked, “Are you alright, my dear?”
Bernard drained the contents in his glass, got to his feet and smiled broadly, “Never better.” He adjusted his dinner jacket, took Narcissa’s hand, and kissed her knuckles.
Narcissa lovingly stroked his face and said, “Dinner is served. Draco just arrived.”
Bernard beamed. “Wonderful. I'm ravenous.”
Narcissa sceptically eyed the usually calm man before following him out of the room. She knew something was bothering him, but it wouldn't do to question him constantly.
The Leaky Cauldron
Thomas slid into the empty barstool beside Dorian Blackwood and ordered a scotch on the rocks. The inn was bustling with witches and wizards from all backgrounds. Everyone seemed to be having a jolly time.
The werewolf’s appearance was consistent from the last time they met. It was a handsome Muggle Dorian impersonated, and Thomas wondered whether the source for his Polyjuiced appearance was in any real danger.
Dorian stared at the wall behind the bar and questioned, “What took you so long, old man?”
Thomas kept his cool, thanked the bartender and only then did he answer with an amused expression, “Why the change of venue? Tired of ice cream?”
Dorian lazily eyed his drink and replied with little enthusiasm, “The current situation calls for something much stronger.”
His eyes fell on Thomas’s drink, and he smiled, “Glad to see you drinking. I hate to binge alone.”
Thomas pointedly took a sip, savoured the rich smoky texture and quipped, “I'm off duty.”
Dorian nodded solemnly, “I hoped Kingsley and Potter would have joined. I have some pretty big news.”
Thomas cleared his throat, ensured no one was eavesdropping and offered a plausible explanation for their absence, “The Minister is busy with Darius, the Romanian Minister, and Potter is dealing with everything else.”
“Ah, I heard he deserted his post and fled. Bloody coward,” Dorian hissed.
He cocked his head to the side and said offhandedly with a hint of sarcasm, lacing his words, “I never understood why they didn't make you the head of the DMLE.” It was a genuine query that most wondered about since Spencer had done his bit and more to earn the title.
Thomas could not help the resentment that crept up in him, and his contorted features completely mirrored his feelings. He gritted out in annoyance, “Why am I here, Dorian? Your message seemed urgent, or were you perhaps getting lonely?
After a moment, Dorian studied the veteran Auror intently and chuckled, “Did I touch a nerve? And for the record, I am never lonely, mate. Plenty of broads to keep me company.”
Thomas rolled his eyes, downed his drink, and immediately requested a refill, “Another one, Tom.” The owner of the Leaky Cauldron nodded in acknowledgement and rushed off to fulfil the order.
“It's Dolohov,” Dorian's gruff voice made it to Thomas’s sensitive hearing. He made no effort to keep the displeasure out of his voice.
Tom returned with Thomas’s drink and placed it in front of him before disappearing into the crowd to help his overwhelmed staff. It was indeed a busy night on a weekday.
Thomas held on to a shred of patience until Tom was out of earshot to give voice to his outrage, “What!?”
Dorian frowned and answered in annoyance, “The marked man, the Alpha, it's Antonin Dolohov.” He was put off by Spencer’s lack of understanding and slow wit to grasp what was being shared. Perhaps the older man was losing it and needed retirement.
Thomas felt his heartbeat hasten and slam against his ribcage. He managed a breathless response, “Impossible.” They had their suspicions, but for them to be confirmed was a savage and brutal realisation.
Dorian sighed in exhaustion, “Is it?” He took a gratifying sip from his concoction of Firewhiskey and water and bit the inside of his cheek to stop any unpleasant comments from escaping.
“He was captured,” Thomas tried to defend his department, but it was futile. He knew that they had made a grave mistake and potentially put the world at risk.
Dorian scoffed, “But he escaped, and he's a werewolf but not just any werewolf, mate. He's the fucking Alpha and a bloody strong one at that.”
Still in denial, Thomas gritted out in disbelief, “A werewolf? You must be joking. That lot hated the wolves and treated them like dirt.”
A low growl emitted from deep within Dorian, causing the bartender closest to them to look their way suspiciously, but thankfully another customer called him away.
Thomas warned, “Easy, mate.”
Dorian hissed as the past danced in front of his eyes, “I remember vividly how they treated us, but Dolohov is one, and it's no laughing matter.”
Thomas felt beads of sweat gather on his upper lip. He wiped them away with the back of his hand and struggled to understand all he was hearing. Although it seemed farfetched and borderline ridiculous, he believed Blackwood.
Dorian accused without a smidge of remorse, “Didn't anyone in the Ministry follow up on the bastard’s whereabouts? Look for him? Did you all do nothing?” There was desperation in his voice and longing for answers.
Thomas swallowed the painful words and tried to explain, but it lacked conviction, “We did, but we had a wizarding world to rebuild and restore. Over time it seemed less important.”
He bitterly recalled the fateful day of finding out that Dolohov had escaped. The blood drained from their bodies at losing such a valuable prisoner, and Kingsley had lost his head entirely, demanding they find Dolohov at any cost.
Personally, Thomas had been livid, and the Auror in charge of guarding the prisoners had been reprimanded severely and transferred to Siberia, but the damage was done. For nearly a month, separate teams tried to retrace the steps of the murderer but came up empty-handed. The bastard had disappeared without a trace, and it was suspected that he had escaped with the aid of wandless magic. It was only a theory.
Kingsley insisted that everyone double their efforts to find the lunatic. The days turned to weeks and weeks into months, but despite their best efforts, it was futile. Antonin Dolohov had escaped from right under their noses, and no one knew how he had managed to give Aurors the slip.
It was infuriating and embarrassing, and Kingsley was adamant that word did not get out of their costly blunder.
Dorian quipped sarcastically, “Less important, huh? Well, he will kill us all or change every able Muggle, Witch, and Wizard into werewolves.” His fingers shook violently as they closed around the tumbler in his grasp. All the alcohol in the world could not numb the feeling of restlessness that rested deep within his conscience.
Thomas bared his teeth and gritted out, “We won't let that happen.”
Dorian closed his eyes and calmed down before responding, “It's already happening, old man. At least we know what we are up against.”
It was a silver lining in an otherwise dark and gloomy cloud.
Thomas offered a half smile and replied with faux enthusiasm, “Yeah, it calls for a celebration.”
Dorian spat out, “There is absolutely nothing to celebrate, Spencer. You might as well Avada me now because either way, it's looking pretty fucking grim for me.” He was going to die before the end of it all, and in a macabre way, he supposed it was a fitting demise for all his past evil misdeeds. He had slaughtered innocents and relished drinking their blood.
However, Thomas was not having it and reassured with confidence, “I gave you my word that you would be protected. None besides Kingsley, Potter and I know of your involvement. There is no paper trail leading back to you.”
Still, Dorian was hardly convinced and mused, “That offers little comfort.” The Ministry wasn't impenetrable. There were plenty of unscrupulous wizards and witches trading favours for monetary gain.
Concerned for their informant, Thomas used his good hand and clamped the man on his shoulder and inquired, “Are you alright, Blackwood?”
Dorian smiled weakly, “Just shaken up. I had my suspicions, but I never thought it possible.”
With renewed strength and confidence, Thomas assured, “We will stop him, Dorian.” They had stopped plenty of power-hungry madmen. Perhaps, not a powerful adversary like Dolohov, but good always triumphed over evil. They would emerge victorious from oppression.
Thomas hissed his displeasure, “We kept all channels open and monitored, hoping to detect his magic, but it nothing ever came up.”
Dorian argued, “It usually doesn’t when the user resorts to wandless magic. Voldemort thought his closest a bunch of useful tricks even though he never truly mastered the art himself.”
Thomas was doubtful. Yet he was sure he had seen Malfoy move strangely that one time he observed the recruits.
Even though he wasn't entirely on board with Thomas, Dorian nodded in agreement. Yet, he became thoughtful and said, “He spoke of an imprisoned man. This person is important to him, and the Master has tasked me with freeing him.”
That piqued Thomas’s interest, and he narrowed his eyes, “Hmm, I'll look into it.” He could not recall any recent arrests directly related to Dolohov, but perhaps it was a small case at first glance and not enough to garner much interest.
Dorian offered more information hoping to narrow it down, “He mentioned in passing that Draco Malfoy was involved in the arrest.”
Thomas straightened and responded, “Interesting.” The boy was a recruit. It seemed unlikely, but Abbott was his partner, and she would have more details about what transpired. He now vaguely recalled something Michael mentioned after their disastrous meeting with Edward, Cyrus and Ezra.
“Dolohov expects you to break this man out of Azkaban?” Thomas inquired bitterly. Dolohov was a bigger fool than they thought, or was he merely setting Dorian up for failure? Either scenario was grim or worked against them.
Dorian nodded and answered solemnly, “Yes, he does. I suspect it is a test of loyalty.” If the Ministry agreed, it had to be accomplished without arousing suspicion and realistically. If Dolohov suspected any foul play, their entire mission would end in disaster, and his retribution towards the traitor would be grave, to say the least.
He cleared his throat and added, “By the way, our suspicions about his interest in Malfoy were spot on. He has openly admitted to them. We can use it to our advantage if the brat is willing.” Potter outright refused, even though Kingsley had thought it a grand plan.
He thought pitching the idea to Spencer might be worthwhile since the Auror’s actions were guided by the determination to complete the mission and not by emotional factors that could get everyone involved murdered. Potter was known to let his emotions get in the way of his decision-making abilities.
Dorian knew nothing about Draco Malfoy except seeing a glum but pompous teenager among branded Death Eaters planning to conquer the world. However, his father, Lucius Malfoy, was a piece of work and personally held a grudge against werewolves. Greyback had detested the wizard and been delighted at his fall from grace.
While Thomas felt no attachment towards Draco Malfoy, he knew Audrey spoke the truth about his talents. He answered thoughtfully, “The boy is barely out of the academy. There's time to discuss his future involvement in the mission.”
Dorian became frustrated, “I understand, but there might not be much time. You need to give him fair warning, Thomas. By some luck, I am entrusted with the mission of befriending and turning Draco Malfoy.”
Thomas’s features contorted unpleasantly, “What exactly do you mean by turning?” He knew precisely what Blackwood meant, and it caused the bile to rise in his throat. There would be no opportunity for such an atrocity to happen.
Dorian insisted, “Well, eventually, Dolohov is going to want Malfoy obedient at all times, and what better way to achieve that than by turning him into one of us?” The Master had not openly declared that he wanted to turn Malfoy into a werewolf, but it was a fair assumption to make considering the circumstances.
Blackwood's daring choice of words did not sit well with Thomas, and he made his displeasure abundantly clear, “One of us? Are you likely to betray me, Dorian?” The werewolf had been rotting in a hole when Thomas found him and convinced him to become their eyes and ears regarding less desirable parts of the Magical realm.
Dorian chuckled, “I wouldn't dream of it, but that doesn't change what I am, Thomas or what you partially are.” He spoke the truth plainly, and given his past, he knew the Ministry had understandable doubts about him. It took all his willpower and mind strength to resist the Alpha and shield his thoughts and memories.
Thomas was disturbed by Dorian’s earlier declaration and questioned, “Did Dolohov say he wants to turn Draco Malfoy into a werewolf?” If Dolohov accomplished what he intended for Malfoy, Hermione would be in imminent danger.
Dorian answered confidently, “Not in so many words, but I know his mind, and I can see the hunger in his eyes.”
“Malfoy’s to marry Hermione Granger,” Thomas declared without hesitation. This was an unforeseen complication and far more significant than the rest.
Dorian nodded in understanding and sneered, “Dolohov is aware of this fact and hopes to use it to his benefit. By recruiting Malfoy to his cause, he would have direct access to the Minister’s right-hand woman through the boy.”
Thomas swallowed hard. Alarm bells started going off in his head. He saw Kingsley's lifeless, mangled body lying on the floor of his office and Dolohov standing over him with a murderous yet triumphant glare, blood dripping down his chin.
Oblivious to the thoughts of the man next to him, Dorian rambled on, “Oh, that reminds me, he was angered by the letter Granger received. I mentioned it to Potter and Shacklebolt since you were missing from the last proceedings. He has punished the culprits responsible, and it won't happen again.”
He laughed sarcastically, hoping to lighten the mood somewhat, “He's a murderous bastard but a gentleman, or so they say.”
Thomas snapped back to reality, and his lips curved to form a smile, “Potter will be relieved, but I don't recall any gentlemanly qualities Dolohov possessed.” He doubted it had anything to do with caring for the opposite sex—probably anger towards the foolhardy action alerting the Ministry to suspicious activity.
Still, Dorian warned, “Don't let up on her Auror detail. It would be far too suspicious. Besides, Goyle is an unpredictable nasty piece of work.”
Thomas hissed, “Understood.” An uncomfortable silence settled over them, and each ordered another round and succumbed to the lusty bosom of alcohol.
Dorian smacked his lips and asked with keen interest, “So, what's the plan?”
Thomas sighed, “I need to inform Kingsley.” He was now presented with the unfavourable task of inviting himself to the Ministry of Magic’s house at an ungodly hour to demand an audience and deliver disturbing news.
Dorian gritted out, “He's coming for the boy, Thomas."
Thomas downed his shot, threw some money onto the counter, and replied in a sharp-edged, icy tone, “I heard you the first time, Blackwood.”
He left the establishment without a backwards glance leaving Dorian to stare after him. His gaze was taken swiftly by a buxom blonde sashaying by him, batting long fake eyelashes and licking her lips suggestively.
Dorian grinned, took a swig out of the flask he kept concealed and followed the lady to the end of the bar, where she awaited his presence eagerly by crossing and uncrossing her long legs.
No 12 Grimmauld Place
Harry plopped down on the bed, causing a pillow or two to fall.
“How was training?” He asked with an amused expression.
He hadn't seen her return but smelled the alcohol on her breath the second she entered their bedroom.
Picking up the pillows on the floor, Ginny returned them to their original place and smiled broadly, “It was pretty good. Malfoy helped loads.” She had to give credit where it was due, and the truth was, without Malfoy, she would not have survived long with the preteen monsters that passed off as children nowadays.
Harry sat up straight and raised a quizzical brow in question, “Did he?”
Ginny raved without a second thought about who she was talking to. “Oh, yeah! You should have seen him, Harry. He spoke kindly to Hagrid and apologised to Buckbeak.”
Harry widened his eyes in utter disbelief, “That sounds like Bollocks to me.”
Ginny stopped what she was doing, crossed her arms over her chest and gave her husband a look that meant business.
Harry could hardly believe it. It seemed impossible, and he abundantly clarified his surprise: "Wait, what? Are you serious?”
Ginny pulled out a bright orange suitcase from under the bed and answered without an ounce of hesitation, “I’m deadly serious. Buckbeak trusted him. It was fascinating to watch. He hopped over the fence and went at it without a bloody thought about what would happen next.”
Harry pouted for a good ten seconds and scowled, “Well, I still don't trust him.” He doubted he would ever trust Draco Malfoy completely, even though everyone around seemed to think the world of the would-be wanker.
Ginny frowned, yet she argued, “Hmm, yeah, and with good reason, but Harry, I'm telling you, he's different.” After their day, she truly believed the once spoiled prat Malfoy was a changed, responsible man.
“That remains to be seen,” Harry fired back without a second thought. His wife praising Malfoy was beginning to annoy him greatly.
Ginny purposely ignored her husband's sarcastic quips and continued excitedly, “Oh, and then he beat up some shifty Wizard who disrespected Hermione. It was quite impressive.”
As she threw clothes onto the bed, she divulged more information, “The group taunted him initially, but he paid them no mind. He even went along with their ridiculous demands, but when the second one of them touched Hermione, it was as if he flipped a switch.”
Instantly, Harry became completely serious, “What happened to these men?”
Ginny smirked devilishly, “They’re spending the night in Hotel Azkaban.” Even though the situation at the time had been unpredictable, she had enjoyed herself immensely. It would not be prudent to mention that she drew first blood.
Harry gritted out, “I'll check on them tomorrow morning.” Oh, they would feel his wrath.
He softened his tone and said somewhat solemnly, “You have had an interesting day, but I suppose Malfoy will have to deal with less forgivable souls. The Malfoys aren't exactly well-liked.”
Ginny stood with her feet apart, hands on her hips and answered with a knowing look, “I know, but Draco Malfoy is a force to be reckoned with.”
Harry threw a pillow at her and mused, “Look at you all impressed with Malfoy.” He could not help but wonder how Hermione was handling the day's appalling events.
Ginny laughed aloud, “Shut it. I'm merely giving credit where it is due.” She took out a bunch of new clothes, half a dozen pairs of shorts, and plenty of T-shirts to last a month.
Harry eyed the pile of clothes and chuckled, “Are you planning on returning?”
Ginny frowned, “What do you mean?”
“Your wardrobe is bare,” Harry quipped, pointing at the empty cupboard.
Ginny blushed and scrunched her nose, “I suppose I have packed too much. Maybe I can get rid of some stuff.” She rummaged through the giant pile and separated everything into smaller, more practical piles.
Harry stifled a laugh, “I'm sure you can.” He was glad he insisted she go with Hermione. His wife deserved a break, and what better place to accomplish that than Hawaii? He conveniently forgot about Blaise Zabini.
Ginny recited instructions like a Hogwarts professor, “So, Mum will be around in the morning, and Meda will drop off Teddy close to lunchtime.”
Harry beamed, “Great. I’m looking forward to spending quality time with the kids, especially with Teddy being so close to heading off to Hogwarts.”
“Just don't burn the house down while I'm gone,” Ginny mused while folding a few items of clothing she intended to take.
Harry scoffed, “Your lack of confidence in me is upsetting.”
Ginny sighed, “Are you sure about this, Harry?”
Harry crawled across the bed, took her hand, pulled her towards him and muttered, “One hundred thousand per cent.”
Ginny kissed him passionately. James was asleep, and no interruptions would allow them to succumb to their burning desire.
Harry muttered between kisses while pulling Ginny’s jumper over the top of her head, “Stay away from Zabini.”
“Harry—” Ginny whimpered.
He laid her down on the bed and smiled, “I'm only joking, darling. You have always belonged to me.”
Hermione's Flat
Hermione touched her kiss-swollen lips in the privacy of her room. They felt ablaze.
She had dinner with Hannah and replayed the day's events to the nosy blonde, who was livid over what transpired. Faking a headache, she retired to her room and got to the task of packing her suitcase.
Ginny's words kept playing over in her mind, and Hermione made a mental note to shave her most intimate places. She would need flawless skin to wear the less-than-decent bikini she had purchased.
Since Hermione left Hogwarts, she took pride in her appearance and was not afraid to take a few risks with daring fashion choices. At school, she wasn’t exactly known for being fashionable, quite the opposite actually, but with time her body had filled out in the right places, and good sense had replaced distasteful fashion choices.
She surveyed the items she had carefully laid on the bed with her hands on her hips. A red string bikini, a one-piece white bathing suit, plenty of shorts, cotton shirts, an assortment of t-shirts, an evening dress, and a bunch of sexy yet comfortable lingerie. All lay haphazardly on the bed.
She could resort to plain old cotton knickers when alone or for comfort. Hermione massaged the bridge of her nose in exasperation.
Oh, Merlin, she was quite consciously preparing herself to have sex with Malfoy, and while she had made it clear that she welcomed it, she was faced with the absolute fact that they would be intimate in Hawaii. The thought caused butterflies to flutter relentlessly within her and nervousness to consume her.
Malfoy Manor
Draco joined his mother and Bernard for dinner. His knuckles were bruised. Although he did his best to hide it from his mother, Bernard was not easily fooled and raised a curious brow as if expecting an explanation.
He politely asked Dotty to fetch him a scotch and tossed it back, completely ignoring his mother's stern look and table manners. He was off duty and needed a bloody drink after the whirlwind of a day he had gone through.
Narciss and Bernard tried to engage Draco in conversation, but he kept his answers short, sweet, and, most importantly, to the point. He needed to get through the meal, retire to his room, and meditate. His mind had been stretched near and far, and he desperately needed to gather his thoughts and arrange them accordingly.
Scarfing down his food, he noticed his mother shooting him anxious glances. Once his plate was empty, Draco wiped his mouth with the embroidered napkin and politely excused himself.
Narcissa protested, “But, darling, you haven't had dessert. It's your favourite, chocolate pudding with toasted marshmallows.” She wanted to spend time with him before he left for Hawaii, but clearly, he had other plans.
However, Draco was relieved when Bernard came to his aid and interjected, “Ah, my love, leave him be. He’s got packing to do.”
Draco smiled, forever grateful to Bernard and said, “Indeed. I haven’t packed a thing.”
“Would you like Dotty to help you, dear?” Narcissa offered at once. After all, the family knew Dotty was an absolute professional at handling their travel necessities.
Draco shook his head and said, “Thank you for the offer, but I think I can manage.” He left the dining room and apparated hastily into his room. Stripping down to his boxers, he pulled on a grey Kung fu robe and proceeded to sit cross-legged on the ground. This was where the wind blew right into his room, bringing a calmness that could not be described.
He took a deep breath to even his breathing and closed his eyes. His thoughts drifted to Granger and the gentle breeze making her unruly hair fly in all directions. She completely enthralled him, and his earlier possessiveness over her startled him.
In a secluded part of London
The scarred man delicately cut a piece of chicken and asked lovingly, “Are you enjoying the meal, my darling?”
Sarah pushed her vegetables around the plate. “Yes.” She replied meekly, wishing she had the strength to take her fork and stab him in the eye.
He asked sincerely but with a lustful gaze, “Would you like to sleep in my bed tonight?”
Sarah swallowed hard, and, throwing caution to the wind, she timidly requested, “Can you buy me some proper underwear? I’d like to look nice for you.”
He smiled, skin pulling tight over his grotesque scarring, causing Sarah to look away at once. It reminded her of old Frankenstein and the B-Movies with creatures that barely looked human—mentally and physically deformed.
He ignored her look of utter disgust and beamed, “Of course, love. Anything for you, but you won't be needing any tonight.”
Sarah cringed. Her hands dropped onto her lap, and she nervously flicked her fingernails with her thumb.
The man watched his captive's movements intently and whispered reverently, “You look so much like my mother when she was young.”
She did not think she could cope with the smell of her vomit again and gulped it back down her throat. Still, he continued speaking heinous words that made her recoil with disgust.
His face contorted with pain, his voice cracking with what sounded like emotion, “The same hair, same build. Godrick, you are so alike.”
She knew about his sick fascination with his mother for some time. His odd behaviour with the made-up doll he cherished had already given her some indication.
Sarah’s bottom lip quivered, but she was genuinely curious about what happened to him. She averted her gaze and whispered with a real fear of how he might react, “What did she do to you?”
She knew what the term a face of thunder meant when he threw his plate on the floor with fury and yelled, "Everything!"
Malfoy Manor
Anyone else might say an eventless hour passed, but Draco was grateful for the perfect silence since it allowed him to even his breathing and unburden his mind. Still, it was shattered by the ringing of his mobile phone, which he forgot to put on silent mode in his haste.
He opened his eyes slowly, retaining focus as he elegantly got to his feet.
Draco retrieved his phone, noting an unknown international number on the screen that could be either Blaise, Pansy, or Theo ringing him about travel plans. It had been previously decided that they would arrive close to the hotel and make plans from there. Granger had meticulously planned everything, as only Granger could.
He connected the call, and before he could get a word in, Theo yelled, “Malfoy!”
He sounded utterly hyperactive, nothing new there, “How’s it going, you brooding wanker?”
Draco smirked, “Good evening, Nott. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He could hear soft music and a few people chatting in the background.
Theo chuckled, “All set to leave. Hawaii is fucking awesome. I might never return to England.”
Draco sighed exhaustedly., “Not even fucking close. I'll toss some shite into a bag and call it a day.”
Theo laughed aloud, “Good luck with that. Get Granger to help you.”
Draco frowned. Granger would quite literally tell him to fuck off than help fold his underwear. Still, before he could form a suitable witty reply, Theo’s tone of voice became rather serious, “Listen, Portkey directly into Blaise’s room. I'll send you the coordinates shortly.”
Draco smiled, thankful for somebody organizing him, “Sounds like a solid plan, mate.”
Theo grinned, “Everyone sends their love. See you soon, arsehole.”
Draco mused, “You can count on that.”
Hanging up, Draco had no choice but to start packing essentials and appropriate outfits to match every occasion. Those could vary when Theo was involved, and sometimes having a wand was a blessing he forgot.
Blaise was mellower and down to earth with his activities, whereas Theo preferred extravagance and over-the-top outings, which put a sizeable dent in one's Gringotts account.
They always suspected it was due to his strict and borderline abusive upbringing, though Draco tried to expend some restraint nowadays. He could spend however much he liked but following his time with the monks, it seemed like he was squandering his fortune compared to his meagre life before.
Draco quite frankly hated packing. He looked at the contents and frowned. It was a sea of utter black.
Max lolloped into the room and jumped on the bed. He lay down and rested his head on the bedding but kept his eyes fixed on his Master as he muttered under his breath and frantically searched the cupboards.
Okay, Draco thought, perhaps there were better ideas than using his wand. Master Chun would have slapped his wrist and told him not to be so lazy. He knew he deserved it. Sometimes he wished he were back there in such simple times.
Max whined as Draco threw his head back and groaned in frustration, wondering if he honestly did not own anything else but black.
Thankfully, some white, grey, and blue shirts, jeans, and trousers were hidden in the back, which Pansy had forced him to buy once he returned. He’d felt awkward in them but knew at least he must make an effort for Hermione.
Max yipped at the noise of his phone, indicating a text message had arrived. It was probably Theo with the coordinates. He flipped open his phone and opened the tiny fluttering envelope, and there it was. A sudden thought dawned on him, and Draco slapped his forehead.
Bollocks. He had yet to inform Granger of the up-to-date plans since, previously, they had discussed appearing somewhere secluded and walking to the hotel. He was sure she had picked a place and planned around it.
He battled internally about whether to pay her a visit or phone instead. Draco fell onto the bed, and Max crawled over and rested his head on his beloved Master’s stomach.
Draco ruffled his fur and implored, “What do you think, boy? Should I call her?”
Max whimpered as if voting against it and snuggled closer, demanding more attention. He was growing alarmingly and would soon surpass the size of an average German Shepherd.
Draco smirked, and cowardice took over, “My sentiments exactly. Let's send her a text message. That should suffice.” However, a burning desire for an unattainable woman wanted something completely different.
Max barked as if in agreement.
Malfoy Manor - Hidden Room
Lucius’s voice of steel cut through the darkness like a double-edged knife, “Good evening, Cissy.”
Narcissa ignored her late husband's apparent hostility and waved her wand while muttering an incantation that filled the room with romantic candlelight. She had been secretly visiting her late husband ever since Draco had his portrait moved following her heart attack.
She turned to face the tasteful portrait and said with a smile forming on her face, “It has been a fine evening, Lucius.”
Lucius did not bother with pleasantries and hissed, “Has your lover left my ancestral home?”
The smile left Narcissa’s face, and she accused angrily, “Must you be so crude?”
Lucius had never been able to hold back his resentment, and now was no different, “Forgive my callousness, but my so-called son has banished me to a room I detested when I was alive.” He hated the smaller study room his father had used to punish him for misbehaving. If one looked closely, the carpet was stained with his blood.
In comparison, he had spared his son the harsh reality of his upbringing. The odd slap and harsh words were what Draco suffered through. Actual pain was being beaten with belts and whips till blackened and blue.
Narcissa sighed, “At least in death, I hoped you would try to make amends with our son.” Her greatest regret was the animosity Draco felt toward his father. She knew in his demented way that Lucius fiercely loved their only child.
Lucius sneered, “What would you have me do, Cissy? Apologise? Shower him with affection?”
Narcissa fired back with a suitable retort, “Yes, you should. There is absolutely no need for sarcasm.”
Lucius hissed his displeasure, “I cannot accept a Mudblood as a daughter-in-law even if I am dead. What would my father say?”
Narcissa closed the distance between them. She stood before the portrait and fumed, “But you are dead, and so is Abraxas, and you no longer have any say, you bigoted fool. I don't know why I bother to speak with you.”
“You still love me,” Lucius answered confidently and without hesitation. He reached to try and touch his wife, but obviously, he could not.
However, Narcissa stepped back and hurled in contempt, “No, Lucius. I do not! My heart belongs to another. I feel a minuscule amount of loyalty to you, hence my nightly visits.”
Her words cut him deep, and his features contorted painfully, “Leave me. I do not want your pity.”
Narcissa held back tears as she said, “Good night, Lucius.”
Lucius heard the door close, and he whispered into the darkness, “Please don’t leave me.”
He would not admit loneliness scared him more than the Dark Lord ever had.
Hermione's Flat
Hermione abandoned her task of packing shoes, picked up the phone, and frowned at the message Malfoy had sent her. She fought the urge to call and scold him.
What good would it do? He would probably mock her for having a permanent stick up her arse.
Still, it was the very last minute, and she had to get the details precise or risk appearing in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
She took a sip of red wine and sighed.
Friday morning
Early the following day, Harry helped Ginny with her luggage, and they stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at each other, trying to find the right words to say. Still, unfortunately, nothing came to mind, and the space was filled with an awkward silence until Molly walked in, holding onto James's hand.
The young child couldn't take his eyes off the oversized luggage. He knew they only used it when they went on special trips, like the last time Daddy had taken them to the beach, but his Mummy hadn't mentioned anything recently.
“Where are we going, mummy?” James asked in his innocence while tugging on his mother's cotton trousers.
It was more than Ginny could bear. She fell to her knees, hugged her child tightly, and almost burst into tears. She felt her husband's eyes on her as he regarded her somewhat sadly and solemnly but said nothing nor offered words of comfort.
It was Molly that spoke first, “Come along now, darling. Mummy will be back soon, and you’ll have so much fun with me and Grandpa.” She took the toddler by the hand, who surprisingly made no fuss and let himself be directed.
Molly cupped her daughter’s face with her free hand and smiled warmly, “Don’t you worry about a thing, my love. Go have a bit of fun, okay?”
Ginny choked back a sob, “Thank you, Mum.” It would be the first time she would be away from her baby boy overnight, and she was surprised at how difficult it was to leave him even though it was just two days.
She had retired from the Harpies when it became uncomfortable for her to even consider sitting on the broom. Harry had insisted she take a more active role from the sidelines because of safety concerns.
“Gran, can you make me some pancakes?” James asked Molly with a bright smile. Children adapted to situations far better than adults.
Molly kissed his forehead and replied happily, “Always for you, my darling. Can you grab that big bowl for me?” Inconspicuously she shooed Ginny and Harry out of the kitchen by turning her back and waving them away with her hand. They followed her instructions and hurriedly retired to the living room.
Ginny smiled halfheartedly. She was excited but felt terrible about leaving, “I guess I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
Harry swallowed hard, pulled his wife to him, and hugged her tightly, “I love you.”
Ginny eventually broke free from the embrace, worried James might realise they were still there.
She whispered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, “I love you too, Harry Potter.”
Hermione heard her alarm clock go off and groaned into the pillow. She had hoped for a few extra minutes of sleep but knew it would be futile since Ginny was punctual and would be at her doorstep any second.
She rolled out of bed and pulled out the panties lodged between her buttcrack while lazily dragging her feet towards the bathroom.
The sound of Hannah’s light snoring caught her off guard. It was 7 am, and she’d forgotten she had her Auror protection detail, slash unwanted house guest who spent her time eating her out of house and home.
Entering the bathroom, Hermione frowned at her reflection. Though her hair was somewhat shorter, it was still a wild mass of unruly curls with a mind of its own. It was a familiar dilemma each morning.
Grabbing a brush, Hermione attacked her hair, hoping to tame the uncouth tussles somewhat before showering and slipping into the outfit she had chosen the night before.
Draco did an effortless roundhouse kick that landed on the upper part of his installed punching bag. His morning workout was exhilarating. It got the blood pumping and adrenaline rushing. His years-old practice calmed him and gave him a greater purpose.
He glanced at the clock and frowned. Time was ticking, and he was behind schedule, which was irritating as he prided himself on punctuality.
Making a hardened fist, he punched the defenceless bag before him with such force it shook violently before he discarded the black leather gloves that partially covered his long fingers on the way to the bathroom.
Dropping his jogging bottoms, he stepped into the tiled cubicle. The overhead shower came to life and fell over his blonde strands and toned body cascading down his manhood and falling at his toes.
Draco sighed and leaned into the cold spray. His thoughts got the better of him, and before long, he had erotic ideas about what he would get up to with his fiancé. He felt his earlier fears about underperforming melt away, and renewed confidence took its place.
Hermione made a cup of tea. She usually preferred to prepare her morning cup of tea like a Muggle. It certainly tasted better and held the right balance of milk to tea. She hardly took sugar unless her mood demanded it; today, it commanded two spoonfuls. She ignored Hannah’s mess and loud snores while carrying her drink back to her room.
She saw the beaded bag on her bedside table on the way in. It held much sentimental value, and she was lost without it. She had used the bag to transport their suppliers while running from Voldemort and finding Horcruxes, and since it had never left her side.
Hermione found it odd when Hannah knocked on the door, stating an emergency, and left without a further word. She heard her as she stepped into the shower and was extremely grateful to have the flat to herself before departure. She shouted an acknowledgement and carried on with her ablutions.
Hannah was fun and a competent Auror, but Hermione felt suffocated and smothered by someone constantly in her home.
That one moment of peace was short-lived as the voice she dreaded echoed through the flat.
“Are you going to fuck him, Mudblood?” Oh, not this bloody wretch. Not today.
Hermione stiffened as the water ran cold, her body collapsing on itself as she shielded herself under the spray. She resisted the urge to crouch in the bottom of the shower.
She would let her not beat her this time. Breathing deeply, Hermione adopted a challenging stance and clicked her tongue inside of her cheek in irritation from the continual anticipation of when this torturous and loyal follower of Voldemort would arrive unexpectedly in her head.
When her insecurities flared, the stupid old cunt always appeared in her mind.
“Does that upset you, bitch?” Her clear voice rang out in answer from the bathroom.
Bellatrix's loud cackle bounced off the walls inside Hermione’s mind, “You will be nothing more to him than a whore. Nothing more than a piece of meat.”
Hermione swallowed hard and shouted aggressively, fed up with the assaults, “Like you were to Voldemort. No more than a slutty, adulterous toy!”
Bellatrix yelled, “Do not ever attempt to disrespect my devotion to him. You are the slut, the creature of dirt. The undeserving.”
Hermione spat defiantly, “And I will make your nephew love me. Please, do enjoy the show!”
“I will kill you, Mudblood!” Bellatrix snarled.
“You call me that because you don’t want to imagine us getting it on,” Hermione was on fire and continued to demean the dead dark witch, “If you find a way to come back, Harry will put you in the ground, you are a relentless, fleshless specter. You are no better than Peeves, and I have no more room for you in my head.”
Bellatrix laughed triumphantly, “Oh no, I’ll be here as long as you have that scar. You feel it every day, feel my knife as its sinks into your skin, Mudblood.”
Yet, her voice sounded further away, and Hermione strained to hear her, “Do you think you are the only one who can fight? Shall I have Molly Weasley come back to finish you again? Ha! Were you afraid at the end? She said you were. She said you screamed.”
Bella’s voice lacked conviction, “No, the Weasleys were Mudblood lovers, pieces of shit—”
White noise filled her head, the ring on her finger threw light over her, and Hermione thought she might faint. She came to, and there was so much silence that Hermione couldn’t hear the shower running.
Grabbing a small towel, Hermoine rushed from the bathroom, barely wrapping it around herself as she headed to find a brandy in the kitchen.
Not looking where she was going, she smacked into a hard chest and screamed.
Draco covered his ears momentarily.
“You scared the shit out of me,” Hermione slapped his chest harshly.
“Oi!” He laughed and greeted her with a genuine smile, “Good morning, Granger. You look lovely.” His eager eyes roved over the small towel that barely covered her body. She looked stunning, yet not appropriate for the place they were headed to.
Hermione breathed, glad to see him for once, “Thank you. I’m, err, not quite ready. Something held me up.”
His manly fragrance invaded her space, and she was forced to inhale deeply and look at him appreciatively. He wore casual black pants and a button-down cotton white shirt that lightly exposed his chest. His Sectumsempra scar was slightly visible among more prominent deeper marks.
She cleared her throat and said, “So do you.”
Draco teased, “Hmm, your eyes have glazed over, Granger.” Little did he know that it was part anger at what she’d experienced and the fact she stood before him part naked.
Hermione rolled her eyes, “What? Sod off, Malfoy.” It wasn’t the first time she’d thought he was an egotistical prat
Draco was no idiot. He had noticed her odd body language and heavy breathing when she barged into him as if she were escaping something evil and couldn't help but wonder what Granger was trying to hide.
Instead, he closed the distance between them, peered into her face, and asked with genuine concern and conviction, “Are you alright?”
Hermione turned her back on him, busied herself with washing her empty teacup, and argued rather unconvincingly, “Of course! Why wouldn't I be?”
Draco parted his lips to speak, but they were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. He left well enough alone, jogged over to the door, and threw it open.
Ginny lugged in a giant suitcase that was clearly stuffed to the brim that Draco thought would burst at any moment.
He voiced his candid thoughts, “What in the name of Salazar is that?”
Hermione approached them and quipped, “Do you have Harry and James in there?”
“Very funny. I like to be prepared.” Ginny scoffed as she dropped her handbag on the kitchen counter and leaned against it.
Draco stifled a laugh and quipped, “For what exactly? An apocalypse?”
Ginny retaliated with a sarcastic retort, “Women tend to need more than a change of underwear, Malfoy. In fact, Hermione seems woefully unprepared. Am I perhaps interrupting something?”
Draco chuckled, “She ran out here. I had no choice.”
Ginny simply shrugged, “Duly noted, Malfoy.”
Hermione flushed, “Nothing of what you’re implying took place. Excuse me.” With those final words, she disappeared.
Draco exclaimed calmly, “A wizard can’t complain when his fiancé runs into his arms half-dressed.” Who was he to argue with the choices of women?
Ginny took a juicy apple from the bowl nearby, bit into and muttered, “Shall we get going?”
Draco quipped, “Usually, I’d say yes, but as Hermione is getting ready, I dare not.” He let out a laugh as he grabbed another apple from the fruit bowl.
A few moments later, Hermione reappeared in a short mustard yellow cotton dress with dainty spaghetti straps, checked her watch and nodded, “We have a few minutes.”
Ginny pointed to her suitcase and pleaded, “Can you stuff this into your bag?”
Draco looked around and inquired sceptically, “Where is your bag, Granger? Shall I fetch it from your room?”
Hermione picked up her beaded bag off the table and replied with a smug expression, “Everything I need is right here.”
“Sweet Salazar. That's barely enough to hold your toothbrush,” Draco argued with a raised brow. He wondered what was going on.
Hermione rolled her eyes and held out the bag with an instruction. “Shut up and help Ginny.”
Draco took out his wand and waved it over the luggage. It soared through the air and hovered over the entrance of the mysterious beaded bag.
He hesitated, but Hermione jiggled the bag impatiently, and Draco let Ginny’s suitcase drop. It disappeared into the beaded bag and collided noisily with whatever was inside.
Draco peered inside the bag with widened eyes and demanded, “What sorcery is this?”
Ginny calmly explained, “A very gifted expandable charm.”
Hermione groaned, “Shit! There go my books.”
Ginny frowned, “Books? Why are you bringing along books?”
Hermione answered without hesitation, “For some light reading around the pool, but these have been there for ages.”
She eyed the black folder Draco held incredulously and retorted with amusement, "And what are those, Malfoy?"
Draco defended his binder, pulling it towards his chest protectively, “I have Auror trials to study for, Granger, as you are aware. I need to utilise every free moment to study and prepare.” He had packed books and a file on the Strangler that Hannah prepared for him and dropped at the Manor.
Ginny chuckled, “Well, I must say, he sounds exactly like you, Hermione.”
She remembered Hermione as a proverbial nightmare during exams, and many arguments erupted between Ron and her simply because she couldn't stand his childish approach to preparation. He found her utterly mental for studying day and night with only bathroom breaks in the middle.
Ginny wondered why her brother thought they were a good match. A bit older herself, she knew young romance wasn’t always destined to last, but she and Harry would make it. They were different.
She caught sight of Malfoy’s gym bag and insisted, “Toss your bag in there too, Malfoy. It's easier to Portkey without luggage.”
Draco nodded in agreement and asked politely, “Good idea. Do you mind, Granger?”
Hermione showed indifference with a nonchalant shrug, “Not at all. I’m used to it.”
Draco raised a questioning brow before tossing his bag into her beady purse. He wasn't quite sure what they called it, but it was an impressive bit of magic.
Hermione squealed, “Oh, it's about time to leave.” She tossed the beaded bag into her handbag and held onto it tightly.
Draco suddenly remembered and asked hurriedly but rather sheepishly, “Did you adjust our destination based on my instructions last night?” Since she had not replied and he had fallen asleep after, he wasn't sure whether she had received them.
Hermione frowned with displeasure., “Yes, I did with great difficulty since it was last minute. I abhor last-minute changes.”
Draco smirked and licked his bottom lip for good measure, “Oh dear. You have my sincere apologies. Although, you will find that the best things in life are unexpected, Granger.”
He gently tapped the side of her temple with a long pale finger and drawled, “For once, think outside the box.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. She felt like a sodding third wheel; it was not a humorous thought. All these bloody couples, and she would be the only one without a significant other.
Hermione blushed, “I'll keep that in mind.” She moved closer to Ginny as if Draco’s touch burnt her. He swapped a confused look with her but didn't pursue the subject.
Ginny asked curiously, “What time is it there?”
Hermione calculated it in her mind before answering, “After 7 pm on Thursday. They're roughly 11 hours behind us.” She had done her homework and knew everything about the popular holiday destination, down to the national bird.
Ginny perked up instantly, “Oh, we get an extra few hours to enjoy.”
Hermione shrugged, “I guess so.” She took out an ancient-looking ornament of sorts of a mangled gold cup with a black-maned lion engraved into it and placed it on the counter for all to see.
Draco lazily mused, “Hawaii, here we come.”
They touched the glowing ministry-approved ornament and disapparated.
Ministry Of Magic
Julius Avery took the rickety old lift to the top floor, which housed the offices of Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt and Undersecretary Hermione Jean Granger. When he stepped out, he was instantly impressed by his lavish surroundings.
It was a little past 9 am, and he could make out through the thick glass wall that Kingsley's personal assistant was busy organising herself for the remainder of the day. She was arranging papers, files and answering a continuous stream of calls.
In contrast to the professionally dressed Minister's assistant, Hermione Granger's assistant seemed relatively young with a brilliant head of bright blue hair, a nose piercing, and rather loud yet stylish clothes.
He carefully pushed open the glass door and walked towards the desk. The woman behind it eyed him suspiciously but smiled and asked politely, “Good morning, Sir. How can I help you?”
Julius flashed his most winning smile and answered, “I don't have an appointment, I’m afraid, but I wish to see Undersecretary Granger.”
Brenda smiled. The pompous arse. Did he really think he would get his way by flashing his bloody pearly whites? Not a fucking chance.
Instead of spewing out the obscenities running rampant through her head, she said, “I’m sorry, but Miss Granger is on leave and will only return on Tuesday. If you wish to meet her, I can pencil you in right after Mr Gregory House.”
Julius seethed but kept his composure and responded, “You do that, love.”
Brenda frowned. Love? Why, if he wasn't a condescending prat!
She grinned, “And your name, darling?” She emphasised the last word letting it roll off her tongue generously as she poised her quill over the diary.
However, Avery wasn't intimidated or bothered. He simply grinned, “Julius Avery.”
Brenda stiffened when she heard his last name. However, she kept the surprise out of her voice and inquired, “What is your reason for requesting a meeting?”
Julius answered with a devilish smirk, “That's private, but I think you can keep a secret. I need to discuss a building permit for one of my establishments.” He hoped his trumped-up excuse was enough to garner him an audience with the so-called Golden Girl. He had heard from others that she was compassionate, generous, and brilliant.
A shiver went down Brenda’s spine, but still, she kept her wits about her and wrote his name down next to 1 pm - Tuesday.
Julius straightened his jacket and tipped his hat, “Thank you. Have a smashing day.” With that, he turned on his heel and left a slightly flabbergasted assistant to her thoughts. He was sorely disappointed and frustrated that he had missed meeting Hermione Granger.
So engrossed in his thoughts, he exited the lift on the wrong floor and bumped into someone sending said person's belongings cluttering to the floor.
Fuck.
He snapped out of his daze and apologised profusely, “Excuse me.”
A lovely woman with long black hair waved her wand elegantly and muttered an incantation causing all her fallen belongings to return to her hand.
She turned to face the lumbering mountain troll that knocked into her and hissed, “You really must watch where you’re going.”
Julius grinned sheepishly, “Hmm, my apologies. I assure you it was an accident, or maybe it’s fate.” He re-entered the lift, waiting for her to enter.
He turned on the charm after getting a glimpse of the woman he barged into. She was a timeless beauty.
Astoria Greengrass frowned. She was about to enter, but he had gone back inside. She wondered if he had the wrong floor. He was pretty decent looking. Not in the same league as Draco Malfoy, but she could perceive a hardened truth lurking behind his eyes.
Julius tried his best to make amends, “If you would accept a second apology and my assistance to your floor, I would be grateful. I wouldn't dream of causing injury to a beautiful woman such as yourself.
If she had a Galleon for every time a man complimented her looks, it would put her family's vast fortune to utter shame.
Astoria said with a definite roll of her eyes, “Flattery won't get you very far with me.” She reluctantly stepped inside and made a mental note to send Ramesh in her stead next time permit matters regarding her pet snakes arose.
Julius boldly asked, “Are you Astoria Greengrass?” She was flawless.
“Have we met?” Astoria asked curiously. Surely, she would have remembered him if she had met him. He had a unique face and prominent features.
Julius offered a plausible explanation, “Yes, I believe we have. Some years ago at some function or another.”
He held out his hand and presented himself, “I will reintroduce myself. I'm Julius Avery.”
Astoria took his hand and answered without much interest, “Ah, yes, we met when we were younger.” The lift whirred as they went through the floors.
She remembered he was the son of a known Death Eater, and the pureblood families always mingled and dined together.
Julius could hardly hold back his enthusiasm, “Salazar, you’re stunning. I've heard about your beauty, but I must be honest, the rumours do you no justice.”
Astoria felt rather uncomfortable in his presence but replied, “Thank you, but excuse me.” She tried to pull back her hand, but he held on tight, refusing to let go.
He kissed her hand and said, “You've blossomed into a beautiful rose.”
Astoria haughtily replied, “I've heard that many times before.”
Julius released her and insisted, “Please allow me to buy you coffee.”
“I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a hurry. Perhaps, some other time.” Astoria politely declined, pressing the button for her floor on the lift once more.
However, Julius was adamant, “For old time's sake.”
Astoria was annoyed by his tiresome behaviour, “I have to be elsewhere.”
Julius smirked, “I'm not used to taking no for an answer, Astoria.” He loved her fiery spirit.
Astoria scoffed, “You best get used to it then. I am not used to dealing with wizards unsolicited.”
Julius chuckled, “I'll keep that in mind. I sincerely hope we meet again.”
Astoria bid him a less than fond farewell, “Good day.”
Julius nodded curtly with his hands in his pocket, “Likewise, darling.”
Astoria huffed as she exited the lift, her skirts rustling as she walked away with her nose in the air.
Her gait amused Julius as she pretended to ignore him. He vaguely recalled she was the unlucky recipient of a blood curse.
It was a shame for such a lovely woman to succumb to death sooner than her time. He wondered if she was currently involved with anyone. He would make it his mission to find out. Not only was she beautiful, but she was also a fuckable heiress with a short lifespan.
The Master would highly approve.
Chapter 65
Summary:
To all the comments:- Thank you so much for the lovely feedback. I love them all! :)
Please keep in mind the 11-hour time difference between London and Hawaii.
Everyone arrives safely in Hawaii. A few obstacles present themselves.
The Hawaii trip will be broken into three chapters. Trust me, it will be worthwhile.
Harry spends time with the children.
Sarah learns more about her captor—trigger warning.
Thomas and Hannah make some headway regarding the Strangler. The killer's days are numbered.
Enjoy Chapter Sixty - Five!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Waikiki Beach, Marriott Resort and Spa, Honolulu, Hawaii
It wasn't the most straightforward endeavour to Portkey across oceans. Of course, they did it often, but it was rather exhausting and drained their magic.
Their feet touched a plush greyish carpet, and Hermione had a thought of uncertainty despite her meticulous planning.
Blimey, she hoped they were in the right room, but the deep voice that greeted them put her mind at ease. It would have been unfortunate to trespass on some poor, unsuspecting Muggle's space.
Hermione shuddered at the thought, but she didn't need to be bothered with such unpleasantness since Blaise strode towards them, beaming. He was shirtless, with only a pair of jogging bottoms to keep him decent.
Blaise bellowed, “Draco! Mate!” It was evident from his tone and deposition that he was beyond pleased to have his friend finally join their holiday.
He turned his attention to Hermione, “Granger!” Meanwhile, Draco collected himself and grinned from ear to ear.
It was Ginny who found her voice first, and she greeted her ex-boyfriend sheepishly, “Hi, Blaise.”
Blaise quite literally did a double take as if his mind were playing tricks on him and stared at Ginny to make sure she was indeed real and not a figment of his imagination. Finally, he snapped out of his momentary daze and exclaimed, “Bloody hell. Red?”
Ginny blushed and responded, “In the flesh.”
Draco raised a quizzical brow and threw Blaise an amused expression. His behaviour was that of an adolescent, and it was highly comical since hardly anything rattled the calm and composed olive-skinned man.
Blaise ignored his best mate and muttered, “Oh, right.” His eyes scanned the room for a t-shirt to cover himself with. He suddenly felt very naked in her presence. Luckily, an earlier discarded t-shirt lay ignored on a chair nearby.
However, Ginny was quite taken aback and impressed. Her eyes raked over his toned physique inconspicuously. Harry, as with all Aurors, worked out religiously and kept himself fit and taut, but seeing such an impressive body on a civilian was a welcome surprise.
Blaise hurriedly pulled the simple grey cotton t-shirt over his head and smiled, “I wasn't expecting to see you.”
Ginny was beginning to feel rather self-conscious and replied, “Obviously.”
Draco watched the events unfold while scanning the suite. His eyes took in the splendour and lavish surroundings of the room they were in for the moment.
“I invited her,” Hermione sprang to Ginny’s defence and moved to her side.
Ginny shrugged casually and grinned, “So, I tagged along. I hope that's alright.” She knew Blaise had no issues with her presence, and even if he did, he was far too much of a gentleman to show it frankly.
Blaise beamed once more, “Of course, it is. I'm really glad to see you.” He closed the distance between them and pulled Hermione and then Ginny into a somewhat awkward hug of sorts, crushing her to his chest.
She could feel the rapid beating of his heart and the contours of his well-defined muscles underneath her slightly trembling fingertips.
Their last encounter at the coffee shop after her horrid fight with Harry replayed in their mind.
“I'll ring Theo,” Blaise said after releasing Ginny. He spoke directly to Draco, who smirked, nodded in agreement and followed his friend into the other room.
Hermione pulled Ginny towards the wide window, and both stared into the land sprawled before them. Even though it was night, the moon rested high in the sky, illuminating the way and showcasing the beauty that fell under its radiant silvery beams.
“Careful,” Hermione teasingly muttered under her breath. They could make out waves crashing against each other in the distance, but unfortunately, the surrounding areas were shrouded by darkness.
Ginny rolled her eyes and refused to argue.
The front door burst open, and Theo burst in with a loud and chirpy, “Arsehole!”
Draco gave a half smirk and responded, “Good to see you too, Nott.” The men exchanged a quick, friendly hug of sorts.
Theo regarded Ginny and Hermione with a welcoming smile and sarcastic quip, “Ah, more Gryfindors. Welcome ladies.”
He cleared his throat and said shyly, “Granger….” They interacted due to work at times. It wasn't like she had no clue of his existence.
Hermione was a bit surprised to be addressed directly but politely replied to best suit the situation, “Hi, Theo….” She hardly remembered him from school except when he weirdly asked her to Hogsmeade, and she had promptly refused. Goyle and Crabbe were Malfoy's lackeys. She wondered if the situation in the Room of Requirement had soured the friendship. Probably, it had since one was dead and the other was a vile human being.
The very thought of Goyle made her temper flare. Moreso, since he couldn't pay for his crimes, of which she was sure there were many.
However, she did know Theodore Nott, inventor and scientist extraordinaire. The man was exceptionally intelligent despite his somewhat comical nature. He was in charge of creating unique weapons against werewolves and even vampires if the need ever arose among other devices which were strictly on a need-to-know basis. She didn't work with him directly since he worked primarily out of the comfort of his home, but their paths crossed when necessary.
He worked on a contract basis and was mainly a freelancer catering to many whims of wizards and witches alike as long as the requests were reasonable.
Draco’s eyes narrowed as he witnessed the exchange. He wasn't fond of how Theo singled Hermione out but kept his thoughts silent. Silence kept true feelings in the dark, and remaining calm and collected at the moment was prudent.
Luna came up from behind with the biggest smile, “Hermione! Ginny!” The women hugged each other tightly but briefly.
Hermione smiled warmly, “Luna, how are you? You look lovely.”
However, Ginny noticed Luna looked paler than usual, with dark circles adorning her pretty eyes and overall sickly deposition. Instantly, the reason dawned on her, but she kept mum on the subject until the opportunity for explanations presented itself.
Luna averted her gaze, “I haven't been feeling well, I'm afraid.” She swapped a knowing look with Ginny.
A stern voice invaded the space, “It's late, Malfoy.”
Draco smirked and pulled the opinionated woman into a one-armed hug, “Good evening, Pans.”
Pansy playfully shoved him away and spoke to Ginny and Hermione, who were deep in conversation with Luna, “Ladies….”
Ginny maintained a solemn expression and replied with a curt nod of her head, “Parkinson.”
Hermione raised a curious brow, “Where's Neville?”
Barely were the words out of her mouth, a prominent figure flew at them and hugged them completely, constricting their ability to breathe and knocking the wind out of them.
Neville whispered so only they could hear, “I'm so happy to see you.” It was clear he was desperate for some familiar faces. It couldn't have been easy for him to be around all the Slytherins and Luna, who had been sick for almost the entire trip. He was beyond relieved to see Ginny and Hermione.
While Theo spoke animatedly with Draco and Hermione filled Neville in on the latest news from back home, Ginny found herself moving closer to Blaise. She noticed from the sorry state of the suite that he seemed to be alone.
Curiosity got the better of her, and she questioned, “Umm, where's Daphne?”
Blaise sighed, “She left early. Adam had a severe allergic reaction to nuts.” Ginny smelled incredible, and he wanted to put a considerable distance between them, but his feet were not cooperating, and involuntarily, he moved closer to his ex-girlfriend.
He knew Daphne would not be happy with Ginny’s untimely appearance and made the wise decision to keep the truth from his beloved wife until the opportune moment to disclose presented itself.
Ginny was genuinely concerned and voiced her thoughts, “Oh, dear. I hope he's alright.”
Blaise reassured, “Yeah, he's good.”
He glanced at his mates and added in a carrying voice, “She insisted I stay for Draco’s sake. She didn't want to forsake him to Theo's imaginative mind.”
“I heard that,” Theo responded good-naturedly with a slight chuckle.
Blaise quipped, “Well, I didn't fucking whisper, mate.”
Theo shot back, “Wanker.”
Blaise countered, “Prat.”
Pansy stepped in and reprimanded them severely in her most motherly tone of voice, “Boys! Play nice.”
Theo pouted and replied candidly, “Yes, mummy.”
Pansy frowned and hissed, “Argh, don't make me kick your nuts.”
Neville chuckled and said, “Come on. Let's get you lot sorted into rooms.”
Hermione told the rest of the group, “See you in the morning.” Her heart fluttered relentlessly. The surroundings were exquisite, and the fact that they were away from home was slowly beginning to sink in, and with it, her insecurities rose to the surface.
She purposely avoided Draco despite his efforts to engage her in conversation or remain close. He trailed behind her as they walked along the corridors, searching for the lift while Neville excitedly explained what everyone had been up to since they arrived on the beautiful island.
While he had no particular excuse not to play at being a couple, apparently, she had other ideas.
London - No 12 Grimmauld Place
Harry greeted Teddy and Andromeda at the back door. Teddy hugged him tightly with the brightest smile and ran into the kitchen where Molly was preparing breakfast while an excited James helped her.
James caught sight of Teddy and giggled. He was very fond of him.
Andromeda greeted Molly, who wiped her hands on the closest rag and returned the warm gesture, “Lovely to see you both. Tea?”
“Yes, please,” Teddy replied politely and sat at the table. Harry joined him, stretched his legs, and said, “Looking forward to the weekend?”
Andromeda smiled and helped Molly take out biscuits, “He has not stopped talking about it for days.”
Harry chuckled, "It's going to be fun, mate." He honestly hoped he could live up to his word.
Teddy beamed, “Yes!” Uncle Harry and Ron were the closest people he had to a father, but recently, he had learned of a blood relative, Draco Malfoy. He wanted to ask Uncle Harry more about this so-called cousin of his.
Hawaii - Thursday Night - Check-in
The smartly dressed woman at the front desk was extremely helpful and accommodating. Within mere seconds, she tracked down the reservation Neville had made on the day they arrived and smiled courteously, “Late check-in, not a problem. We've made note of it here. The rooms are ready and available.” She placed two room key cards on the polished counter surface.
Hermione took hold of the key to the double room and frowned, “Aren't we on the same floor?”
Neville opened his mouth to explain, but the woman politely said, “Unfortunately, there are no rooms available on the desired floor. We have placed Mr Malfoy on the floor above everyone else. I do apologise for the inconvenience.”
Ginny wasn't the least bit bothered. She was busy taking pictures and looking at her surroundings with the excitement of a toddler at a playground. Many tourists went about their business, and it was apparent by the bustling lobby area that the hotel was packed and sought after.
Draco pocketed his card and brushed the inconvenience aside, “Ah, that's not an issue.” Honestly, what bloody difference could it possibly make? His fiancé seemed adamant to treat him like some stranger, and if that were her stance, he would accommodate her attitude momentarily.
A neatly dressed young man appeared, and the woman smiled at him and said, “Charlie will show you to your rooms.”
She brazenly locked eyes with Draco and offered ardently, “If you need anything, Mr Malfoy, I would be happy…she bit her lip, to help you out regardless of the time.”
Ginny snorted. Neville stared wide-eyed at the woman's forwardness, but Hermione was less than amused by the interaction. She pursed her lips and swallowed the slew of curses dancing on her tongue's tip. They had been on the island less than an hour, and already he had women lining up to shag him. How he remained celibate was a complete mystery to her.
Draco ran his longer fingers through his hair and smirked, “I appreciate that, Monica. Did I pronounce that correctly?”
Monica blushed, “Indeed. Enjoy your stay.” Oh, he was a rare and delectable treat.
Hermione took hold of Draco’s hand, garnering an amused look from him and responded suggestively, “We will. Thank you.” She ran her fingers down the front of his shirt for good measure and licked her bottom lip, wiping the look of smugness off the other woman’s face and causing her to hurriedly busy herself with some papers.
Ginny chuckled and shook her head. It would be a very long weekend.
With a smile, Charlie stepped forward and instructed, "Please follow me."
Draco glanced at Hermione and mused, “Was that necessary? She was merely being friendly.”
Hermione said with a distinctive roll of her eyes, “She clearly knew we were engaged.” She abruptly dropped his hand and put a reasonable distance between them.
Draco snorted and responded with an amused expression, “Oh, did she? And what gave it away? Perhaps, it was your blatant hostility towards me.”
Hermione questioned irritably, “How did you figure out her name?” Had he stooped to using Occlumency?
Draco massaged the bridge of his nose in exasperation and gave a plausible explanation, “She was wearing a bloody name tag, Granger.”
Neville stifled a laugh, and Ginny nudged him as they walked behind the volatile couple, arguing childishly.
Hermione scoffed, “And I am not hostile towards you. We just arrived. Please don’t be dramatic.” What did he honestly expect from her? To jump into his arms and proclaim undying love? Ridiculous bloody man.
Draco scowled, “Then why are you going out of your way to stand so far apart?”
Hermione struggled to find the right words for a suitable counter reply, “I…” Was she? She supposed she was, but it was just the nerves getting the better of her and if only he would give her some space to adjust to their surroundings. For Merlin's sake, they just arrived!
In a blink of an eye, Draco moved close, snaked his arm around her waist and brought her closer to his body. He radiated unbearable heat and metaphorically burned her skin where he touched. Ginny and Neville came to an abrupt halt and swapped a look of confusion and mild embarrassment.
Their faces were barely inches apart, and Hermione could smell Draco’s aftershave and peppermint toothpaste as his breath ghosted over the skin on her cheek, “Isn't this better?”
Hermione was rendered speechless as their eyes locked, and she took in the intensity swirling behind his beautiful, grey eyes. She swallowed hard, and her lips parted ever so slightly.
Ginny cleared her throat, “Ahem, I would be happy to take Malfoy's single room so you two can share the double.” She thought her sacrifice would help ease the situation.
“Ginny,” Hermione gritted out. Although, it didn't seem like a bad idea. Except the very thought caused her stomach to knot nervously.
Abruptly, Draco let Hermione go, causing her to lose balance and almost fall flat on her arse. She glared at him and almost reached for her wand but remembered they weren't alone.
Draco chuckled, “Careful, Weasley. Your suggestion might cause Granger's head to explode.”
Neville shifted his feet. He was uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation and took the opportunity to excuse himself, “Well, I best get back to Pansy. Get some rest.” It was utterly bizarre to witness Malfoy and Hermione interact so freely with each other, and he needed time to process their tumultuous relationship.
A chorus of Good night, see you in the morning and thank you’s followed his exit.
After Neville was out of earshot, Hermione hissed, “Well, I'm not the one shying away from intimacy, Malfoy. You seem willing to do everything else but the deed despite you making clear advances and leading me on.” It was a well-deserved zinger between the balls.
Draco couldn't believe the audacity. He said in outrage, “Leading you on? Listen here, woman. I bluntly told you the reason behind my hesitation but that has come to an end.”
He drawled, weakening her knees, “I will make you mine before we return to London.” That was the grand plan anyway. His reservations about underperforming and not being up to mark were buried and ready to be replaced with new memories and feelings.
Hermione found her voice and glared, “I belong to no one, do I make myself clear, Malfoy?”
Draco easily towered over her, stared her dead in the eye with every ounce of confidence he could muster, and teased, “You would be more convincing if you weren't nervously fidgeting.”
Hermione straightened and responded with heavy sarcasm, lacing her words, "If we ever do have sex, it won't give you some power over me, got it?
Draco smirked, "Got it." The irritating bloody Gryffindor.
Ginny rolled her eyes, “Shall I give you two a moment?” Their banter was highly amusing but also tiresome since neither seemed willing to succumb to the other.
They had arrived at the room. Draco stood outside while Hermione opened the door and said, “That's quite alright. Good night.” With that, he turned on his heel and followed Charlie, whose presence everyone had forgotten, but as a bellhop, he had seen his fair share of odd instances and heated exchanges between guests around the hotel.
Draco tipped him handsomely once outside his room. He walked into the single room, quickly looked around and sighed.
The room was beyond satisfactory, and although it was meant for a single occupant, the bed was more than adequate to accommodate two fully grown adults, for which he was grateful because of his imposing height. He dropped his bag on the bed and wandered onto the small balcony.
The night air was chilly yet crisp, and the pungent smell of the ocean invaded his sensitive nostrils and refused to budge. He could hear the faint sound of waves crashing against each other and make out a brightly lit area that he assumed was one of the many bars the hotel boasted.
Draco closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and calmed his raging inner thoughts. Focus, he demanded of himself.
Hermione rather aggressively poked her wand inside the beaded bag and hissed, "Accio Ginny's suitcase." It shot out of the tiny entrance at light speed, almost knocking the women in their faces.
With the aid of magic, Ginny hoisted the bag onto the bed, and it flipped open, displaying the neatly packed contents within. She started to unpack without another word.
"He's such an incorrigible lout," Hermione hissed while summoning her neatly folded clothes and toiletries inside the beaded bag.
Ginny rolled her eyes and sighed. She continued to unpack until an excited squeal from Hermione diverted her attention. All dignity forgot the Undersecretary had her nose pressed against the glass as she took in the glorious beach visible from their bedroom window.
Unable to contain herself any longer, Ginny jumped on the bed closest to her while doing a small dance and giggling uncontrollably. Hermione laughed aloud and joined her best friend as they behaved like children. They laughed and jumped without a care in the world until they couldn't anymore.
The beds creaked under their actions, and finally exhausted, they fell laughing onto the beds and threw pillows at each other. It was much like when they had been at Hogwarts. It felt glorious to let loose and unburden oneself.
Ginny chuckled, “Are you okay?”
Hermione lay on her back and laughed, “That felt great. I guess Harry was right to send us away.” Still, her thoughts lingered on the pressing situation back home. She hoped all would be well while they were away.
Ginny sat up and said, “That reminds me, I have to let him know we arrived safely.” She grabbed her phone and headed into the exquisite bathroom, leaving Hermione with disturbing thoughts about Draco and sex.
Draco stepped out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his taut waist to keep him decent. He had a long, hot shower, and a stream of steam followed him.
It wasn't late by any standards, and he felt uneasy sitting around his room watching the telly or studying. He decided to explore his surroundings and familiarise himself with the place that would be his home for the next few days.
He hurriedly pulled a white Calvin Klein T-shirt over his head and then matching faded denims. The hotel lived up to its reputation, and the structure and interior were tasteful and quite appealing, with splendid light fittings and artistic paintings and sculptures decorating the long corridors and walls.
Draco followed the directions of the staff, and his feet led him outside to the enormous pool. It was somewhat windy but glorious. Even then, the weather was what anyone would want on their holiday. It was untainted and clear. He took a deep breath and exhaled, allowing his lungs to expand and relax.
A splash in the distance made it to his fine hearing, and he turned towards the source. It was dark, with only a few lights. Still, he couldn't quite see who or what it was, but after a while, a beautiful silhouette of a shapely woman climbed out of the pool and walked away while vicariously towelling her hair.
Intrigued, Draco tried to move closer to get a better look, but his phone rang, and he was forced to stop and answer. It was Blaise.
Blaise didn't bother with pleasantries and came right to the point, “Nightcap?”
Draco agreed almost at once, “I’ll be there shortly. Shit, I've forgotten the room number.”
Blaise smiled, “It's the Queens suite.”
Draco smirked, “See you in abit.”
Ten minutes later, Draco found the suite with some difficulty and pressed the white button, a makeshift bell.
Barely a minute passed before Blaise threw the door wide open and invited, “Come in, mate.”
Draco followed Blaise to the white sofa, where a bottle of the finest scotch rested on the surface, along with two empty tumblers.
Blaise sat down and offered, “Help yourself.” He made a mental note to phone Daphne before he went to bed.
Draco sat down, held out his glass for Blaise to pour and questioned, “I thought you came with Daphne.”
Blaise dropped an ice cube into Draco’s glass, proceeded to pour two fingers worth of whiskey into his tumbler and answered, “I did, but she had to head back because of Adam. He had an allergic reaction to some peanuts he had eaten on the sly. Poor Astoria and Tracey. They were beside themselves with worry.”
Draco acknowledged, “Ah….” Honestly, any mention of Astoria made him uncomfortable, mainly because of her behaviour whenever their paths crossed.
"She's taken to raising snakes," Blaise added, shuddering for good measure. He was terrified of the reptiles that were his old house symbol.
Draco pursed his lips and said nothing. Instead, he raised a curious brow and inquired, “Is Theo joining us?” It was strange their best mate wasn't a part of the festivities.
Blaise replied thoughtfully, “Lovegood isn't feeling great, so I doubt it. Besides, I didn't want to disturb them.”
“Of course,” Draco nodded. He understood his friend's actions. Blaise usually had an excellent head on his shoulders and seldom made terrible decisions.
Blaise grinned, “It's good to have you here, Malfoy.” He was tempted to ask about Ginny but thought against it. It was best not to draw too much attention to their past.
Draco sighed, “It’s good to be here.” He leaned back and got comfortable.
Blaise noticed his friend seemed less like himself and inquired, “Is everything alright? You seem distracted.”
Draco didn't hold back and bluntly stated what was on his mind, "I met Goyle and some Ministry affairs that I'm not at liberty to discuss are heavy on my mind.” He hadn't confided in anyone how much Goyle’s involvement in sending Granger the letter affected him. It infuriated him and brought out a side he wanted to control and keep hidden.
Blaise narrowed his eyes in contempt and asked, “Goyle? What did he want?” His whole attitude changed as they discussed their former housemate.
Draco frowned, “It was a chance meeting at the Ministry, but he made his displeasure blatantly obvious.”
Blaise gritted out, “I don't have the patience for his antics. He hasn't changed much since Hogwarts, and that's saying something.” When they were all starting out after Hogwarts, Goyle and Montague had requested a meeting and extended an invitation to some Club Sanguis. They had explained that it was a privilege to be considered, but he had turned them down and not regretted it for a moment.
Draco said amusedly, “The fucker is built like a bloody mountain.” He cracked his knuckles for good measure.
Blaise replied solemnly, “I know. He's involved in some pretty shady business along with Avery and Montague.”
That piqued Draco’s interest. He sat and questioned urgently. “Avery? Isn't he in Azkaban?”
Blaise calmly explained, “Not Avery senior. His son Julius has returned and seems adamant about carrying on his father's pathetic legacy.” The man was business savvy and did some good around the neighbourhood despite his incredibly questionable dealings and underground activities.
Draco was impressed and couldn't help but ask, “How do you know all this?” Blaise was a stealthy operative when it was required of him. How else would he have kept his relationship with Ginny Weasley secret?
Blaise smiled. He responded with a smidge of smugness, “I've got eyes and ears, and in my business, you hear certain things. Besides, I make it my business to know what's going on in the less appealing side of our world.”
He raised his glass, “Cheers.”
Draco did the same, “Cheers.”
A Secluded Part of London
Sarah tugged at her hand, but she was chained to the bed. Any movement caused the metal to cut into her wrist, leaving a painful bruise. The only difference was that it was his bed, not the one she had been confined to for weeks. Weirdly, it felt good to be away from the room where her abuse started.
After a few minutes of trying to break free, she gave up and instead curled into a ball and sobbed. He had forcefully taken her body numerous times during the night while whispering, "Am I man enough now, father?"
He had diligently seen to it that she orgasmed, much to her dismay. She would die a slow and painful death, and her story would come to a silent end.
Dinner had been strained after his outburst, but thankfully, he hadn't beaten her but rambled on about his mother, giving her more insight into his childhood and background. It was evident from how he described his childhood that his family was privileged but highly prejudiced.
He spoke of a happier time before his fifth birthday when his mother somewhat showered him with affection. Still, his father seemed to have always been a wife-beating, womanising, sadistic bastard who thought it was great fun to put his cigar out on the servants and occasionally his mother and him.
As the years quite literally bled into each other and his magic failed to manifest, his father's treatment of them became unbearably brutal, causing his mother to turn on him and beat him for the slightest infraction. She blamed him for the failures in the marriage and treated him worse than vermin. Her family shunned her for birthing a squib. They disowned her and refused to acknowledge his existence.
He had gone into great detail while explaining an incident where his drunk father had entered his mother's room late at night without announcement and proceeded to rape and beat her while he was forced to watch.
His father had bellowed for all to hear in Russian, “This is how a real man fucks a woman.”
The man had confided in Sarah. She was surprised by his lack of remorse, “He forced me to touch my mother in a way no son should. I refused at first but he kept hitting me until I did everything he asked and over time I came to love it. She was barely conscious but whimpered and moaned when my fingers caressed her. It was the only time she let me touch her.”
Sarah cringed as she recalled his disturbing last words, “Imagine my family’s surprise when they learn I've taken a witch for my wife and our child has the abilities I was cruelly denied. Won't that be something, my love?”
Undisclosed Safe House - London
Darius wore the oversized coat he was accustomed to wearing and smiled at Kingsley Shacklebolt, “Thank you for your hospitality, Kingsley, but I must return to my people. The attacks have ceased, and my warriors have held the wolves at bay.”
His eyes darkened with unmistakable rage, “Our revenge will be swift.”
Kingsley scoffed, “They've been held back because it's what they wish. Do not delude yourself with wishful thinking.”
After a slight pause, he added, “They could have annihilated you when they had the chance.” The arrogance of the Romanian Minister was staggering, even after what had transpired.
Darius scowled, “Do you think I'm a coward?” He knew the British Minister thought him gutless for leaving his people when the situation escalated beyond his control. Still, he was left with little choice but to seek help from the International community, and he could hardly do that if he were dead.
Kingsley eyed the man before him critically and said solemnly, “I think you did what was necessary to ensure the survival of your people.” True, he had a low opinion of the man, and while he did not think Darius’s actions were noble, he grudgingly accepted them to be correct, given the circumstances.
Darius argued, “I did not run away from the fight.” His bodyguards came to stand by his side as they readied themselves to Portkey.
Kingsley offered further insight into the serious matter, “Dolohov is no fool, Darius. They know taking Romania will bring down the world's wrath on them.”
“So, we have confirmation that it is Antonin Dolohov?” Darius could hardly keep the disgust from his tone of voice. He was brutally cynical and hardened to every sob story under the sun.
Kingsley sighed and confirmed, “The source is credible and without question.” The previous night, Thomas Spencer had turned up at his home and told him in great detail about what Dorian had confided.
Darius asked thoughtfully, “Do you think we can win this war?” He had severe doubts, but they would die trying if necessary.
Kingsley straightened to his full height and spoke confidently, “With combined strength, I have no doubt we can. We must double our efforts into flushing him out.”
Darius smiled and nodded in understanding. He extended his hand, which Kingsley took in a firm handshake and said, “Safe travels.”
The Romanian Minister said gravely, “I'll be in touch. It will come to pass in Romania. It is there we will make a stand against Antonin Dolohov.”
Kingsley's features contorted unpleasantly, “We will do all we can to thwart his efforts on English soil. He won't gain any advantage here.”
Hawaii - Friday Morning
Hermione and Ginny got lost on their way to breakfast. There was just so much to see, and they were still inside the hotel.
It was a beautiful morning with the sun shining brightly, illuminating their glorious surroundings. There were no words to do it justice. It was just as it was depicted in the brochures. Hawaii was indeed a paradise, and it was no surprise that people from every corner of the globe flocked there for their holiday.
Pansy greeted them as they approached, “Good morning, darlings. I trust everyone slept well.” She wore a daring dark green bikini top, loose trousers and sandals. Her pedicured feet were on display.
Everyone was already seated and eating. Clearly, they had not bothered waiting for them, and why should they?
Hermione briefly locked eyes with her fiancé and hurriedly looked away before being tempted. He looked particularly delicious in a simple black T-shirt and beige cargo shorts. At least he was attempting to fit in with the locals.
She sat far away from Draco. She was highly nervous and he was annoyed by her stupid behaviour. Still, he wasn't one to pine after a woman who wanted nothing to do with him, even though they had mutually agreed to explore a sexual relationship once in Hawaii.
However, he was instead pleasantly taken aback by her sunkissed appearance. She wore a baggy white shirt over a vibrant red bikini top and denim shorts that hugged her arse and displayed long, smooth legs. For the occasion, she had paired the ensemble with matching hoop earrings, dainty sandals and her trusty beaded bag.
Draco pondered whether she was wearing the bikini bottom. He pushed such thoughts aside and continued to cut a fatty pork sausage into bite-sized pieces.
Ginny took the empty seat next to Blaise, who moved his chair a bit to make space but remained calm and collected as he took in the many items poking out of his ex-girlfriend's somewhat large bag.
She asked everyone in general, “What plans?
Hermione chimed in, “Let's explore this beautiful place.”
Neville answered, “We've explored it as much as we can, but you lot go right ahead.”
Ginny perked up and exclaimed, “I want to go shopping.”
Blaise answered without much thought, “Sure, I’ll take you around, Red.”
Pointedly, Theo cleared his throat and questioned with a raised brow, “Red? Is there something you two need to share with the rest of us?”
Ginny averted her gaze and blushed, “Of course not.”
Blaise hissed, “Shut your gob, Nott.”
Hermione and Draco swapped a look, but neither made any remark.
Luna massaged her temples and said weakly, “I'm not feeling so good, Theo.”
Theo’s boyish features twisted with concern, “The weather has not agreed with her. We really should consult a Muggle Healer.”
Pansy took a sip from her mimosa and said, “A doctor you mean.”
Ginny offered casually, “Hmm, if you say so.” She had a pretty good idea about what was wrong with Luna.
Luna shushed Ginny with an uncharacteristic look of annoyance.
Theo kissed his wife’s clammy forehead and smiled, “You rest, my love. I'll bring you back fresh fruit, or would you like me to stay?”
Luna managed a weak smile, “You go ahead, darling. There's no point in both of us being miserable.” She pushed back the chair and got to her feet before her husband could argue.
He had no clear picture of what she was going through, which was entirely her fault. It may be time to break the news to Theo that he would be a father in a few short months.
However, Theo took hold of her hand, kissed it and muttered, “I'm happiest when I’m with you.”
Blaise said with a distinct roll of his eyes, "Oi, get a room, you two." Bah, newlyweds. It was sickening.
Ginny snorted into her drink. Bless them, she thought. They had no idea whatsoever what was coming.
Theo mused, “You're just jealous, Zabini.” He recalled a time before Luna when he had been insanely jealous of what Blaise and Daphne shared.
Hermione smiled, “Well, I'm starving. Ginny, shall we?”
Ginny politely declined, “You go ahead, Hermione. I want to have a mimosa first.” Watching Pansy enjoy her beverage had tempted her to try one.
Hermione stifled a laugh, “Suit yourself.” She was glad Ginny was having some fun and milking the holiday for all its worth. Her sudden closeness to Zabini was a tad bit alarming, but surely it was nothing to take too seriously.
The dining area was rather crowded, with eager guests hurrying about the place to fulfil their breakfast orders. Hermione navigated through the crowd and made it over to the plate dispenser. First, she helped herself to two slices of bread and a dollop of butter.
The breakfast spread was impressive, with plenty of action stations and chefs ready to prepare meals to the guests' liking. Hermione felt drawn to the scrumptious array of delicious pastries on display. Her favourite meal at any hotel was breakfast.
Not knowing there was an existing queue, Hermione approached the neatly arranged display and reached for a large chocolate croissant when a cough interrupted her, causing her to panic, withdraw her hand and look for the source.
The source completely caught her off guard since it was a rather tall, built man with wavy brown hair and startling blue eyes staring at her with an amused expression. He was casually dressed in a blue button-down shirt, white linen pants and leather slippers.
Hermione blushed crimson and apologised profusely once she spotted the queue of people, “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to jump the queue.”
The man regarded her curiously and answered, “Oh, I don't know. I might have to report this to the management, but I'll tell you what, since you did apologise, I'll let it slide if you tell me your name.”
Hermione mused, “You're teasing me.” Was he flirting with her? Seemed likely.
He smirked, “What gave it away?” She was sweet and kind of clueless. He liked that.
Theo caught sight of Hermione and said curiously, “Who's that talking to Granger?” He pushed aside his plate and craned his neck to get a better look.
Neville muttered thoughtfully, “Hmm…”
Draco shrugged and showed utter indifference, “No idea.” He had seen the exchange but thought nothing of it.
Pansy bit her bottom lip and drawled, “He's cute.”
Theo rolled his eyes and said, somewhat annoyed, “Why is it never an ugly bloke with a face only a mother could love?”
Blaise massaged the back of his neck and quipped, “You can relate, Theo.”
Theo made a crude gesture by extending his middle finger towards Blaise and chuckled, “Fuck off, Blaise.”
Draco drowned out his friends' constant bickering and kept his eyes on his betrothed. She seemed positively giddy by the attention that was being bestowed upon her.
The brown-haired man introduced himself with a boyish grin, “I'm Ryan, by the way.”
Hermione smiled politely and followed suit, “Hermione.”
Ryan turned on the charm, “Unusual but beautiful. It suits you well.”
Hermione tugged a tendril of hair behind her ear and blushed, “Thank you.”
Theo was outraged by Hermione and Ryan’s friendly behaviour and complained loudly, “Oh, the bleeding wanker is flirting with her.”
Draco continued showing indifference but said irritably, “I fail to see how this affects you, Nott.”
Still, Theo ignored his friend's annoyed words and insisted, “Aren't you going to do something about it?”
Calmly, Draco leaned back in his chair and regarded one of his best mates, "What would you have me do? Defend her honour by beating him with a rack of lamb. Besides, she seems to be enjoying herself." She was playing with her hair and giggling like some lovestruck schoolgirl. It was pretty sickening to watch.
Ryan stepped out of the line, and the person behind him sighed with relief.
He said curiously, "Going by your accent, would it be wrong to assume your British?"
Hermione nodded, "Spot on and what part of America are you visiting from?"
Ryan answered quite proudly, "New York. I'm here on vacation with my friends and sister."
He gestured towards a table where a bunch of people were chatting animatedly, and a stunning woman in her early twenties looked forlorn, "That's her over there." She seemed to be looking elsewhere, and Hermione followed her intense gaze and frowned.
The woman was staring at their table and, most importantly, at Malfoy.
What was she playing at? Hermione thought frustrated.
She smiled and politely excused herself, "Well, it was good to meet you, Ryan."
Ryan smirked, "Likewise, I hope I run into you again." He liked this one. She seemed well put together with a good head on her shoulders. However, he had noticed the ring on her finger, but a few discretions were clearly permissible. If she had no qualms about it, he certainly did not.
"Enjoy your eggs," Hermione responded cheekily and regretted her words. She rolled her eyes and turned away, embarrassed. She had absolutely no game.
Ryan muttered, amused by her behaviour, "I will."
Without a backwards glance, Hermione hurried away and headed straight for her seat. She sat down and pursed her lips while nearly everyone stared at her, awaiting an explanation. Not that anything worthy of explaining had occurred. She met a new person, which was hardly newsworthy, but her group thought otherwise.
Ginny's voice tore through the awkward silence, "Umm, Hermione?"
Grateful that someone spoke to her, Hermione replied with a guarded response, "Yes?"
Ginny pointed to the plate and raised a quizzical brow, "Do you plan on only eating toast for breakfast? I thought you were hungry."
Hermione looked down at her plate and frowned. The bread was soggy, and the butter was all but an oily puddle in the middle of her plate.
Bugger.
Draco noisily pushed aside his plate, making Hermione flinch. He slipped on a pair of dark Ray-Ban sunglasses, roughly pushed back the chair and rose, “Excuse me, but I've lost my appetite.” He walked away without a backwards glance, yet he turned many heads.
Muggle London
Teddy polished off the sizable burger within minutes, wiped his mouth with a tissue and requested, "Can I get an apple pie, Uncle Harry?"
Harry chuckled, "That's your second Big Mac, mate. Where do you put it all?" He had taken the kids into Muggle London for the day since he always thought giving them the best of both worlds was best.
Molly had insisted she accompany, but Harry had politely refused, stating that he could look after the children unsupervised.
Against her better judgment, Molly grudgingly agreed and went to the Burrow to spend a relaxing day with her husband.
Teddy grabbed a bunch of fries and stuffed his face with them. Mouth full, he barely got the words out, "I love the fries."
Harry took a large bite off his burger and suggested, "So, shall we head to the new arcade once we're done here?" There was a play area for James, and Teddy enjoyed playing video games whenever he could.
Teddy nodded in agreement enthusiastically, "Yeah sure."
Harry inquired, "Do you need anything from Diagon Alley?" He couldn't help but stare at Teddy. The boy would be off to Hogwarts in a few years, and he would miss him terribly.
Teddy shrugged, “Hmm, nope, not really. Can we pick up some comic books from that Muggle store?” He had gone through his collection repeatedly and needed new reading material.
Harry licked the sauce off his finger and grinned, “Of course, mate.”
He pushed the fries towards his child and instructed, “James, eat your fries, love.” He had no idea how picky his son was regarding food. The scamp had outright refused everything.
James pouted, “I want sauce, daddy.”
Harry sighed, “Promise you won't get it all over yourself?” He knew he would live to regret his decision, but anything was better than a hollering toddler.
No sooner did Harry squeeze the sauce into the box of the Happy Meal James stuck his hand in and out it came covered in the sticky red liquid. He licked his fingers and cleaned them on the front of his new T-shirt.
Harry slapped his forehead and almost yelled, “Oh no, James. I told you to be careful.” He thanked Merlin that Molly had packed extra clothes and baby wipes.
James giggled and grabbed a fistful of saucy fries and munched on them.
Harry smiled and popped a greasy fry into his mouth, “Mmm, you're right, Teddy. These fries are pretty awesome.”
James licked his fingers and said, “Yummy!”
Harry shook his head and grinned, “Naughty rascal.” He was right to insist his wife went to Hawaii. She truly deserved a break.
DMLE
Thomas leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and thought back to the previous night when he spoke with Kingsley.
It was an ungodly time, but it had to be done. Thomas pulled up the collar of his coat and rubbed his hands together to generate heat before knocking on the door. A few minutes later the lights came on, and Kingsley answered the door dressed in midnight blue pyjamas with printed half moons.
He frowned, stepped aside for Thomas to enter and scolded, “You better have a reasonable reason for dragging me out of bed at this hour, Spencer.”
Taking out his wand, Thomas pointed it at the dormant fireplace and muttered an incantation, causing sparks to fly out of the tip and land on the partially burnt logs, igniting them and giving life to a roaring fire.
Thomas turned slowly to face the Minister of Magic and delivered the horrible truth, “It's Dolohov. It's confirmed.”
Kingsley collapsed into the nearest chair. He asked earnestly, his head in his hands, “Did you inform Potter?”
Thomas shook his head, “Not yet. I thought it best to tell you first.” Fuck. He felt guilty, but his decision to inform Kingsley first wasn't intentional. It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Despite his reservations about Potter’s appointment, the kid was his boss and deserved his respect.
Kingsley was slightly disappointed in Spencer but kept his thoughts to himself. He rose from his seat and crossed the room to where he held a well-stocked bar. He pulled out two tumblers, and poured a splash of scotch into each one.
He handed Thomas a glass and sternly said, “Harry is on leave, but of course, he will want to know at once.”
Kingsley sipped and savoured the rich taste, “At least we know what we are up against.”
Thomas took the glass and responded, “Yes, I know. I’ll inform him first thing tomorrow.”
A gentle tap on his shoulder brought him back to the present. He opened his eyes to find Hannah peering at him curiously.
Hannah poked him and said, “Earth to Spencer.”
Thomas mumbled, “Hmm…”
Hannah frowned, “What are you doing here on a Saturday?”
Thomas straightened and mused, “I could ask you the same thing.”
Hannah quipped, “I have no life.” She missed Michael and Terry. They would grab a pint on the weekends or do something fun, but Boot was institutionalised, and Corner was still babysitting the Muggle Prime Minister.
Thomas asked thoughtfully, “Hannah, did you and Malfoy make an arrest?”
Hannah replied sceptically, “Yes, we did, actually. The man in question was a potion smuggler—a certified lunatic.”
Thomas scratched his chin and instructed, “Hmm, fetch the file for me, will you?”
Still, Hannah didn't move. Instead, she questioned, “Why the sudden interest?
Thomas became agitated and said firmly, “I'll explain later after speaking to Potter. Now, do as you are told.” He had gone by Potter’s home earlier, but no one seemed to be in. Afterwards, he tried his mobile, but again, it went unanswered.
Hannah returned to her desk, retrieved the file and dropped it on Spencer’s table, “Here you go.”
Thomas flipped open the file and studied the picture of the prisoner. The man did not look familiar.
He asked curiously, “How did Malfoy handle himself during the arrest?”
Hannah raved, “He was brilliant. Ask Corner. He was there incognito under Harry’s orders.” Despite his sordid past, Malfoy had surpassed all their expectations and showed precisely why Harry hired him.
Thomas said thoughtfully, “Hmm, I see. Remind me to speak to him once he returns.”
Hannah questioned impatiently, “What’s going on, Spencer? It's not like you to keep me in the dark.”
Thomas smiled, “All in good time, Abbott. Let's discuss the Strangler.” He appreciated her enthusiasm for the job.
Hannah wasn't entirely convinced but didn't pursue the subject further, “Alright, if that's what you wish.”
She spread out the pictures of the victims and pointed at them with her wand. Having them together made the gravity of the situation weigh down heavily on them. The poor women, in death, looked angelic, beautiful even. The bastard had seen to it that the corpses were surgically clean.
Hannah highlighted the pendant with her wand and said solemnly, “Thomas, Draco made some valid points.” She summarised what she discussed with Draco before his departure to Hawaii.
Thomas was impressed, “The boy is smart. I'll give him that much.” He hated to admit it, but Draco Malfoy reminded him of a younger version of himself. He had the uncanny ability to see beyond what was there and come to precise conclusions. It was part of what made him a successful Auror.
Hannah exclaimed, “He was right. Look at these pendants. They're identical. They looked similar, but these are almost the same.”
Thomas pulled a picture close to him and scrutinised it. He muttered thoughtfully, “Hmm, so they are. Interesting…” They had always known the pendant was the key to the murderer's undoing, but somehow, the investigation into the pendant's origin had proved fruitless.
Hannah expressed her frustration: "After our initial search into jewellers around London, we gave up on the effort to find the connection.”
Thomas gritted out, “That was bloody stupid of us. I'm not intrigued by the owl, but this wand…. The detail is too precise for it not to exist for real.” How could he have missed such a vital detail? Was he losing his touch or overworked? He would give up on nothing after their last costly mistake regarding Dolohov.
Hannah stared at him, awaiting further explanation, “What are you saying?”
Thomas grabbed his coat and announced, “We need to pay Ollivander a little visit. We should have focused on wandmakers instead of jewellers.”
Hannah was sceptical. She hesitated, “Is that necessary? He's pretty old, and word around town is he has dementia and is unaware of his surroundings. Why dont we start with others?”
Thomas chuckled, “Rubbish. If anyone knows who this wand belongs to, it's him.” Ollivander was significantly weakened after his capture by Voldemort, but his mind was still sharp despite the damaging rumours.
He glanced over his shoulder and beckoned, “Come on, Abbott. We don’t have all day!” He had a dinner reservation with Audrey, which he intended to keep no matter what.
Hannah frowned, “Don't you have to work on the werewolf case?” It was all everyone in the DMLE could talk about.
Thomas assured confidently, “Potter can do without me for a few hours. Besides, the Strangler is also a priority. We might still be able to save Sarah from her gruesome fate.”
Hannah smiled broadly and hurriedly followed her mentor out of the room.
Chapter 66
Summary:
To all the comments:- Thank you so much for taking the time to write such encouraging words.
We take a look at Cormac's involvement.
Fun moments in Hawaii.
Hannah and Thomas make a vital discovery.
Tension between Hermione and Draco
A bit of insight into the killer's morbid background
Enjoy Chapter Sixty - Six!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
McLaggen Residence
Cormac sat perfectly still in an oversized leather chair in his makeshift office that he maintained at home. He had been going less and less to the office since his illicit activities usually kept him busy till the wee hours of the morning.
He sighed and closed his eyes. When had his life taken such a dark and meaningless turn?
The answer lay before him in thin white strips. His indulgence was never supposed to go beyond a night of fun. Foolish really on his part to think he would be immune to addiction, arrogant even. He had morals and so much confidence back in the day, but those seemed to have withered away as the harrowing addiction consumed him.
At first, it was once a month, then once a week and then multiple times a day. He was dependent on the white drug to get him through the miserable hours of the day.
Deep down, Cormac knew it was destroying him. He wasn't a complete idiot, and all he held dear and upheld, but try as he might, he couldn't part with his beloved Snow White.
His father had pressured him to uphold the family name and marry for convenience. It got to be too much to bear. He just needed something to take the edge off.
He should've known indulging in the forbidden white powder and associating Montague and Goyle would have dire circumstances, but they had a steady supply to feed his addiction. Not only did they have dirt on him for using drugs, but they also had compromising pictures of him partaking in a lewd threesome where he was tied up while two women dripped candle wax on him, and he screamed in ecstasy. It was a setup from the start.
It would destroy his father and family if the pictures ever came out or his addiction came to light, and because of that, here he was, part of an underworld club, catering to a madman and suffering through utter humiliation.
He thought of going to Potter, Hermione even. To send her such a revolting letter filled him with disgust. He had fled and vomited until nothing was left. He would never consciously hurt her, but Goyle seemed enchanted, and something triggered when the trollish man saw her engagement to Malfoy. Since the fear of exposure hung over his head, Cormac had gone along with the moronic plan to send her a somewhat pornographic letter.
Cormac took out a pouch and poured its contents onto the table. Hundreds of Galleons fell onto the surface, colliding noisily with the glass table. It was his contribution to the cause, a cause he was forced into and one he did not believe in the slightest.
He was a man who had fought against pureblood dominance, and he wanted to take his life and end his line with him. Currently, he was of no use to anyone.
Hawaii
Theo wandered into the expansive games room of the hotel with one single purpose, and that purpose was examining cue sticks while standing beside a sizeable pool table and clearly in a world of his own.
He made his presence known, “Oi! What the hell are you doing?”
Blaise concurred with a slight smirk, “We were wondering where you got off to.” He had seen his best friend’s sharp features contort when the stranger approached Granger. Draco wasn't all that skilled at hiding his obvious jealousy.
Draco continued to eye the stick with interest and replied with little enthusiasm, “Well, now you’ve found me.”
Theo chuckled, “Defensive much?” Did Draco truly believe they couldn't see right through him?
Blaise stifled a laugh and questioned animatedly, “Yeah, mate, what's got your wand in a knot?” It was not common for him to side with Theo and tease Draco. It was usually the other way around.
Draco eyed them wearily and frowned, “Nothing. I'm all good.” Granger was free to speak with any fucking moron that grabbed her stupid fancy.
He tipped the stick forward until the end touched the table surface, which was usually made of quarried slate covered with cloth.
He addressed his mates and inquired with a raised brow, “Fancy a friendly game?”
“Definitely,” Theo answered excitedly and rushed to pick out his cue stick before Blaise beat him to it. Yet, he insisted, “Blaise, you go first and I'll take on the winner.”
Blaise was hardly intimidated. He simply shrugged, “Sounds good.”
Theo chalked his cue and cautiously asked, “So, what might I ask caused you to flee from breakfast?”
Draco narrowed his eyes to mere slits and gritted out, “Argh, Must I have a reason for leaving? I was done eating.” The last thing he wanted to discuss was Hermione Granger and her absolute gall to flirt with another man while he watched like some sap from the sidelines.
Blaise offered his insight, “Hmmm, no, not really, but the timing did collide with Granger being chatted up by that tall bloke.” The issue was clearly bothering his friend, and his feelings for Granger ran deeper than anyone knew.
Draco snapped, “You lot need to stop analysing my relationship with Granger and focus on your own bullshite.” He had no intention of explaining the abrupt exit.
Theo put his hand up in surrender and conceded defeat, “Alright, mate. There's absolutely no need to get all prissy about it. We get it, she's here with you and crossed a line.”
Draco had the sudden urge to break the stick in his possession in half but fought the primal urge and responded with an appropriate response, “Granger isn't here with me. We don't have the sort of relationship you lot have. She's free to do whatever she wants.” The words left a bitter aftertaste, but he couldn't force her to stick to his side. She would eventually, but under her own terms, and he would help it along however possible.
However, Theo simply rolled his eyes and said, “Right. Blaise, are you buying this load of crock?”
Blaise chuckled, “Not for a bloody second but I'll play along.”
Draco was pretty annoyed. He pointed to the colourful balls and instructed firmly, “Just shut up and rack.”
Blaise did as he was told and set to the task while Theo threw a few darts at the abused board.
Once done, Blaise straightened to his full height, though he was a few inches shorter than Draco and asked curiously, “Do you want to break or shall I?”
Draco’s confidence waned, and he answered with a slightly sheepish grin, “It's been awhile since I played. You go ahead, mate.”
Blaise nodded, placed his cue on the green cloth, bent over and struck the white ball, hurling it forward with such force and speed that when it collided with the coloured balls, there was a loud crack of sorts, sending two striped balls into separate holes.
Draco swallowed hard and knew he had bitten off far more than he could chew.
Malfoy Manor
Narcissa took a sip of her scotch and asked her companion, “Do you think the children are having a wonderful time?”
Bernard, who had been playing with Max, smiled, “Of course they are.”
Narcissa said thoughtfully but rather devilishly, “I do hope Draco and Hermione bond.”
Bernard laughed, “One can always hope, darling, but I fear, their relationship is complicated and will require a bit of time to adjust.”
Narcissa frowned, “I suppose you're right.” She hoped it wouldn't take too long. A grandchild would be such a beautiful addition to the family.
Max whimpered and wondered where his young Master had gone off to.
Hawaii
Theo complained somewhat loudly, waving his arms about madly, “For fuck sake, Blaise, will you take the shot. This isn't a bloody tournament and Draco clearly isn't very good.”
He shot his friend an apologetic look and mused, “No offense, mate.”
Draco chucked, “None taken.” He was atrocious. The only ball he managed to pocket had been by accident.
Blaise hissed, “Shut it, I’m just assessing the angle.” It was hard to strike the ball he wished without fouling.
Theo cried impatiently, “Argh, hurry up, you loser.”
Blaise lost his cool and let go, “Fine!” He missed the ball he intended, and to make matters worse, the white ball went into the nearest hole.
Theo bent over laughing and mocked, “You suck.”
Blaise smirked, “Oh yeah, why don't you put your money where your mouth is?”
Theo cocked his head to the side and grinned, “Your on, fucker.”
Draco stared at his friends. Clearly, they had forgotten his existence, much like someone else he held dear. He couldn't help but wonder what she was up to.
Hawaii
Ginny pushed aside her plate and groaned, “Oh, I can barely move. I ate like a pig.” She hardly ate such large portions. When she played Quidditch, she religiously followed a strict diet and workout routine, and after James, while she did exercise when time permitted, it was more occasionally than regularly. Who had the time with an active toddler?
Pansy said wisely, “Well, nothing like a little exercise to eliminate the calories.” She did yoga and swam to keep her body fit and trim. There wasn't a day she missed unless absolutely necessary.
She elegantly rose to her feet and invited, “I'm going for a swim. Care to join me, ladies?”
Ginny smiled and politely declined, “You go ahead, Parkinson. Hermione and I would like to explore the island and see as much as possible before returning to London.” They didn't have the days like the rest, and she intended to make the most of every minute.
She turned to the stoic woman beside her and nudged her gently, “Erm, Hermione?”
Hermione snapped out of the daze she had unwillingly slipped into and answered somewhat sluggishly, “Hmm, yes? Did you say something, Ginny?”
Ginny said with a definite roll of her eyes, “You’re hopeless, you know that?”
Hermione argued, “What did I do?” She was thinking hopelessly about Malfoy and why he left so suddenly.
Ginny pointed to the door Malfoy had walked out of and quipped, “Can you be more obvious?”
Hermione blushed, but she hid it well. She shrugged and busied herself, looking for the tour guide buried deep inside her bag.
Pansy hid a knowing smirk, stretched and said, “Suit yourself.”
Neville beamed and asked Ginny, “I'll tag along if you don't mind.” He wanted to spend time with his friends and be around some good old Gryffidors.
Pansy was taken aback by his request but said nothing. She wasn't the type of woman to control the comings and goings of her husband. He had a mind and friends of his own.
Ginny touched his arm and smiled warmly, “Of course, we dont mind, Neville.” Unlike the others, she had always enjoyed Neville’s company and surprising wit.
Pansy slipped on her sunglasses and waved, “Have fun, darlings. See you later!”
Nevile perked up, “So, where do you want to go first?”
Ginny replied thoughtfully, “Hmm, we could take in some of the more historical sights and head to the beach.” She wanted to have some real fun and sample some of the exotic cocktails the hotel keenly offered.
Hermione nodded in agreement while keeping her eyes on the tour guide firmly in her grasp, “Oh, yes. Hawaii is famous for white sandy beaches but sometimes lethal sun. However, I do want a glorious tan.”
“It's settled then,” Neville chimed in. He wanted to see a few places, but unfortunately, none of the others were interested. Luckily, Hermione and Ginny seemed keen to leave no stone unturned.
Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and asked a tad firmly, “Why were you flirting with that stranger?” If it could be called flirting. She needed to give Hermione some pointers.
“I was not,” Hermione averted her gaze and weakly defended her actions.
Ginny was floored by the stupid response and called her best friend out on it, “Oh, really? You had to have known how it would affect Malfoy.” The man was obviously upset over his fiance’s callous behaviour, and rather than cause a scene, he had simply fled the area.
Hermione said casually, “He's fine. We have an arrangement.” She was rather nonchalant about her responses because no one needed to perceive them as some happy, involved couple when the truth was far from it.
Neville, who had been listening, raised a quizzical brow, “An arrangement?” He couldn't quite fathom what Hermione meant by it.
Hermione offered what she thought was a plausible explanation, “Well, yes, we agreed not to meddle in each other's lives.” She recalled the night in the library at Malfoy Manor, where they had discussed and come to an agreement. Of course, that was before their sexual attraction to each other peaked.
Ginny snorted and injected sarcastically, “Oh, really? Is that why he stormed off?” Merlin, make Hermione understand or bluntly see what she stubbornly avoided.
Hermione fidgeted and mumbled, “I didn't notice.” Oh, she had noticed his hypnotising grey eyes on her, judging her every movement with disappointment and sizing her up. Malfoy was not subtle when he wished not to be.
Ginny shook her head and said exasperatedly, “How is it that you're incredibly smart but also dumb as a box of fucking rocks?” She had always thought Hermione was book-smart and lacked a particular understanding when it came to men.
Exhausted by her friend's insistent probing, Hermione gritted out, “Ginny, Malfoy doesn't care about me.” He wanted a quick shag, and that was putting it mildly. There were no bloody feelings involved.
“Really?” Neville frowned. He was pretty sure Malfoy felt something. A man would not react in the way he did if he didn't care about the woman.
Ginny conceded defeat, “Oh, I give up. Let's just go.” She would let nature take its course, and hopefully, Hermione would realise before either of them made an unforgivable mistake.
Hermione brought her hands together and pleaded, “Yes, please.”
Neville chuckled and followed the women out.
Hawaii
Blaise was beside himself with smugness, “Pay up, bitch.” He had won every match, and the tall, former Slytherin could hardly believe his eyes.
Theo was beyond annoyed but pulled out five crisp hundred-dollar bills and reluctantly placed them on Blaise’s awaiting palm. He eyed his friend suspiciously and demanded, “When did you become so good?”
Blaise revelled in his victory. He made a show of counting the bills and confessed slyly, “I had a table installed in my games room and you would know that if you visited often.”
Theo argued, “Yeah, and I would visit more often if you invited us.” Blaise hardly had them around, preferring to entertain out than at his home.
Blaise frowned and nodded in agreement, “Fair point, mate. Once we get back, I'll plan a get-together. What do you think, Draco?” With the kids and Daphne, it got to be too much sometimes, and he liked to be out of the house or meet his friends at a more relaxed place.
Draco came crashing back to reality, “Hmmm, what?” He had lost interest in his friends' game a while ago and slipped into dangerous thoughts concerning his betrothed.
Theo was positively scandalised, “Malfoy? What the fuck is wrong with you?” A few children who had wandered into the area jumped in shock.
Blaise teased, “Are you daydreaming about Granger?” He had no doubt his friend was obsessing over his forced coupling.
Draco ignored his friends and declared, “Look, let's head out.” He was getting more frustrated with each passing second.
Theo was overjoyed, “I'm game, I haven't seen everything. Besides, Luna is probably asleep.”
Blaise agreed wholeheartedly, “Let's do it!”
He looked at his t-shirt and said thoughtfully, “We might need a change of clothes, get whatever and let's meet at the bar in 10 minutes.”
Theo grinned, “Nice! I could go for a cold beer before we head out.”
Draco ran his fingers through his hair, oblivious to the eyes that followed his movements and trailed after his friends.
London
Hannah and Thomas appeared outside a modest home with a well-maintained garden. Still, it was pretty dark except for one light from the upstairs bedroom.
Hannah glanced toward the light and asked, “Looks pretty dead. Are you sure he's home?”
Thomas strode confidently down the pathway and towards the door. His heavy Auror robes rustled behind him.
He smiled at the eager girl beside him and answered before knowing, “I'm positive. He doesn't get around much.”
Hannah was sceptical that an older man such as Ollivander could be a reliable source, but she trusted Thomas's impeccable judgment. The man rarely led them astray.
The loud knock echoed through the seemingly deserted house, and before long, the door swung open, and an older witch in a Healer jacket greeted them warmly, “Good evening, Thomas. Please come in.”
“Thank you, Helen,” Thomas said while dusting his feet on the welcome rug. Hannah followed him into the house.
Helen smiled, “A bit chilly out?”
Thomas smiled slightly, “Indeed.”
He looked towards the stairs leading to the upper levels and asked, “Is he awake?”
A fond smile appeared on Helen's pleasant face, “Oh, yes. He's reading the latest Wandlore publication.”
Thomas rolled his eyes, “Of course, he is.”
Hannah hovered awkwardly in the background. She wondered why the Healer seemed to know Thomas. The situation was suspicious, to say the least. Also, she wished Thomas would introduce her to Healer Helen.
Finally, Thomas caught wind and said, “Oh, this is Hannah. She works with me.”
Hannah smiled, and Helen did the same, but then her smile faltered, “Are you here on official business?”
Thomas sighed, “A bit of both.”
Helen's gaze wandered, and she said, “Well, you know the way.”
With a curt nod, Thomas climbed the stairs with Hannah in tow. Their heavy footsteps echoed through the largely empty house.
Once on the first floor, Thomas turned left and came to stand outside a door. He exchanged a look with the slightly anxious young witch by his side and knocked.
A frail voice from within gave them permission to enter.
Thomas pushed the door open, and they came across Ollivander sitting up and avidly engrossed in the leatherbound book he was reading. He barely looked at his visitors.
The room was tastefully decorated with portraits of a younger Ollivander with famous patrons to his shop and a glass-encased replica of the Elder wand. In the corner was a bookcase with neatly arranged publications mainly related to Wandlore.
Thomas moved closer and greeted with a slight smile, “Good evening, Uncle.” His mother's cousin had certainly aged and looked rather frail and unwell. He supposed it was due to his age and other ailments.
Ollivander looked up from his book and beamed, “Thomas! How wonderful to see you and ah, you've brought a friend.” He concluded after seeing Hannah hanging about nervously in the back.
Hannah was stunned, “Uncle?” She wished Thomas had mentioned that critical detail.
Ollivander sat up straight and smiled warmly, “It's been ages. It's good to see you, son.”
Thomas chuckled, “Ollivander is my mother's cousin once removed.” He had purposely left out the particular detail to surprise Hannah, and judging by her face, he had achieved what he had set out to do.
A surprised “Oh…” was all Hannah could manage without appearing like an unprofessional twat.
Thomas went closer and asked genuinely, “How are you?” Despite his stern exterior, Uncle Olli was good fun and an excellent gift-giver.
When Voldemort abducted him, Thomas was gutted and used every resource available to find him. Alas, he failed in his quest, but all's well that ends well. His uncle was safe and sound until nature took its course.
Ollivander sighed, “I've been better, lad. Everything hurts. The joints especially. It's high time I died.
Thomas smirked, “You've been saying that for years.” Over the years, it had become a standing joke between the men.
The esteemed wand maker nodded and quipped, “So I have. It just never seems to happen.”
His features pinched together, and he became quite serious, “What can I do for you?” He knew his nephew was after something. The man's body language spoke volumes.
Thomas pulled a large photograph from his breast pocket and grimly said, “I want to show you a picture. Can you see if you recognise the wand? It's a replica of what we think is a real wand.” The picture was a closeup of the striking pendant, the craftsmanship so precise you could see the groves on the wand handles design.
Ollivander pushed his glasses further up his nose, took the picture in his hand and declared rather smugly, “I never forget a wand I've sold, and if it is one of mine or my father's I will surely remember, despite the many rumours that my minds slipped.”
Hannah had good reason to blush and look ashamed of herself. She had been very wrong in her assumption that Ollivander was senile.
Ollivander studied the picture. He ran his liver-spotted fingers over it and said thoughtfully, “Hmm, curious….”
Hannah asked curiously, before Thomas could, “What is it, sir?”
Ollivander replied quite confidently, “My father sold this. I was a lad at the time helping out in the shop and learning the ways of Wandlore.”
Thomas felt his breathing hasten. He could barely conceal his excitement, “Who does it belong to?”
Ollivander didn't skip a beat and said the name aloud, “Arabella Flint.” Despite his age, his memory was still intact, which was impressive to witness.
Hannah's eyes widened in shock, and she sputtered, “What? A member of the Flint family?”
Oblivious to the Aurors' jubilation, the retired wand maker answered with complete confidence, “I'm 100% certain.”
Thomas wasted no time and barked orders, “Hannah, find out everything you can about her. To the best of my knowledge, there are hardly any Flints left except Marcus, and he's kept his nose clean.”
Hannah beamed, “On it, boss. Thank you so much for your time, Mr Ollivander.”
Ollivander smiled, “It was my pleasure, dear. I get so few visitors.”
“I'll be along shortly,” Thomas further added when Hannah hesitated by the door waiting for him.
She nodded curtly and left the room by closing the door behind her. She quite literally flew down the stairs and out the door. Her heart fluttered relentlessly with excitement.
Ollivander fixed his nephew with a look and inquired, “What's all this about?”
Thomas saw no reason to withhold information and divulged the truth, “We are looking for a serial killer who leaves the pendant as his calling card.”
Ollivander was visibly upset, “Oh, dear. How many victims?” There was so much going on in the wizarding world that he had no idea about.
Thomas sighed in almost defeat, “Four. Three dead, and one missing. You've given us our first encouraging lead in the case.” It was indeed lucky that Ollivanders had sold the wand.
He glared at the picture and gritted out, “The bastard is meticulous but he overlooked one small detail.” These sadistic fools always made one mistake that led to their capture.
Ollivander nodded slightly, “The truth always prevails, Thomas.”
“Aye,” Thomas concurred. He had seen it enough in his line of work.
Ollivander raised a brow, “Still unmarried?” He was concerned that his nephew would remain alone.
Thomas chuckled, “Yes. My job makes it impossible to maintain any healthy relationship.” The older man was getting private, and he was one to talk. He had never seen his uncle court a woman or show any interest in marriage.
Ollivander smirked, “Hmm, that's just an excuse, Thomas.” Marriage had never quite appealed to him, but Thomas was different despite his no-nonsense persona to the rest. Besides, unlike his nephew, he preferred the company of wandmaking to starting a family.
It was time to leave. Thomas bid his uncle a fond farewell, “It was good to see you, Uncle.”
Ollivander smiled fondly, “Likewise. Visit soon.” He liked Thomas. The man wasn't like the other useless shites in the family. He had some substance.
Thomas nodded curtly, “You have my word.” He had to get home and over to Audreys at once. Hannah had the Strangler case under control for the time being.
Hawaii
Both parties went sightseeing and miraculously did not bump into each other. Shocking, really, considering it was a small area to cover on foot.
Ginny, Hermione and Neville took a more historic route. They went shopping whilst the Slytherin Trio frequented a few shops, eateries and bars while women generally ogled and appreciated them.
They got plenty of compliments on their accent, and Theo ate it all up and thoroughly enjoyed the attention. His wife was momentarily forgotten.
Draco stopped to ask a local about a place that rented sports bikes, and within thirty minutes, they were standing outside an impressive showroom.
Theo spoke in a loud, carrying voice, “What's with the sudden fascination with bikes?” The bloody things looked dangerous and reckless. Was Draco going through some midlife crisis? Clearly, he was too young.
Draco shrugged, “I saw something on the telly.” After drinking with Blaise, he returned to his room and watched a movie centred around sports bikes. The idea of owning a sleek piece of machinery appealed to him.
Besides, he had been watching the locals, and it seemed like a more cost-effective and efficient way to travel about.
There was only one salesperson, and he seemed preoccupied with a couple who simply could not decide what bike to rent.
Draco couldn't help but gravitate towards the Kawasaki models. Meanwhile, Blaise headed over to the Harley-Davidson and blew a low whistle.
Still, Theo couldn't be arsed by the powerful machines and instead followed Draco and tried to make conversation, “How's it going with Granger?”
Draco rolled his eyes. They were fixated on his non-existent relationship, and it was quite annoying.
He showed indifference but decided to humour his friend and confess, "Well, it's going. She's hot and cold. At present, very cold. If we could live our lives behind closed doors I think she would truly open herself up to me." In more ways than one, he thought jokingly to himself.
Theo rubbed his jaw, “Hmm, I suppose.” He honestly wondered whether Granger would be able to forgive Draco.
Draco exhaled, “It doesn't help matters that we keep running into issues.” Their problems were usually in the form of men trying to get into her trousers.
Blaise came over and injected with a wise anecdote, “Well, that's normal. Every couple has issues.” Salazar knew about the fights he had with Daphne over minor things.
Draco argued, “Yeah, but we are not a couple.” Well, not in the proper sense, at least.
Blaise raised a knowing brow and mused, “Do you sincerely believe that?” Surely, Draco wasn't that delusional?
Draco crossed his arms over his chest and refused to budge from his assessment, “I do. We share a physical attraction to each other, but that is it. I want nothing serious from Hermione Granger.”
Theo smirked, “Have you slept with her?” It was an innocent question, or so he thought.
Draco was livid, “That's none of your fucking business, Theo.” How dare he ask such a personal question?
Theo chuckled, “So, that's a firm no then?”
Draco took a menacing step closer and openly threatened, “Keep talking, and I'll obliterate you without a second thought.” Theo was far too crass at times, even for their liking.
Theo backed away and into a parked motorcycle. However, he responded with genuine concern, “Touchy. Well, if not her, then someone. You need to get out there.”
Draco turned his attention to the bike that got him interested and replied with a whatever attitude, “I can live without sex.” He had done it for so long that it was really not a big deal until Granger and her delectable smell started enticing him.
Blaise and Theo swapped a look of utter bewilderment.
Theo poked Blaise in the chest and hissed, “And what the fuck is going on between Weasley and you?”
Blaise swallowed hard and shrugged, “Nothing is going on. I'm just being friendly.” He really wasn't looking to relive his past.
Theo mused, “Yeah, we can all see that, but my question is, why.” They acted too familiar around each other, and there was clearly an underlying cause for it.
Draco sensed Blaise's discomfort and sought to change the topic, “Enough talk about Granger and Weasley. I want to give this a go.” He got onto a sexy bike, and his hands grasped the sturdy handles. It felt incredibly satisfying.
Theo was upset that his so-called best mates thought it fair to keep information from him. His voice mirrored his feelings, “Fine! Have your bloody secrets, but I thought we were brothers.” A nice dose of guilt to make them feel like a couple of arseholes.
Instantly, Blaise fell for it and groaned. He reluctantly confessed, “For fuck sake. I secretly dated Ginny for a while at Hogwarts. She dumped me for Potter.”
Theo stood frozen as he digested the surprising news. Finally, he found his voice and yelled, “What the fuck? Are you serious?”
Blaise hissed, “Yes. Now drop it, mate.”
Theo was certain Blaise meant business, and he had no intention of poking the hornet's nest. It was obviously a susceptible topic.
He diverted his attention to the motorcycle Draco was sitting on and exclaimed, “She's a beauty.”
Draco snapped, clearly in his own world, “Yeah, she is. I just wish she would let sleeping dogs lie and give me a bloody chance to make it all up to her.”
Blaise snorted, “Umm, I think he means the bike, mate, but thanks for sharing.”
Draco blushed and quickly sought to rectify his mistake, “Oh, right. Where's that bloody salesman?”
Being the tallest, Theo caught the overwhelmed man's attention, who seemed grateful for the distraction and hurried over.
He beamed, “Excellent choice, sir.”
Blaise nodded his approval and said, “Hmm, yes. Black or red?”
Draco didn't skip a beat, “Black, obviously.”
Theo rolled his eyes, “Shocking.”
He looked sceptical and asked, “You can ride this thing?”
Draco smirked, “Well, no time like the present to learn a new skill.” He had ridden smaller, less powerful bikes in the village when running errands for the temple.
The salesman was beside himself and happily directed, “Please follow me into the office. There's some papers to sign and the matter of payment.”
Formalities done, the man got on the shining black and green Kwashaki ninja with gleaming thick tyres and rode it out of the showroom and onto the street.
He handed over the keys to Draco with an encouraging smile. It had taken some convincing since he didn't have a valid driving license.
Still, Theo wasn't convinced and questioned, “Erm, Draco, this looks lethal. I left my wand back in the room, so if we crash, we fucking die.”
Draco grinned, “I have nothing to lose.” He caught sight of Blaise looking over his shoulder, forlorn and wistful.
With a mischievous grin, he asked, “Blaise, are you getting the Harley?”
Theo groaned, “Not you as well.” He wondered if he could rent a suitable car.
Blaise smirked, “You know what? I am. Hang on for a minute.” He hurried inside, and within twenty minutes, the paperwork was done, and he had a gleaming black Harley in his possession. It really was an efficient way to travel.
In his case, it had taken little effort since he had a valid British driving license, and after producing it, he was allowed to drive in Hawaii without issue. In fact, he had vouched for Draco as well.
Both men mounted their bikes, looking extremely pleased with their decision, while Theo stared at them, looking glum. He contemplated which of his friends to ride with and decided on going with Draco even though the Harley looked safer.
Draco handed Theo the extra helmet and assured him, “Relax, mate.” The lanky ex-Slytherin was nervous, and it showed. He was sweating profusely.
Blaise laughed aloud and, with one swift kick, brought his bike to life. Draco followed suit and pulled out, slowly at first, onto the somewhat busy street.
They rode carefully to get the feel of their machines, and once they did, Draco took off utilising the Kwashaki's superior power.
Theo squealed like a girl and held on tight out of fear of falling off or, worse, crashing. He wished he had picked Blaise. The man had children and would've been a safer bet than a single man determined to break the sound barrier.
His gangly arms reluctantly went around Draco’s waist, and his palm flattened against his mate's rather rock-hard abdominal muscles. It was necessary for survival.
The words left his mouth before he could stop them, “Damn your fit, Draco.”
Even over the rushing wind, Draco heard Theo loud and clear. He came to a screeching halt, causing Theo to give out a panicked yell for help.
He glanced over his shoulder and warned, “Get off, Nott.”
Theo got off, still holding onto his rapidly beating heart. Cars wheezed past them, and Blaise pulled up behind, wondering what the commotion was about.
He asked curiously, “What the hell happened?”
Draco sneered, “He touched me.”
Theo argued, “I can appreciate a man without tripping over my sexuality. Besides, I was holding onto you for dear life, you bloody lunatic.”
Blaise stifled a laugh, “You really are an enigma, aren't you, Nott?”
Draco said sternly, “He is not riding with me.” His decision was final.
Theo glared, “I don't want to ride with you. I value my life.”
Blaise sighed, “Come on, you arsehole.”
They ended up at the glorious beach. It seemed ideal with the weather and atmosphere.
After parking their bikes, they made their way onto the sand and looked around.
Theo whistled, “There's a lot of babes out.”
Blaise nodded in agreement, his eyes wandering over to a group playing volleyball. “Hmm, I guess. Some mighty fine women.”
A few bikini-clad women passed by and eyed Draco. His look was unique from the rest, especially the hair and eyes.
However, he wasn't bothered. He stared into the distance and asked his mates, “Have you ever been surfing?”
Blaise shook his head, “Can't say that I have. It does look bloody dangerous.” He had seen people giving it a go from the balcony but wasn't keen to try it out.
Draco felt his adrenaline pumping, “Let's give it go!” He welcomed distractions of any sort to keep his mind occupied.
Theo stepped back and wished he could stick his head in the sand, much like an Ostrich.
He voiced his concern, “Umm, I think I'll sit this one out.”
“Pussy,” Draco teased. He wanted to keep himself busy at all times. Mediation helped keep his mind focused, but activities kept his body anxious-free.
Theo sulked, “I'm not afraid, just feeling a little under the weather.” He was fucking terrified.
Blaise was onboard and offered words of encouragement, “Come on, Theo. Live a little.”
Theo spoke directly to Draco, “Why are you determined to die today? First, the bike and now this. You're frustrated, mate. You need to shag.”
Draco's features contorted unpleasantly.
He gritted out, “Fuck off.” He supposed Theo had a valid point. Was he trying to fill the void?
There were a few instructors conducting classes on the beach, and they approached the least busy one and explained their requirements.
None of them had tried surfing, and they were keen to learn it except Theo, who looked somewhat petrified but kept mum for fear of being ridiculed.
He kept mumbling about what a bad idea it was, and to make matters worse, he looked awkward and gangly in a significant life vest.
Blaise mused, “You look great, Nott, but you need the vest when you go into the water, mate.”
Theo frowned, “I'm about to piss me pants.” Why had he allowed them to talk him into this?
Draco rolled his eyes, “Hold on tight and follow the instructions.”
The instructor was a built man in his mid-thirties. He looked at Theo and said, “You don't need a life vest just yet, Kook.”
Theo muttered to no one in particular, “What the fuck is a Kook?” He took the jacket off and threw it on the ground.
They started training on land, balancing themselves on the boards and learning to stay focused before paddling out to sea.
Before hitting the sand of Oahu’s most famous beach, the Gryffindor trio enjoyed a prelude walk through downtown Waikiki, which had plenty to see. They started from Kaʻiulani Avenue, with the lush public garden featuring the namesake Hawaiian princess’ statue. Upon reaching the main street, Kalakaua Avenue, they found the sandy, palm-lined Waikiki beachfront shared by luxurious hotels.
Hermione gasped, “Ah, it's a bit crowded, isn't it?” She shielded her face from the sun with the back of her hand.
Ginny couldn't care less and said as much, “Who cares? The more the merrier.”
Neville grinned, “That's the spirit, Ginny.”
He looked towards the shoreline and exclaimed, “Oh, isn't that Blaise and Malfoy over there?”
Hermione giggled, “Whatever is the matter with Nott?” Theo waved his arms about madly while a local yelled at him.
Neville chuckled, “He's a character, isn't he? Bloody hilarious.”
He added thoughtfully, “I’ve always wanted to go surfing. Pansy was a little reluctant but she's not here to stop me.”
Ginny rolled her eyes, “Yes, feel free to act like a complete moron. Most husbands do when their wives are not around.” Men! They were just a bunch of boys at heart.
Neville chuckled. In his case, Pansy ran a tight ship. She hardly tolerated stupidity and was a tad bit bossy when it came to dealing with people.
Ginny started walking across the beach. She glanced over her shoulder and asked, “Do you want to come say hello, Hermione?”
Her courage deserted her, and Hermione hurriedly refused, “Um, no, not really. I think I'll change and soak up the sun.”
Ginny wasn't convinced. She knew her friend was avoiding Malfoy.
She frowned, “Suit yourself.”
Blaise saw Ginny and Neville first and greeted them enthusiastically, “Where'd you come from?”
Ginny smiled, “Did some sightseeing.”
She pointed to the surfing boards and quipped, “Looks easy.”
Theo complained, “This isn't for me.”
He looked around and asked, “Where's Granger?”
Neville pointed to an area and explained, “She's sunbathing.”
Draco had been cleared to paddle out to sea. He needed a wetsuit and went towards the changing rooms, where plenty of vendors were willing to sell a suit for a reasonable price.
He caught a glimpse of his fiancé lying on a sunbed, looking quite desirable in a red two-piece bathing suit that barely kept her decent. She had been wearing the bottoms all along.
Hermione caught sight of Draco changing, and he seemed relatively unaware that he had a large audience, and it grew once everyone saw a glimpse of his fit pale white arse.
She bit her bottom lip and stared unashamedly.
After, he pulled up the suit, she laid back and tried to concentrate on the book, but her eyes darted to her betrothed and his friends.
Ginny was on a jet ski, apparently having the time of her life. Blaise laughed, gave up on surfing and settled for riding a jet ski. He was having an enjoyable time with Ginny, but she had always been fun and unafraid to get her hands dirty.
Learning to surf proved harder than anyone thought. Theo binged on snacks while Neville gave it a good try, but once in the water, he kept falling over constantly and got knocked off his board by a particularly huge wave, causing him to call it quits and return to the hotel, bruised and aching.
Theo yawned, “Well, I've had about enough adventure for the day. I'm heading back to check on Luna.”
Blaise smiled, “Sure, mate. Catch you later.”
He turned to Ginny and said, “There's a few quaint shops where you can pick up some fun stuff for James, I got some toys and clothes for Carrie and Adam.”
Ginny perked up, “That's wonderful. Will you take me?”
Blaise grinned, “Of course, Red.” She looked so pretty, her freckles were clearly visible, and her long hair blew in the wind.
Ginny gathered her things and said cheerfully, “Oh, hold on, let me tell Hermione.”
Draco ran his fingers through his hair, looked to where Hermione was lounging and stated, “Don't bother, Weasley. I have plans for Granger.”
Ginny grinned devilishly, “Do you?”
“I do,” Draco replied with a wink. Granger hadn't so much as bothered to speak to them, and it was in poor taste.
Ginny adopted a motherly tone and wagged her finger, “Well, have her home at a reasonable hour.”
Blaise boldly took Ginny's hand and pulled her towards the street, “Let's get going, love.”
Ginny called out, “Have fun, Malfoy. Thread carefully.”
Draco smiled slightly and walked purposefully towards the dressing rooms to change out of his wetsuit and put on a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt and a leather jacket.
London
Audrey stared at the clock. There was still time, but she couldn't help but feel that something more important would whisk Thomas away, and he would owl at any moment to cancel.
She felt silly and lightheaded, more like a schoolgirl waiting to be taken to the ball than the mature woman she was.
The doorbell rang, and she almost jumped out of her skin.
Thomas looked sharp and clean in a black shirt, grey pants and blazer.
“Hi,” He said casually.
Audrey swallowed the lump in her throat and replied, “Hi.”
Thomas looked her over and complimented, “You look lovely.” Why was he so nervous?
Audrey smiled, “So do you. The blazer is a nice touch.”
Thomas grinned, “Shall we?”
Audrey nodded, “Yes, please. Oh, hang on, let me grab my purse.” She picked it up, headed out and closed the door behind her.
Thomas made slight conversation, “You will love this place. They're known for their seafood.” He was looking really forward to dinner.
“I love seafood,” Audrey replied, happy that he remembered details about her preferences.
Thomas held out his good arm, “I know, darling.” He loved to see her smile.
Hawaii
Hermione lay on the sunbed reading a particularly riveting book about, ironically, a marriage of convenience. She was at a relatively good part when a shadow fell over her, blocking the sun completely.
Surely, it wasn't that late.
She looked up from her book and saw the source of the eclipse.
“Nice jacket,” the words slipped out without much thought. He did look fetching.
Draco smirked, “Pansy took me shopping once I returned.” Thank Merlin for Parkinson’s good fashion sense.
Hermione rested her book on her bosom and asked quite innocently, “What can I do for you, Malfoy?”
Oh, so she was going to make him work for it, even though her behaviour was insensitive and downright rude.
Draco ignored the sarcasm and asked politely, “Do you have plans, Granger?” He would make things happen if she was reluctant or waiting for him to make the first move.
Honestly, he was about done taking things slow. It was driving him to the brink of madness.
Hermione sighed, “Umm, no. Maybe later, but first, I wanted to get a lovely tan.” She emphasised her point by sensually running her fingers up and down her exposed flesh, but she wondered what he was getting at.
Draco didn't waste time with useless explanations, nor did he ask for her permission, “Good.” He grabbed her swiftly by the wrist and pulled her unceremoniously to her feet.
Caught off guard, Hermione stumbled and struggled, “What are you doing, Malfoy? Let me go!” Her book fell to the ground and got covered by sand.
Draco simply smiled rather smugly, “I'm taking you out.” His friends had a valid point, he needed to satisfy the yearning for the elusive witch squirming in his grasp.
Hermione looked around wildly and protested, “But Ginny…” Where the hell was her best friend? She had been by the beach not a moment ago.
Draco raised a knowing brow, “She will survive without you. Do you even know where she is?”
Caught without a plausible explanation, Hermione struggled to find a suitable reply, “Well, umm, no…but…” Her words fell over themselves clumsily.
Draco replied with an amused expression, “She's with Blaise.”
Hermione could hardly conceal her surprise, “What?” Why had Ginny gone off without telling her, and why was she alone with Blaise!?
Draco frowned, “Because unlike you she's getting out there and having fun.”
Hermione tried to free herself from his ironclad hold and scowled, “For Merlin's sake, will you please allow me to get dressed first.” She felt a sudden burst of excitement flood her insides.
He looked her over, letting his eyes linger on certain parts and let her go with an amused smirk, “Why? You look fine.”
Hermione cried indignantly, “I am not walking about in bikini bottoms.”
Draco brazenly pulled at a tender string that held one side of her bottom up and teased, “Too bad.” He wanted to slip his hand inside and feel her warmth.
Hermione blushed but couldn't help but smile suggestively. He seemed more relaxed and captivating than usual.
She picked up her things and said, “Give me a minute. I'll be right out.”
Draco pointed to the sidewalk beside a large palm tree and replied, “Meet me over there.” It's where he had parked his rented bike.
Hermione nodded and hurried her step towards the ladies' changing rooms. She changed out of her bathing suit into a short summer dress and applied a light layer of makeup. Thank goodness for magic.
Once satisfied with her appearance, she approached the meeting point and gasped, “What is that?”
Draco raised a quizzical brow and said with an amused expression, “I thought you would know more about Muggle devices than me.”
Hermione stared unblinkingly at the sleek motorcycle and snapped, “I know what it is, idiot. I simply meant, why are you sitting on it.”
Draco grinned, “I rented it for the duration of our stay.” He thought against mentioning what happened at breakfast because it wasn't really worth mentioning in the first place. Most importantly, he did not want to dampen the mood.
Like Theo, Hermione wasn't convinced and made her thoughts quite clear, “Are you sure you can ride one of these things, Draco?”
Draco smiled slightly, a glint flashed across his eyes, and he drawled, “Don't you trust me?”
“No,” Hermione muttered.
Draco pushed a helmet into her hands and instructed firmly, “Get on, Granger and wear the helmet.”
Hermione's features pinched together in disgust, “It smells revolting.”
Draco sighed and quite literally pleaded, “Can you for once in your life do as you're told. Please, I beg of you.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, “Fine! I've never been on one of these before.”
Draco started the engine and revved. The sound was menacing, and plenty of people passing by looked impressed.
Once she sat astride with some difficulty, he reached back, caught hold of her wrist and brought it around his taut waist. She was forced to lean onto his back and rest her face on his broad back just below his neck. Merlin, he smelled so good, she itched to kiss him.
However, she kept pulling her dress down. It was riding up her thighs and made her self-conscious.
He wore a black helmet that completely covered his face and muttered, “Hold on tight.” She heard him, but barely.
Draco took off, Hermione screamed and shut her eyes. She held onto him firmly with both hands, her fingers dug deep into the white t-shirt. She was sure she left rough nail marks on him from where her fingers clawed at him.
At the traffic lights, he came to a halt, and Hermione mumbled, “Oh Merlin, have you ever ridden one of these before?”
Draco chuckled, “Only the rusty mopeds in the village. It's practically the same thing.” That much was true, but he was a natural at efficiently handling the machine.
Hermione yelled over the noise of the engine, “WHAT?” Mopeds were a step above bicycles, barely. How could he possibly compare it to the bike that he was riding?
Draco leaned slightly back so she could hear him clearly. He laced his fingers through hers and said, “I promised I wouldn't let you fall, and I do not intend to break that today. Have some faith.” His words struck a chord, and she desperately wanted to believe him.
Hermione closed her eyes, leaned, if possible, closer until her breasts were utterly pushed up against his back and conceded defeat. In the end, he always won.
She gave herself to him, come what may and whispered, “I trust you, Draco.” The thrill of riding with him was quite unexplainable.
Her words and sultry tone made his heart slam against his ribcage, and his breathing hastened. Her hands on him were sending his body all the wrong signals.
They rode hard and fast down the open road, passing tourists and locals going about their day. They stopped by a large ice cream stand overlooking the ocean. It seemed to be a popular establishment.
Hermione got off first, got rid of the disgusting helmet and fixed her hair. Draco waited till she gathered herself before taking off his helmet and dismounting. His long legs helped his cause.
He took her hand in his, ran his fingers through his hair and smiled, “Ice cream?”
Hermione smiled, slightly doe-eyed and excited, “Vanilla, please.”
She took a seat while Draco went to get their order. He arrived shortly with waffle cones stacked with vanilla and chocolate ice cream. She noticed rainbow-coloured sprinkles on both.
He handed her the vanilla cone and took the seat beside her. It was quite a hot day, and the ice cream was beginning to melt.
Still, Hermione lapped up the dripping vanilla with precision and care. She ate her ice cream artfully and methodically by using the expanse of her tongue to lick all the way around, preventing a melted mess.
Draco stared. His cone was still in his hand, and melted chocolate ice cream ran down the sides and stuck stubbornly to his fingers. He felt a tightening in his jeans as erotic thoughts of Granger's pretty little lips wrapped around his cock came to mind.
He licked the chocolate off his fingers and couldn't help but ask, “Do you always lick an ice cream cone in that manner?”
Hermione fixed him with a weird, perplexed look, “I really don't know what you mean.” She continued to enjoy her cold treat without making a mess while her companion struggled to keep ahead of his melted mess.
Draco drawled huskily, “Don't play coy with me, Granger.”
She licked her bottom lip, closed her eyes and almost moaned, “I wouldn't dream of it. Mmm, this is delicious, isn't it?”
Eyes still closed, she offered foolishly without much thought, “Do you want a taste?”
Draco smirked, “Indeed.” He reached over and kissed her full on the mouth, causing her eyes to fly open in alarm, but it was over before it started.
He licked his pink lips and rasped, “Mmm, tasty.”
Hermione averted her gaze and blushed hard. She needed to stir the conversation away from its direction, and where it was headed required no talk.
She swallowed hard and asked casually, “Are you prepared for the Auror trials?”
Draco licked a swipe around his ice cream and responded, “Hmm, pretty much, yeah. The potions part concerns me.”
Hermione was genuinely surprised, “Bollocks. You were brilliant at Potions, much to my disdain.” Snape's Little Golden Boy.
Draco chuckled, “That was a while ago, and it's different now.” The potions required of him were well past N.E.W.T level, and despite his diligence, he had some trouble with it.
Curiosity got the better of her, and Hermione pried, “How did you get to be so brilliant with spells?” He had been away for nearly ten years, away from magic, so how was it that he could do complex spells?
Draco bit the top bit off his ice cream. It was cold and hurt his teeth. Still, after the pain passed, he explained, “Well, mum always taught me. Besides, I was way more advanced with everyday spells than everyone else, and Bellatrix taught me the rest in a very short span.” He recalled the gruelling lessons and severe torment he had to endure.
Hermione flinched. The very mention of the dark witch sent a shiver down her spine.
Draco noticed her change in demeanour and regretted his choice of words. He had to be careful not to mention his dead aunt.
Still, he ignored it and continued casually, “I have a good memory. So, even without the use of my wand, I would practice for hours at night pretending I had my wand in hand. Turns out it was quite useful since after I mastered wandless magic, I was able to focus my mind and the movement would just appear inside my head.”
Hermione was beyond impressed, “Amazing. Honestly. I'm at a loss for words. Truly remarkable.” She was almost done with her ice cream and munched on the waffle cone.
Draco teased, “A compliment? That must leave a bitter taste in your mouth.”
Hermione argued, “Not when it's well deserved.” He would never cease to amaze her.
Draco smiled broadly, “Well then, thank you. It means heaps coming from you.”
He asked a rather general question, “So, what do you think of Hawaii?”
Hermione's eyes lit up, and she raved, “It's warm and beautiful. The people are so lovely. I swear, the pictures don't do it justice.”
Draco nodded, “Agreed. Everyone seems so bloody relaxed. It's unnerving if I'm being honest.” He was trying to finish his ice cream cone, but it seemed impossible.
Hermione giggled, “Yeah, tranquil and calm. I wouldn't last in a place like this.” She enjoyed a bit of drama and intensity.
Draco read her mind and mused, “Why? Is it because you crave chaos and carnage?”
Hermione answered thoughtfully, “Chaos, maybe, but carnage, no. Speaking of which, I hope everything is alright back home.” No one had contacted her, so she figured all to be well. After all, no news was good news at times.
Draco responded knowingly, “No one has died, if that's what you're wondering.”
Hermione raised a curious brow, “How would you know?” He was an Auror in training while she was the Undersecretary. Surely, she had more clearance.
A fond smile crossed his face, “My partner keeps in touch.” Hannah messaged him at least once a day. It felt good to hear from her. She kept him updated and on his toes to study when time permitted.
Realisation struck home, and Hermione sighed, “Ah, Hannah.” It was clear the two were close, but how close was the critical question?
Draco elucidated further, “As a matter of fact, they have a solid lead on cracking the Dollhouse Strangler case.”
That was news to Hermione, and though she felt somewhat resentful for not being kept in the loop, she was overjoyed, “That's brilliant. It would give me great pleasure to see that nutter behind bars.”
Her features contorted painfully, “How could a person do that to someone? It really goes to show how unhinged some people can be.”
Draco shrugged, “Well, there are multiple factors that could have pushed him down his current path.” Not everything was in black and white. There were plenty of mitigating factors that had to be taken into consideration. He knew first-hand about those.
Hermione couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. Was Malfoy defending the sadistic bastard?
She refuted strongly, “Catch yourself on. There is absolutely no excuse for a person to commit such heinous crimes. Kidnapping, murder, rape?”
Draco exhaled, “You misunderstood my words. Anyways, enough shop talk. We're on holiday, let's forget about the lunatics back home and enjoy the moment.”
The sun was almost setting, and a beautiful orangish hue settled over them.
Hermione suggested somewhat reluctantly, “We should get back.” She was worried about Ginny but also wanted to spend time with Malfoy. It was tiresome to feel such conflicted emotions.
Draco disagreed and voiced his thoughts, “Am I boring you?” He asked while cleaning a smidge of ice cream off her face with the flat side of his thumb.
Hermione quickly defended herself, “No, it's just that Ginny is alone and…”
Draco sighed in exasperation and injected, “Weasley's gone shopping with Blaise for the kids and spouses. Nothing more or less.”
Hermione looked rather nervous and muttered, “Hmm, have they?”
Draco raised a brow, “Do you not trust them together? I would think you would have more faith in your friend.” Did she honestly believe Blaise and Ginny would have an affair?
Hermione frowned, “I do, you lout. It's nothing like that. It's just that everyone's a long way from home.” Mistakes were bound to happen, unrepairable, gut-wrenching mistakes.
“Indeed,” Draco replied off the bat. He wouldn't mind making a few pleasurable mistakes of his own.
He asked with a smile, “Are you glad you came?” She thoroughly enjoyed herself even though it wasn't always with him.
She was genuinely grateful and expressed herself without holding back, “I am. Thank you for inviting me.”
Draco reached over and covered her hand with his and drawled, “It's my pleasure.”
He felt her shift and pleaded gently, “Relax, darling.”
Hermione composed herself and answered truthfully, “I am…. It's this place. It's so romantic, and I've not been away like this in ages.”
The last time, if she recalled correctly, was a trip to Ireland with Ron that turned into a bit of a disaster because some random bloke at the hotel had paid her a compliment, asked for her autograph, and completely ignored the fuming redheaded man glued to her side.
Moving closer, Draco whispered and kissed the shell of her ear, “Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you.”
Oh, she doubted that very much. If she let him, he would destroy her.
A shiver went down her spine, and Hermione shuddered, her voice low and somewhat seductive, “What are you doing?”
Draco moved her hair out of the way, kissed her neck tantalisingly slowly, and said huskily, “Do you feel nothing when I'm close?” She felt his hand on her thigh. He wouldn't dare. They were in a public place.
Hermione moved into his touch and almost moaned, “I feel too much.”
He bit down gently on her earlobe and rasped, “I need a drink.”
She couldn't bear it any longer and shot to her feet and agreed, “I second that.”
Hawaii
Blaise picked up a bright blue shirt with the words “I love Hawaii”, scrawled across it and held it out for Ginny to see.
Ginny grinned, “That's perfect. Harry will love it.” She had her arms full of soft toys and books.
Blaise put a cap on backwards and smirked, “What do you think, Red? Do you think the missus will go for it?”
Ginny doubled over with laughter and said, “She's bound to chuck you.”
Blaise returned the cap to its original place and asked, “I'm starving. You want to grab a bite before dinner?”
Ginny was famished and didn't realise it until Blaise mentioned it. She nodded vigorously. They paid for the stuff and, laden with multiple bags, searched for a restaurant that served hamburgers and fries.
Hawaii
The bar was a couple of miles out of the city. The motorcycle ride was perfect. They opted to go without helmets, which was a wise decision for the moment.
The wind felt great against their skin. Hermione held onto Draco and rested her head on his back.
She placed a few discreet kisses on the back of his leather jacket. She was sure he couldn't feel them under the heavy material.
She honestly felt like she had landed in some television soap opera playing the lead actress, and Draco was her forbidden love interest.
A bit lost, Draco stopped to ask for directions. The locals were so welcoming and friendly. It was a refreshing change compared to the sometimes unfriendly British populace.
Before they headed out, he kissed her hand and glanced over his shoulder. He smiled, and bits of his platinum locks blew in the wind. Hermione felt butterflies in her stomach. These weren't appropriate feelings, and she willed them away.
They pulled into a car park of sorts, except lush trees and plenty of shade surrounded it. Quite visible was a lovely bar and restaurant made entirely of aged wood. It was breathtaking.
The establishment was popular since plenty of tourists occupied the tables and seats at the bar. It was quite apparent why. The place was stunning, a true hidden gem.
Hermione stared in awe, “I'm speechless. How did you learn about this place? It's not in the guide.”
Draco ran his fingers through his hair and smiled, “Pity. One of the blokes at the ice cream parlour recommended it since we were tourists. I think his uncle owns the place.”
Hermione nodded with realisation, “Ah, well, good choice. It's gorgeous.”
Without waiting for her consent, Draco took her hand and dragged her forward. They entered the lovely space, and an older woman with a charming smile and charismatic personality greeted them.
“Good evening, how can I help you?” She asked with a thick accent. Her attitude, attire and appearance clearly showed she was a local and true professional.
Draco flashed his most winning smile and said, “A table for two, please.”
She looked at them, sized them up and grinned, “Please follow me.” She knew exactly where to seat them. It would be outside, lit by candlelight, situated on a precipice. The scenic view was beyond comparison to anything else on the island.
Draco smiled once they arrived at their table, “Thank you.”
Hermione felt herself gravitate towards the view. It was truly breathtaking. The weather was taking a turn, and she shivered from the sudden gust of cold air that blew their way.
She rubbed her arms in a futile effort to stay warm.
Draco caught sight of this, abandoned the menu and came to stand behind his stubborn, pigheaded, at times, fiance. He slipped off his leather jacket and draped it around her shoulders.
Hermione felt his presence at her back. Her nerve endings came to immediate life around him. She put her arms through the sleeves and bundled herself within the leathery warmth. It felt luxurious and smelled expensive.
She boldly leaned against him, her back to his front and sighed, “It's beautiful here, isn't it?”
Draco slipped his arm around her waist. He pulled her closer, placed an endearing kiss on the top of her head and drawled, “Yes, I suppose it is.” Mere words could not be used to describe the beauty before them. Mountains, lush greenery and a beautiful setting sun in the distance.
“Are you ready to order?” The server asked, looking somewhat embarrassed. He had interrupted far worse situations in his time.
The couple of sorts reluctantly broke apart. Hermione returned to the table, followed closely by Draco and pulled the menu towards her.
It suddenly dawned on her that she was starving despite the ice cream an hour or so ago.
Hermione thought for a bit. Everything looked delicious, but she finally settled on something familiar, “Hmm, I'll have the half chicken with mashed potatoes, vegetables and, umm, brown rice.”
“And for you, sir?” The server asked politely.
Draco didn't hesitate. He felt like trying something local and requested “Lau Lau.” Which was chunks of pork shoulder seasoned with Hawaiian salt, wrapped in thick layers of soft taro leaves and steamed inside Ti leaves.
The waiter was pleased by his choice and replied, “An excellent choice.”
He asked eagerly, “Anything to drink?”
Draco pondered and wondered if they should have something stronger like scotch but ultimately decided on a more subtle approach, "A bottle of your finest red wine and a bottle of water at room temperature, please."
“Coming right up, sir,” The server responded enthusiastically. He could sense big spenders and tippers from a mile off. If he played his cards right, he could receive a hefty tip.
Hermione made herself comfortable on the slightly uncomfortable wooden chair and sought to break the awkward silence they had slipped into since the server disappeared with their order.
She cleared her throat, “So…”
The waiter returned with their drink order and presented the bottle of vintage wine to Draco, who nodded his approval.
When the server went to pour the red liquid into their glasses, Draco stopped him with a smile and said, “We can manage, mate.”
He poured Hermione a glass of rich red wine and then helped himself.
She raised the glass and hesitated with what to say before it dawned on her, “To magical destinations.”
Draco concurred, “Cheers.”
The food arrived shortly after, and they tucked into the beautifully plated meals.
Curiosity got the best of her, and Hermione asked, “How's your Lau Lau?” It looked tempting, with the main dish wrapped inside leaves of some sort. The aroma was mouthwatering.
“Mmm, divine. The meat melts in your mouth,” Draco replied without hesitation. He followed it up quickly with a sweet gesture, “Would you like a taste?” He forked together the best pieces and reached over the table so she could eat it off his fork.
Hermione eagerly ate the offering, and a bit of gravy got on her cheek. She cleaned it and retorted, “Oh wow, that's delicious.”
Draco leaned back in the chair, massaged his chin and said thoughtfully, “I want us to be friends, Granger.”
Hermione chuckled, “We are sort of like friends, Draco.” It was more like kissing friends. They were anything but mere friends.
They were already halfway through the wine and feeling the effects of it.
Draco brazenly teased, “Are we friends with benefits? Since we happen to kiss and touch when no one's watching.”
Hermione stifled a laugh. She had no explanation nor comeback for his accurate depiction of their coupling.
He looked about and smirked, “Well, no one here knows us. To them, we are just two regular people on vacation.”
Hermione responded rather solemnly, “I'm not very good with casual flings, Malfoy, despite all my talk and bravado.”
Done with his meal, Draco pushed his plate to the side and opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by the motherly woman who seated them. She balanced a tray with two tall drinks, which looked unmistakably like Long Island Ice Tea.
She beamed, “Drinks on the house for the beautiful couple.”
Hermione almost choked on a piece of chicken. Still, she managed to sputter, “Oh, we aren't a couple.”
However, Draco flashed his flawless smile, “That is very kind of you. Thank you, we really appreciate it.”
After the woman left, Draco rounded on Hermione, taking the last bite of her meal and argued, “Don't bother, Granger. We look and act the part. Just go with it.”
Hermione was tipsy and opening up far more than she wished. Not that she hadn't had flings, once, maybe twice, but men generally treated her differently. Deep down, she wasn't used to anything fully casual.
Draco took a sip of wine, savoured the taste and spoke his mind, “Hmm, it doesn't have to be casual. We are to be husband and wife in a few days.” It was a firm statement and not one to be trifled with. His authoritative tone of voice supported his beliefs.
Hermione blushed. She drank the last of the red wine and stared at the man in front of her. He, indeed, was a mystery.
A band played soft music, and a few couples danced to the soothing romantic beats.
Draco eyed the dancing couples through hooded lids. He enjoyed the vocals, and apparently, so did his fiancé because she swayed from side to side and stared at the band as if mesmerised.
He watched with a smile on his face, glad to see her relax and enjoy herself. He truly wanted to make her happy during the course of their marriage.
Even though he seldom danced, Draco got to his feet and offered his hand, “Would you care to dance, Granger?”
Hermione was pleased by the gesture and accepted without a second thought, “I would love to, Malfoy.”
He pulled her close, so close, in fact, she could hear his rapidly beating heart. She put her arms around his neck, and they moved in time with the music. It was blissful to be themselves and not be bothered by the expectations and judgement that dogged their every step.
Salazar, her sweet, intoxicating scent was enough to send his hormones into overdrive. Frankly, he felt incredibly anxious yet excited.
Putting caution to the wind, Draco cupped Hermione's face. They locked eyes momentarily, and much was said between them.
She leaned into his gentle touch and sighed. God, she loved his hands on any part of her body.
Her eyes fluttered shut, and he kissed her deeply. She melted into the embrace, held onto him, and wrapped her fingers around his arm. Her lips parted, allowing him to explore the expanse of her mouth with his tongue. No one paid them much attention, which was a blissful change since it allowed them to live in the moment.
What was this ungodly feeling erupting from the very core of her being?
She moaned wantonly into his mouth, “Draco…” He was imposing, intent on making her his for the night or more.
Draco answered breathlessly, “In this moment coherent thoughts desert me and all that exists is this incredible feeling of you.” His fingers were in her hair, holding on, staking claim while his lips moulded perfectly to hers.
Her voice was heavy with want and desire, “Take me back to the hotel, darling.” The ring he had given showed its approval for their union by pulsating against her skin.
He buried his face in the crook of her neck and lay a trail of fiery kisses but managed to say, “With pleasure.” He was surprised they could walk since he wanted to lay her down, strip her slowly and take her then and there.
Hurriedly, Draco settled the bill, leaving a sizable tip for the server.
They succumbed to their carnal urges and kissed more near the motorbike. She leaned against the sleek surface, and he pressed up against her while they explored each other's bodies over clothes. Her fingers danced over his taut muscles while his lips suckled on her collarbone, leaving no area untouched.
Hermione threw her head back and breathed, “Let's get out of here.” Draco didn't think twice and obliged without hesitation.
At that moment, he wished he had picked a place closer to the hotel. The ride back would be fast and impatient.
London
The deranged man sat on his mother's rocking chair and stared into an abyss of his own creation. He had moved his mother to her bed and changed her clothes.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and before long, he was reliving his horrible youth. His upbringing had been a never-ending nightmare.
It seemed surreal, and yet, it had happened. He was defiling his mother under his father's orders, thinking she was unconscious, until she opened her eyes and started to laugh.
That maniacal laughter would never leave him. He would hear it until he drew his last breath. The mocking, the accusatory and disgust of her laughter filled his head.
She leered, “I can't even feel you, you bastard. You and your tiny cock, at least your father is a man.”
The young man hissed, “Shut up.” He thrust into her harder and faster, not caring whether he hurt her. If he was inadequate, why the fuck was she dripping?
She loved his cock, it was apparent, wasn't it? He fucked her raw until they were exhausted, and his father was satisfied. It was a heavy price they paid to escape the torment.
He refused to comply once, and his father's wrath had been merciless. He had dragged his wife by the hair into the dining room, beaten her until black and blue and raped her until she lay in a pool of her own blood.
Still, the laughing rang inside his head. He loved her, not as a son should, but didn't she see they would suffer the consequences if he didn't do what his father asked?
He thought he was saving her, but she treated him cruelly, almost inhumanly. They fled Russia, never to look back after his so-called father cast them out after he grew tired of his games and found a willing mistress to cater to his sick fantasies.
That fateful day, his maniac father broke his mother's wand. He could still hear his mother's anguished cries and pleading, but the sadistic Russian felt little remorse and instead spat on her and hissed, “You are not worthy of this, bitch. This is your punishment for birthing a fucking squib. Useless cunt.”
With not much to their names, he cast them out with a few measly Galleons, enough to seek transport back to the UK.
It had been a dark period. If he thought life with his father was terrible, it was a walk in the park compared to his crazy mother, who had been driven insane by her husband's abuse and sought to take it out on her only child.
After that day, they lived like Muggles. Her family shunned them and denied their existence out of shame, only providing the funds to secure a home to live out the rest of their days.
The once proud woman was a broken wreck, and she scarred her son's face because looking at him was a constant reminder of her sadistic husband. They were almost identical. She blamed the failures of her marriage on him. It was unfair and unjust, purely since he had no control over the circumstances that led him to be born without magic.
She hated yet needed him to look after her, but she wielded such control over the pitiful man that he depended on her existence.
Killing his beloved mother had pushed him truly over the edge. It was in a moment of weakness that he had murdered her, but she was alive.
She lived in others, and he had found them. Not all were a right fit, but Sarah was perfect. She was the one, and he needed her.
He snapped out of his daze, stared once more at the ceiling and got to his feet purposefully.
“Oh, Sarah…” He cooed as he walked down the corridor and into his room, where his prize awaited him.
Chapter 67
Summary:
To all the comments:- Absolutely heartwarming! Thank you so much!
I apologise for the delay in the update, I've been down with the flu.
Chronicles in Hawaii continue. Tension between Hermione and Draco escalates.
Ginny and Blaise have a sweet moment.
Cormac is losing himself to addiction and walking on thin ice. He might pay more than he bargained for.
I do love my OC characters, Thomas and Audrey. I based Thomas a lot off Mad-Eye Moody.
Enjoy Chapter Sixty - Seven!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
Outskirts of London
Sarah felt nauseous and extremely ill. She was chained to his bed and helpless.
In the middle of the night, she noticed he spoke in his sleep, muttering, pleading and begging for forgiveness.
Often, she would be awoken by his fingers running through her hair, and she would hear him softly whisper, "Mother," in her ear.
It was evident his life was something out of a horror film, and Sarah was convinced her only means of escape would be death.
She made the best of a horrific situation and catered to his fantasies. While she was obedient, he rewarded her with small luxuries.
He raped her without abandon whenever he wished, not sparing a thought for her feelings or discomfort. He thought she loved it when, in reality, she hated the very sight of him.
Condoms were a thing of the past. He never wore protection and spilt his vile seed into her repeatedly to impregnate her.
Shivering and cold, Sarah curled into a fetal position and tried to fall asleep.
London
Dinner was delightful. The conversation between them flowed freely without any awkwardness since Audrey accepted Thomas for who he was. He had always appealed to her for whatever reason.
Thomas walked Audrey to her flat, and once they were outside her door, he smiled broadly, “Well, that was fun, wasn't it?” It had been a while since he went out to dinner with a woman, and despite feeling nervous at the start, the night had progressed splendidly.
Audrey smiled and nodded in agreement, “Indeed. The ravioli was tasty.”
She smirked, “We made it through an entire night without you being called away.” It was rare for Thomas to enjoy the night without any disturbances.
Thomas chuckled, “Ah, I guess we did.” He had discouraged any matters that required his attention unless absolutely necessary. He deserved some sort of life, didn't he?
Audrey softened her gaze and said, “You didn't have to pay, Thomas. We could have split the bill.” She had pulled out her wallet, but he firmly dismissed her request to pay.
Thomas rolled his eyes and fixed her with an irritated look, “Are you mental?” The job didn't pay as much as they deserved, but it was always more than the money. However, he was decently compensated for his years on the job and more so after losing his valuable limb. Disability, they called it, rubbish. He could take on any adversary, even at his age and emerge victorious.
Audrey pushed the door open, stood against it and asked rather timidly and out of character, “Umm, would you like a nightcap?”
Thomas smiled, “I thought you would never ask.” He had a nice smile, which he seldom used. A drink would lighten the situation and make whatever followed less awkward. He couldn't remember the last time he had been intimate with a woman.
If he recalled correctly, the last time had been on a mission to Germany, where he had gotten incredibly drunk and ended up in bed with an attractive Muggle barmaid.
Hawaii
Draco pulled up to the hotel entrance and came to a screeching halt, causing many people of various nationalities to look at them with confusion and admiration.
He waited for Granger to dismount first before following suit. A valet rushed forward. Draco pushed the helmets, key and a wad of dollar bills into his hand and said hurriedly, “Park it, mate, and be careful. It's a bloody rental.”
He took Hermione's hand and walked towards the entrance without looking back.
The valet stared at the key in his hands with surprise. In all his years as a parking attendant, this would be the first time he would be asked to handle a bike.
Still, he smiled and enthusiastically set to the task assigned to him. The bike was a beast and, indeed, a joy to ride. He would take it for a quick spin before taking it to the designated parking zone.
There was only one primary way to enter the hotel, and unfortunately, it was through the crowded lobby and reception catering to the arrival and departure of many guests.
Draco saw him first, and his heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. Theo was easily recognisable since he stood a foot taller than the rest.
His hold on Hermione’s wrist tightened, causing her to slightly wince. They came to an abrupt halt, and he urgently hissed in her ear, “Fuck. Is that Theo?” He pulled her towards a large potted plant used for decorative purposes and attempted to hide behind it.
His behaviour amused Hermione. She peered through the somewhat large leaves and nodded, “Hmm, I think so. He looks rather lost, doesn't he?”
Draco looked about frantically for means of escape before his best mate spotted them and thought the best way to work around the situation was to plant themselves among the crowd and move towards the lift.
He gave her hand a sharp tug and directed urgently, “Come this way so he doesn't see us.” A large crowd of Japanese tourists huddled together, moving in the same direction while chatting in their native tongue.
Hermione chuckled, “I’m right behind you, Malfoy.” She went along with the plan, but they hardly blended in with the group, considering Draco was a lot taller, and his hair was a sure giveaway.
It was a valiant effort but futile just the same.
Too late.
“Draco!” Theo’s dulcet tones could be heard over the hustle and bustle. Some people stopped to look his way and wondered why he was yelling at the top of his voice.
Draco rolled his eyes but continued to walk away quickly as if he hadn't heard while pulling a laughing Hermione behind him. She found the whole situation hilarious.
Still, Theo wasn't discouraged easily. He jogged up to them and cornered them before they could make a clean getaway.
He brushed his hair back and grinned, “Didn't you hear me?”
“Theo, mate, where did you come from?” Draco replied in faux surprise. He forced a less-than-genuine smile onto his face.
Apparently, he was pretty convincing because Theo was none the wiser and bought the act. Meanwhile, Hermione covered her mouth to stop laughing and tried her best to maintain composure.
Theo looked at where Draco held onto Hermione and asked curiously, “Where did you two get off to?”
Before either could reply, he miserably added, “Luna is asleep, and I can't find Blaise. I’m so fucking bored.”
Draco responded, his patience wearing thin, “Really sorry, mate, but Granger and I have some work to attend to. Let’s catch up later.”
Theo raised a brow and questioned suspiciously, “What work? Are you having me on?” He stared at Draco sceptically and waited for a suitable answer.
Draco frowned, “Stop looking me up and down like I'm some bloody tart.”
Theo chuckled, “What?”
Draco warned, “I swear, Theo.”
Hermione couldn't help but giggle. Their friendship was so different from Harry and Ron, for example.
Despite Draco's protests and unwillingness, Theo linked his arm through Draco’s and tried to drag him away with a cheerful, “Come on, I'm starving.”
Draco refused to budge and calmly stated, “We had dinner and were about to order dessert while working. So, excuse us.” He would have a private word with his friend about reading facial cues and subtle hints.
Theo was clearly in utter misery and made his unhappiness evident, “Don't you two ditch me; Blaise is nowhere to be found, and Pansy is spending alone time with Longbottom.”
His features twisted unpleasantly, and he spat with disgust, “Yuck.”
Draco scowled. Fuck.
Hermione sighed and asked rather sweetly, ‘What would you like to do, Theodore?” Nott reminded her of a little lost child that required constant mothering.
“Granger?” Draco questioned, his eyes boring into hers. Desperation marred his words. He stared at her pleadingly.
She squeezed his hand slightly and muttered, “We have time.” They had another day or so at the most, but Theo looked so helpless she felt it was their duty to keep him company.
Theo smiled broadly, “There’s a restaurant on the premises. I think they serve some fancy cuisine. It's probably Italian, but I am not really sure what it is. Shall we check it out?”
Draco reluctantly agreed through gritted teeth, “Sure.” You cockblocking piece of shite.
Hermione caught the dirty look Draco bestowed upon her and studiously avoided his penetrating gaze of disapproval.
Once seated, Theo voiced his actual concerns, “I'm really worried about Luna. She's been feeling off before we came here, but it's become progressively worse.” His features pinched together in concern, and it was quite clear that he was perturbed and struggled to figure out his beloved wife's affliction.
Hermione hesitated and offered reassurance, “Um, I'm sure she's fine, Nott.” Luna really needed to spill the beans.
Theo complained, “She refuses to see the hotel doctor or any Healer.” He had never known Luna to be so stubborn. She generally listened to him, but in the last few weeks, he could hardly get her to do anything. Even sex had reduced drastically, and since seeing her in a state of unrest, he hadn't pursued anything either.
Draco sighed, clamped his friend on the shoulder and advised, “Calm down, mate. Luna is a smart witch. She would've seen to it if she thought a doctor would help her. Maybe it's something she ate.”
Hermione averted her gaze and rolled her eyes. Men were so wholly oblivious to the obvious it was maddening.
Theo nodded and replied thoughtfully, “Yeah, she sometimes eats some pretty weird shite, depending on the season.” Her quirkiness was the difficult part of their marriage.
He would often come home to find various fungi and herbs spread across the pantry, and as an accomplished Potion Master, he knew some plants were highly poisonous and inedible. Still, she would argue with him, stating it was some Ministry conspiracy to tarnish the good name of plants.
Almost at once, Hermione sprang to her good friend's defence, “Hey! There's always a reason…” That was a blatant lie. There was hardly any reason for Luna to do the things she did, but they loved her all the same because of her utter uniqueness.
Theo defended his words with an amused expression, “I'm not insulting her, Granger. But you know I speak the bloody truth.” Anyone who truly knew Luna knew he wasn't exaggerating in the slightest.
Hermione ordered a glass of red wine and chuckled, “Fine.”
Theo explained further, “At first, I thought it was all the stress from trying to get pregnant.” He needed to get some things off his chest, and it all came tumbling out without being filtered.
Draco sighed. They were in for a long night, so he thought ordering a scotch on the rocks and a plate of spicy chicken wings prudent. He desperately needed some flavour.
He placed the order and frowned, “That's too much information, mate.” Instead of making love to his fiancé, he would be forced to listen to Theo talk about his scheduled sex sessions with Lovegood. Wonderful.
This turn of unfortunate events he did not see coming, and why had Granger gone and agreed to keep Theo company? They weren't bloody babysitters.
The evening progressed, and over the hours and many drinks, Theo forgot about his woes and cracked jokes, successfully making Hermione laugh so hard that even Draco cracked a smile.
Ministry Of Magic
Hannah rushed into the Ministry of Magic. She knew no one would be there, but it was as if a fire had initiated within her.
As she was about to enter the lift, she bumped into a moderately built man in his fifties with long hair. It was John from the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts department.
“Bugger! Sorry, mate. I didn't see you there,” Hannah apologised profusely, bending down to pick up the fallen files and papers.
John slightly smiled, “Oh, that's alright, Miss Abbott.” He gathered his thick files and went on his merry way without paying Hannah much notice.
She wondered what the man was working on so late. He was truly baffling.
The lift arrived, and Hannah pressed her desired floor. It was further underground and a place they only visited if absolutely necessary. The lift dinged, indicating it had arrived on the required floor.
She stepped out, and disappointment floored her. She knew it was futile to hope that someone would be around.
Instead, she was greeted by stillness and darkness. Everyone had gone home, and unfortunately, even if she was an Auror, Hannah didn't have the proper clearance to dig through personal files. Besides, she needed help finding details about Arbella Flint.
Hannah let out a frustrated cry. It echoed through the space. Every second lost was detrimental to Sarah’s wellbeing.
Hawaii
After shopping, Ginny and Blaise enjoyed a leisurely walk on the beach. The sand got between their toes, and waves broke at their feet. It was pretty relaxing and so peaceful.
Ginny wasn't a big fan of silence, probably since she grew up in such a busy and nosy household. She chuckled, “Well, that was fun.” It wasn't a lie.
They genuinely had an absolute blast while shopping and eating street food. Blaise had always made her laugh and feel entirely at ease.
Even though their short affair had been a secret and well away from prying eyes who would have been ready to pass judgment, it was a unique coupling.
Blaise snorted, “Yeah, Lord knows what possessed me to rent a Harley.” Daphne would be mortified if she had an idea about what he had done. Of course, she would have much to say if she knew he was spending time with Ginny Weasley.
Ginny smiled fondly, “My brother Charlie had a dirt bike. It was so much fun. Of course, Mum hated it.”
She thought back to Molly whacking Charlie over the head with a rolled-up Daily Prophet and chuckled, “Mum would have a go at him every time he came over on it, but he's a lot like Dad. Partial to Muggle inventions.”
Charlie, unlike Bill, was a bit of a wild card and totally unpredictable. Mum was always terrified he would unwittingly murder himself over some stupid invention or while handling dragons. Her thoughts drifted to her fallen brother, Fred.
Blaise said thoughtfully, “I've not met your oldest brothers.” He was very well acquainted with Percy Weasley, whom he considered to be a pompous git. The twins were well-liked troublemakers whose sole purpose at Hogwarts was to make life miserable for Argus Filch.
Ginny smiled, “Hardly any of my friends have. They graduated long before I joined Hogwarts.”
“Ah,” Blaise managed to say. He glanced sideways and found himself staring at his ex-girlfriend. She was lovely and so easy to be around.
He cleared his throat and confessed, “I wanted to speak to you at Tracey's wedding, but I was a miserable coward.”
Ginny stopped walking and replied earnestly, “I saw you a few times at the bar, but I couldn't muster the courage either.”
She dug her foot further into the soft sand and said solemnly, “I'm sorry. I should have never done that to you. Ended things in that manner. You meant so much to me, Blaise, but…”
Blaise smiled slightly and shrugged, “But you loved Potter.” It had been a punch to the gut when they broke up, and he had quite rightly been miserable for weeks until Daphne came along and confessed her true feelings to him. He had never looked back afterwards.
Ginny struggled to find the right words to explain further, “I, umm….” The truth was she had always loved Harry. He was her everything, but that didn't lessen her feelings for Blaise. She would have been happy with Blaise if Harry hadn't come around.
Blaise closed the distance between them, rested his forehead against hers and almost whispered, “We ended up with the right people, Ginny.” Their lips were inches apart, but the burning desire that once existed between them was no longer there.
Ginny could feel his breath ghost over her face. They broke apart and sighed. Past mistakes and grievances had been laid to rest, and there would be no need to dredge up the past going forward.
Perhaps they could forge a friendship where the families would get along and host each other occasionally. It made sense, especially with Hermione and Draco bridging the gap between the Gryffindors and Slytherins. Pansy and Neville hardly counted.
She thought of Hermione and frowned. Her tone of voice was laced with concern for her best friend, “Do you reckon Malfoy and Hermione are alright?”
Blaise fixed her with an amused look, “I'm sure they are. Why wouldn't they be? He’s quite capable of looking after her.”
Although Ginny wasn't convinced, she went along with it and agreed reluctantly, “Yeah, I guess.”
Blaise noticed the hesitation and reassured further, “Draco is a gentleman, Red. He would never force Granger into doing anything that makes her remotely uncomfortable.”
Ginny chewed on her bottom lip and muttered, “I know, it's just that there's so much bad blood between them.” Despite her personal opinion about Malfoy, she was sure he wasn't some sadist or rapist.
Blaise cradled her chin and replied firmly, “Ginny, look at me. They're fine.” He smiled, took her hand and pulled her towards the water. She protested at first but let herself enjoy the moment.
They were drenched since Blaise insisted on splashing them with water, but they headed to the outside bar and hoped the weather was hot enough to dry their clothing. Halfway there, an odd ringing interrupted the peace, and Blaise fetched a mobile phone out of his pocket.
A loving smile crept onto his face, and he informed Ginny, “Oh, it's Daph. I've got to take this.”
“Of course, I'll order for us,” Ginny acknowledged with a smile and made her way to the bar. She ordered a round of tequila shots.
The call connected, and Daphne was exhilarated, “Hi, darling.” She missed her husband, and being away was tricky, but sacrifices had to be made for the children's sake.
Blaise reciprocated with a genuine answer, “My love.” Daphne was his saving grace. She kept him centred and whole.
He asked, eager to know about back home, “How's everything?” If it weren't for Draco, he would've cut the trip short and left. He was having a good time, but the guilt that Daph was missing out when she deserved a break was eating away at his conscience.
Daphne sighed, “All good. The children miss you terribly.”
Blaise responded cheekily, “Only the children?”
Daphne giggled, “My feelings go without saying.” She was tempted to tell him to chuck his friends and come home.
Instead, she inquired curiously, “Are you having fun?”
Blaise ignored the bar's noise and shrugged, “It's okay, not the same without you.”
Ginny appeared with two small shot glasses and yelled, “Blaise, come on! It's your turn.”
Blaise tried to cover the mouthpiece, but it was too late. The damage was done. Daphne had clearly heard the invitation.
Daphne felt her heartbeat hasten, and all she could manage was confusion, “Oh?”
Blaise almost fumbled the phone, he spoke urgently, “I have to go, love. I'll ring you later.”
“What?” The line went dead, and Daphne stared at it, speechless. She fought the urge to call him back and demand an answer.
Hawaii
After they saw a drunken Theo back to his room, they were greeted by a rather pale-faced Luna in a bathrobe, nursing a chocolate milkshake.
Theo slurred, “I love you, Lovegood.”
Luna giggled, “I love you too, darling.”
Hermione asked in concern, “Are you feeling better?”
Luna replied rather happily, “Oh, yes! Loads better.”
Theo stumbled into the room, and Luna opened the door wider and invited, “Do you two want to come in?”
Draco politely declined, “We would love to, but unfortunately, Granger is helping me with some ministry-related work.”
Luna was no idiot. She winked knowingly, “Of course, I completely understand. See you in the morning.”
Hermione could make out Theo removing his clothes and falling onto the bed. Poor bloke, she thought at once.
Draco and Hermione didn't get far since his phone vibrated, indicating he had received a message. He took it out, clicked on the fluttering envelope that appeared on the screen and couldn't help but smile.
The message was from Hannah, and it read, “Have you shagged Granger yet? ;)” Clearly, she was home and had some time to kill. Draco often wondered if Abbott was lonely.
Draco hurriedly replied; he wasn't as fast as typing like his peers; he was still getting the hang of it, “None of your business, Abbott.”
Her reply was almost instantaneous, “I've got loads to fill you in on when you return.”
He tried his best to type faster, but unfortunately, his efforts were subpar at best, “Tell me now.”
Her message came back at once, “Alright. Shall I call you?”
Curiosity got the best of him, and he confirmed, “Sure.” He became oblivious to the fact that he wasn't alone until Hermione coughed purposely to make her presence known.
Turning to face her, Draco said hurriedly, “Listen, I've got to take this. I'll see you at breakfast?”
Slightly taken back, Hermione stepped back and showed indifference, “Oh, yeah, sure.” What the fuck?
The next moment, the phone rang, and Draco connected the call. He turned away, walked down the empty corridor, leaving Hermione alone and said to Hannah, “I'm all yours, love. Go on.”
Hermione stood frozen to the spot and fumed. He had plainly dismissed her without a second thought, and she wasn't overly fond of playing second fiddle.
London
Daphne pulled Adam onto her lap and kissed his forehead. The book she was reading slipped from her grasp, and she fell into a disturbing daydream regarding infidelity and Blaise leaving her for some unknown woman. The pain that travelled through her was too much to bear.
A sweet, concerned voice pulled her out of the frightful dream, “Mummy!” It was her observant daughter, Carrie.
Daphne composed herself and responded, “Hmm, yes?” She could not appear a mess in front of her children.
Carrie handed her the book and giggled, “The story, mummy.”
Daphne smiled broadly, “Oh, I'm sorry, my darling. Where was I?”
Carrie turned the pages and settled on a brightly illustrated page, “The fairies were giving the little Princess a gift.”
Daphne let her insecurities slip away and gave her children undivided attention, “Of course. Let's see now…”
Hawaii
Hermione knocked on the door, and a freshly showered Ginny in a bathrobe opened it. She was applying moisturiser to her hands and face.
“About time,” Ginny exclaimed. She had been worried about her friend and was quite relieved to see her.
Hermione collapsed into the nearest chair and let out a sigh, “I'm exhausted.”
Ginny nodded in agreement, “Me too. My feet hurt.”
Hermione wasn't listening to Ginny; she wondered about Malfoy and Hannah.
Ginny took in her friend's dreamy, glazed-over eyes and asked excitedly, “Oh, did something happen? Have I won the bet?”
Hermione snapped out of her daze and replied hotly, “Not yet, but I daresay you would have if Theo hadn't interrupted us and begged us to keep him company.”
Contempt and annoyance laced her following words, “Afterwards, I was rudely dismissed by Malfoy when Hannah called.”
Ginny made a disappointed face, “Ah, bollocks.”
Hermione spoke about Theo and his concerns, “The poor bloke is going mental trying to figure out what the matter is with Luna.”
Ginny raised a sceptical brow, “Yeah, I thought Nott was a genius?” It was utterly bizarre to her that he hadn't figured out that Luna was pregnant.
Hermione felt the need to defend the poor sod, “Well, he is, but I guess he's woefully unaware of all these other things relating to women and such.”
Ginny rolled her eyes, “Or he's in bloody denial. Luna is pretty obvious. She's just not said it out loud.”
Hermione pushed herself off the sofa and shrugged, “I guess he'll find out soon enough.” She needed a bloody shower after putting on that dreadfully smelly helmet.
However, Ginny was evidently not done talking about Draco. She grinned, “Back to Malfoy.”
“Oh, why?” Hermione whined. She had about enough of him for one day.
A devilish glint flashed across Ginny’s eyes, and she prudently suggested, “Why don't you wear something delectable, pick up a bottle of wine and offer to tuck him in for the night?”
Hermione was outraged, “Desperate much? I will do no such thing.”
Ginny was far too tired to argue. Instead, she got between the sheets and said, “Well, I'm knackered. Goodnight, love.”
Still, without going straight to sleep, she switched on the television and settled on a lively talk show.
Hermione said thoughtfully, “Goodnight, Ginny.” Maybe a visit to Malfoy wasn't such a bad idea.
She stood under the spray of warm water and sighed. The water washed away many things, including Malfoy's presence on her body. Although, his kisses and caresses were embedded in her mind.
Hermione was hurt that he would disregard her so quickly. She knew he wasn't obligated to her, but there was such a thing as good manners.
She wrapped herself snugly with a white towel and stepped into the room, eager to ask Ginny about her spending the day with Blaise, but found the woman sound asleep with the TV blaring.
Hermione switched it off and picked up her book resting on the nightstand. However, her head wasn't in it. She kept slipping into daydreams of Malfoy and herself until she eventually gave up on reading and commanded sleep to consume her.
Draco plopped down on the bed, summoned the remote with a wave of his hand and flipped through the channels. With a hand behind his head, he settled on an American movie. His conversation with Hannah had contributed to his happy mood. They were so close to catching the killer he could almost taste victory.
A bushy-haired Julie Roberts appeared on screen, and he was instantly reminded of Granger.
He frowned. Stupid drunk Theo. Although he had noticed Granger hanging about after they saw Theo back to his room
A sharp realisation struck home, causing Draco to sit up straight and smack his forehead hard.
Bollocks. Had he gone and fucked it up? Obviously, she was waiting to be invited back to his to finish off what they had started earlier, but Hannah had called, and his attention had shifted from sex to work.
He gritted his teeth in frustration and groaned into the nearest pillow.
Hawaii
Group activities kept them busy and unable to have a private moment. This was precisely what was wrong with group activities. No one had the freedom to do anything alone. Breakfast had been strained and hurried since they were late to join one of the best tours the hotel offered.
Most travellers visiting Hawaii were drawn to what was sometimes called the "bookends of World War II in the Pacific." The USS Arizona bombing and the attack on Pearl Harbour marked the beginning of it, while the USS Missouri Instrument of Surrender was signed at the end. The ideal method to view the two significant Pearl Harbour locations was on the Remember Pearl Harbour Tour.
Draco watched Hermione intently as she moved from exhibit to exhibit, absorbing all the information and taking down notes while studiously ignoring him. He couldn't help but smile at her diligence. Still, someone ought to tell her that there wouldn't be an exam afterward.
He recalled her younger self in a somewhat frumpy school uniform, eager to answer every question directed at them by their professors. She was a truly brilliant witch.
Blaise snorted, “Why don't you go talk to her, mate?”
Draco muttered, “Hmm, I should. Excuse me for a second.”
Blaise rolled his eyes. He wished he was elsewhere, preferably engaging in some fun activity.
Theo yawned for possibly the hundredth time. He was so bored. His idea of a holiday didn't necessarily involve lengthy visits to museums.
“Blaise, take a picture of me against this memorial,” Ginny asked in a carrying voice, and Blaise smiled and hurried over to comply.
Draco came up behind Hermione and whispered, “Enjoying the tour?”
Hermione almost jumped out of her skin. Yet, she held her own, showed utter indifference and replied, “Yeah, it's interesting. Especially the bits about Pearl Harbour. I had no idea so many people gave their lives on that fateful day.”
She thought it would be fun to tease the man and said rather seductively, “I must confess, I wanted to come by your room last night.”
Draco felt his heart slam against his ribcage. Still, he kept calm and responded eagerly, “Oh, why didn't you? I could've gone for a drink and some company.”
Hermione shrugged nonchalantly and said, “I figured we could've picked up from where we left off, but obviously, Hannah was more important.” She had intended to pinpoint his mistake from the previous night.
Draco responded with adequate exasperation, “Granger, Abbott is my partner. Nothing more or less. Still, I'm sorry I got caught up in work. I assure you, darling, it was not intentional.”
He pressed into her back, trailed his fingers down her back and drawled, “I want you.”
Hermione moved away and scolded under her breath, “Stop it. Besides, your actions speak otherwise.” She was trying to listen to the guide, passionately explaining about each vessel that was struck.
Draco held her firmly in place and argued, “You aren't easy to please, Granger. You've done plenty to snub me. Flirting with some random man on our first day here stands at number one.” The words left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Hermione blushed. Still, she brushed it aside, “It was harmless. However, good things don't come easy, Malfoy. You best remember that.”
He chuckled, playfully kissed the top of her head and said, “I truly do enjoy our banter.”
His tone turned deadly severe and husky, “I always win, Granger. You best remember that.” His fingers brushed against her bare skin, leaving her flustered and tender.
She stayed with Ginny, Neville and Luna, who was fit enough to join them for the rest of the tour around more historic spots in Hawaii. At times, she couldn't help but glance in his direction.
More often than not, Hermione caught him looking at her. The Slytherin men joked, played around and seemed to be having a merry time.
Ginny, being an extrovert, was quick to join the band of brothers indulging in street food and beer. Hermione smiled. Ginny was having a lovely time, and it was highly deserved. However, she couldn't help but wonder how Harry was fairing with James.
Avery Manor
Antonin Dolohov sat at the head of the table at Avery Manor. Julius had graciously opened the doors to his home and provided a much-needed haven for the once-fallen dark wizard, much like the Malfoy offering their home to Voldemort, although that was against their wishes.
Unlike the darkness that plagued Malfoy Manor during Voldmort’s occupation, Avery Manor was well-lit and immaculately maintained. Dolohov had no intention of covering the world with blood and darkness.
Blood would be split, but only where necessary. He would gladly strike down anyone who opposed him.
He wanted to bring the world to heel under his leadership and make known that werewolves were dominant yet mindful, competent creatures with much to offer.
He had discarded his mask and made his true self known to his followers. However, his renewed purpose and the fact that he was indeed a werewolf he kept secret except from a trusted few. The wizards under his command were still bigoted fools who would not abandon him but follow him out of fear and not loyalty should they discover his true state.
Masked wizards sat around him, listening to and hanging on every word he uttered. It felt glorious to be followed without question, but he was intelligent, not some power-hungry fool like Voldemort had been.
Antonin gestured with his chin to the black and blue card near him and said in a low carrying voice that reached the very corners of the room, “Extend an invitation to Malfoy.”
Goyle was the first to protest. His voice thundered with what he believed to be a plausible reason, “My Lord, he's training to be an Auror and taking Granger as his wife. He cannot be trusted.” He was still bitter after their last meeting when it almost came to blows between them. It would have given him immense pleasure to watch Malfoy bleed.
Dolohov kept his composure and explained most calmly, “It is precisely for those reasons that he would make a more valuable asset than you all combined.”
Goyle sneered, “I've met him. He's not the same. I think all this fuss over him is a fucking mistake.” He was no child and would not fall in line like some mongrel dog.
Antonin rested his back against the chair, brought his gloved hands together and smiled cynically, “Are you questioning my orders, Goyle?”
Goyle felt the air leave his lungs and windpipe constrict, making breathing nearly impossible. He gasped for breath while the others, except Dorian, moved away from the table and watched, horrified and helpless.
Finally, he managed a strangled reply, “No, Master.”
Julius sought to keep the peace and voiced his opinion, “Perhaps we can let him in, and if the relationship turns sour, we can surely take care of it. Isn't that right, Blackwood?”
Goyle coughed and the colour returned to his face. He gritted his teeth and balled his hands into fists. Pure rage tore through him and it took all he possessed to exercise restraint.
Dorian faked a smile, nodded almost lazily, but hurriedly agreed, “Not a problem at all.” It infuriated him that they thought he was capable of murder without remorse.
Still, Antonin was convinced that Draco would join and help further his cause. Despite Narcissa’s betrayal and Lucius’s cowardice, the boy had proved himself intelligent and resourceful, leading to Dumbledore’s murder.
He said, “Once he learns of my return and our purpose, I have faith he will see the light and obey me.” Malfoy would make a formidable werewolf. He would mark the boy when the right time presented itself.
The heavy doors opened, and a man stumbled inside. Wet blonde hair matted to his head, his eyes crazy and anxious. He straightened and looked around frantically.
Dolohov stared the man down until he cowered and leered, “McLaggen, you finally decided to grace us with your presence.”
Cormac fell on all fours like a dog and begged, “Forgive my tardiness.” He prayed to all the Gods that he be spared the Cruciatus curse. His weak body and mind would not be able to tolerate the punishment.
Goyle scowled, “Look at you man. You look like a right mess.” He knew that look well. The man needed another fix to take the edge off—the true markings of a person with a cocaine addiction.
Montague slowly got to his feet and beckoned the fallen man to his side, “Come along, Cormac. I've got a little something for you.” He pulled out a tiny, expensive-looking pouch, and McLaggen's greedy eyes landed on it. He salivated with the overwhelming need to consume the white power, but before their eyes, the velvety pouch caught on fire, and Montague was forced to let it go with a terrified yelp.
Dolohov narrowed his eyes and hissed darkly, “Enough! I will not tolerate the usage of drugs during my proceedings. Substances are for weaklings.”
Julius threw Montague a look of disgust and pursed his lips. Spoiled brats living off their families' wealth. He tolerated the distribution at the club because the profits from selling were too much to ignore. However, he never touched the bloody stuff himself but let his women enjoy a line or two if they fancied, and most of them did.
Dolohov intently watched Cormac on the ground, hugging his legs to his chest and sobbing hard.
The others tried to avert their gazes, but the sight was far too sickening and pathetic to look the other way.
He spat viciously, “You disgust me, McLaggen. Your father, despite his faults, is a man of honour and deserves a better man as a son.”
Cormac flinched. Just that morning, his father had yelled bloody murder, demanding answers for all the missing money. Some he had used to fuel his addiction, and the rest he had in a bag ready to be handed over as his contribution to the revolution.
Goyle leered, “Maybe we should enlighten McLaggen senior about his boy. Is your younger sister fairing well at the Ministry? She's quite young, isn't she?” His mocking laughter filled the space.
Montague grinned. He had his eye on the youngest McLaggen. She was a beauty and highly sought after. She would make a fine mistress to use as he wished and ruin.
Cormac seemed to comprehend what was being said and weakly defended, “No, please. Leave my family out of this.” His family was innocent. They were not a party to his mistakes and wrongdoing.
Dolohov got to his feet and extended his hand. He delivered his words carefully and with malice intent, “I will decide that. Show us what you've brought.”
Hawaii
The guide that showed them around was a veteran and spared no detail when exploring and explaining the historical sites in great detail. When the tour ended and they returned to the hotel, it was nearly sunset.
Ginny removed her hat and fanned herself with it while trying to sit on the high barstool. She mused, “I know you love all this history stuff, but by Merlin, that man was a boring bastard.”
Hermione stifled a laugh and slid into the stool next to her friend. She reached for the menu and scanned through the contents.
They were about to order when a slightly older man with grey streaks running through his hair approached Hermione with a casual smile and greeting, “Hi.” The man was extremely charismatic.
Hermione was taken aback for a split second since she had not expected it, plus she was tired and slightly hungry from the day's activities. Still, she forced a smile onto her face and responded, “Hello.”
Judging by the valuable timepiece around his wrist, the man was smartly dressed and looked quite wealthy. Also, he had impeccable manners and introduced himself, “I'm Daniel. May I buy you a drink?” He asked, pointing to the contents of the well-stocked bar—no fuss, no unnecessary flirting, straight to the bloody point.
Hermione was immensely flattered that a man of his stature approached her, but somewhat reluctantly and ever so politely, she declined, “Thank you, but I’ll pass.”
Daniel nodded curtly, “Of course. Have a good day.” He moved away and out of sight.
Ginny gushed, “He was cute, Hermione.” She drank her bright blue concoction through a straw.
Hermione sighed, “I know. He’s my type too. Did you notice the eyes?”
Ginny nodded vigorously, “Baby blue, almost grey.”
A husky voice of jagged steel interrupted them, “Making friends?”
Hermione shifted in her seat and said, “Hmm, yes, well, no harm done.”
Draco tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear and quipped, “Can I buy you a drink?”
Hermione tilted her head and mused, “You can buy me an entire bottle of vodka.”
Draco laughed, “If that's what you wish.” He signalled for a bartender.
Hermione rolled her eyes and stopped him from making a pricey purchase, “Don't be ridiculous.”
He took her hand and moved his thumb soothingly over her fingers. He noticed the exquisite engagement ring and half smiled, “The stone has returned to its original colour. Are you content?”
Hermione blushed and snatched her hand back, “I have no reason not to be.”
Draco moved close and whispered, “Any nightmares recently?”
Hermione covered his mouth, looked over her shoulder and thankfully found Ginny engaged in a lively conversation with Blaise.
She locked eyes with the imposing ice blonde determined to complicate her life and scolded, “Not so loud, and no, I've not been visited by your bitch of an aunt.”
A bartender interrupted them, “Excuse me, sir. Compliments from the lady across the bar.” He pushed a tumbler towards Draco. The amber liquid within resembled whiskey and had the markings of an expensive blend.
Draco was surprised but managed a suitable retort, “Oh, thank you.” He merely glanced in his admirer's direction since he was far more invested in listening to his soon-to-be wife.
He kept the glass of scotch aside and insisted, “You were saying?”
However, Hermione stared metaphorical daggers at the woman who sent the drink. She was quite pretty with a lovely tan and long blonde hair. Her attire showed she knew fashion and how to dress and conduct herself.
She said with contempt and jealously, “She's beautiful.”
Draco followed her gaze and smiled, “Hmm, I guess so, in an American way. Not my cup of tea.”
Hermione injected with her observations, “She has been staring at you all through breakfast and dinner since we arrived.”
Draco was shocked by the revelation and vocalised his thoughts, “And how exactly do you know that?” He hadn't noticed her at all.
Hermione frowned and threw him a dirty look, “Because I have eyes.” Honestly, was he pretending or daft? It was baffling.
Draco ignored the last comment and stirred the conversation towards more positive things, “I had fun with you yesterday. Care to give these sods the slip?” They were rapidly running out of time and had about a day or so before returning to England and their utterly complicated lives.
Hermione ordered herself a rum and coke and answered cockily, “So did I, and no.”
Draco moved closer and insisted, “Granger, I want to spend the night together.” He had blown the chance the night before but intended to rectify his costly mistake.
Well, he didn't beat around the bush.
Hermione sipped her drink and snorted, “Right. Until something more important comes along.”
Draco sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He had obviously touched a delicate nerve, and she was making him pay for his stupidity.
They had been so wrapped up in their conversation that they hardly noticed everyone else moving towards the beach until Ginny shouted, “Hermione, come on! Let's go for a walk on the beach. The sunset is exquisite. Malfoy, do you want to join us?”
Draco stood his ground and said, “No, I'm fine here, thanks.”
His fingers closed around Hermione’s wrist, and he insisted, “Stay with me, Granger.”
Ginny called out once again, “Hermione!”
Conflicted and wanting to teach him a lesson, she broke free from his hold and said, “I'll be right back, Draco.”
Draco scowled, “Fine.” He turned his back on his friends, picked up the tumbler of scotch and drained it with one gulp before ordering another.
Hermione pursed her lips and followed Ginny. She wasn't responsible for him, especially when he disregarded her at the slightest diversion.
Draco frowned. He heard a soft voice behind him, “Hi, I hope I'm not intruding.”
It was the woman from across the bar. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and smiled broadly, “Not at all, and thank you for the drink. Please allow me to return the compliment.”
The woman smiled sweetly and slid into the highchair beside him, “You're too kind. Marlon, I'll have a Sex On The Beach.”
Marlon snapped to attention, “Coming right up, Miss Summers.”
She eyed the man she had practically been stalking and mused, “Clearly, you're not from here.” He was undoubtedly more handsome up close. The dangerous and forbidden kind
Draco smirked, “I'm on holiday with some friends.” He rested his elbow on the bar counter and gave her his attention.
He held out his free hand and introduced himself, “Draco Malfoy.”
She confidently shook his hand and followed suit, “Jennifer Summers.” His name was unique and suited him well.
Draco raised a curious brow, “Summers?”
The orangish cocktail appeared, and she took it before answering, “Yup.”
He was intrigued by her attitude and outstanding confidence, “Refreshing.”
Jennifer licked her bottom lip alluringly and leaned forward, “So, Draco, tell me a little about yourself.”
Hermione stared into the distance. She could make out Neville and Pansy. They looked so in love and committed. It was hard to picture.
Neville lovingly kissed his wife, and Pansy brushed his hair back and stared at his face adoringly. Somehow, their exchange made Hermione's heart ache. Until her divorce, she would not be able to experience that sort of love and admiration, which made her sad.
Ginny noticed her friend’s sour deposition and gently nudged her, “Have you two had a row?”
Hermione sighed, “Not really. He's, um, insistent, and I’m petrified.”
She added candidly, “Also, I'm punishing him for picking Hannah over me.”
Ginny said with a definite roll of her eyes, “I doubt that’s what happened. Well, if you need to be with him, do that. Join us later.”
Hermione felt butterflies in her stomach, and her heart fluttered excitedly, “Would that be alright?”
Ginny chuckled, “Of course, you ninny.”
Hermione bit her lip and said, “I'm nervous.” She needed a drink to calm her bloody nerves and make her relax.
Ginny knew her so well. She smiled and suggested right off the bat, “Have a drink, and for Merlin's sake, do not overthink anything.”
She included with a knowing wink, “I hope you’re wearing the lacy black knickers I saw tumble out of your bag last night.”
Hermione laughed aloud, “Ginny!” They had wandered quite a bit from the hotel, and she set to the daunting task of walking back alone.
Draco asked in an attempt to converse, “So, what brings you to Hawaii?” He was on his fifth scotch and slightly feeling it.
Jennifer tilted her head and smirked, “Business and pleasure. Are you currently involved?”
Draco moved his hypnotic grey eyes over the woman before him and replied with a hint of sarcasm, “You are bold. It's complicated.”
Jennifer crossed her legs and smiled rather slyly, “Ah, I guess I am, but I know what I want and how to get it.”
Draco wasn't interested in whatever she was offering but played along for the time being.
He mused, “Good to know.”
What was he doing? He was openly flirting with a woman he had just met, and his impulsive actions could land him in hot water if he weren’t careful.
However, Jennifer pried. She wanted to know more about him, “Complicated huh? That mostly means you’re free to do whatever you wish without facing any consequences.”
How wrong she was.
Draco asked curiously, “Is this your first time in Hawaii?” He pointedly stirred the conversation away from his relationship status.
Jennifer chuckled, “I visit all the time. Let me show you around the resort and island. I know some spots even the tour guides don't.” She noticed his hesitation to talk about his personal business, and her curiosity grew, but she refrained from asking any more questions.
Draco moved away and politely declined, “I don't think that's a very good idea.” Alcohol was clouding his judgment, but he knew leaving with this woman would not work in his favour.
Still, Jennifer hopped off the stool, invaded his space and muttered, “Live a little, Draco. The point of these trips is to have some fun.”
Well, she did have a valid point. He felt his resolve crumble, and before his brain could step in and stop him from being foolish, he impulsively agreed, “Lead the way.” He did want to see more of the island, and Granger seemed busy. Besides, he would return shortly before anyone noticed his absence.
A small voice in his mind warned him he was making yet another terrible mistake.
Hermione stopped to clean her feet since they were covered with sand. She glanced over her shoulder in time and caught sight of Draco leaving with the pretty American girl.
Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach, and she held back the tears that threatened to spill over. She felt betrayed and instantly miserable.
London
Hannah shuffled through her papers and tidied her desk incredibly untidily. It wasn't usual for her to come to work on a Sunday, but there was an important reason and information to be gathered.
The Ministry was deserted except for a few employees who mumbled to themselves and walked about carrying heavy loads of files and parchment. She took the lift down to her desired floor and almost squealed with delight when bright light greeted her.
She saw an older man wipe the glass bits of his spectacles.
Hannah almost yelled, “Burke! You got my message.”
Burke frowned and wiped his brow, “Yeah, about coming in on Sunday? I did, indeed. The missus was ever so pleased.” After nearly thirty years of marriage, he appreciated the call to work. He needed a bit of a break from the chores and occasional nagging.
Hannah felt quite rightly horrible and apologised profusely, “I'm sorry, mate.”
Burke smiled broadly, “Abbott, long time no see. What brings you down to our paradise?” He liked Hannah. She was passionate about her job and a tough broad.
Hannah pulled a package from her coat pocket, “First, I bought you a bottle of your favourite scotch.”
Burke took the package, pulled out the bottle and grinned, “Aye, that's a good lass.”
Hannah instructed, “Second, fetch two glasses because we're in for a long day.”
Burke was taken aback. It was barely ten in the m, “Bit early, isn't it?”
Still, Hannah wasn't thrown off, she insisted, “Never too early for a good drink.”
Burke fetched two glasses, cracked open the seal of the aged scotch and poured them each a shot. He handed one to Hannah and said, “Aye! Tell me.”
Hannah spoke very clearly, “I need everything on Arabella Flint.”
Burke replied thoughtfully, “Prominent family. It shouldn't take too long.”
Hawaii
Ginny walked beside Luna. The sunset was truthfully amazing, and Luna seemed much like her old self, which delighted Theo.
She said gently, “Luna?”
Luna responded, “Hmm…”
Ginny asked directly, “How far along are you?”
Luna scanned the area for Theo and breathed a sigh of relief since he was busy splashing water on Blaise. She turned to look at Ginny and replied solemnly, “What gave it away?”
Ginny smiled tenderly, “Your behaviour. You haven't touched a drink.” Luna could drink them under the table and be steady on her feet.
Luna touched her flat belly and smiled happily, “Six weeks, give or take. It’s always so hard to be one hundred per cent accurate with these things.”
Ginny hugged her tight, “Congratulations.”
She raised a curious brow, “And Nott has no idea?”
Luna shook her head and responded rather miserably, “Not yet. I want to tell him but don't want to ruin the mood.”
Ginny smiled and nodded, “I understand.”
Luna chewed on her bottom lip nervously, “I'm not really sure how he will react.” She was afraid he would become angry and hurt her feelings. It was her idea to have a child, and he had been somewhat reserved about the idea from the start due to his horrible upbringing.
Ginny softened her gaze and offered sensible and reasonable advice, “Well, I think you need to tell him despite what he might say. It'll be like ripping off a bandaid.”
Luna looked at her husband playing in the water with Blaise and smiled. Ginny was right. She had to tell Theo that in a few months, he was going to be a father.
Ministry Of Magic
After nearly two hours, Burke emerged from the back room with a dusty file balanced on the tip of his wand. He made it land on the table, sending whatever contents flying.
He blew the dust off the cover, scratched the back of his neck and said, “Ah, here we go. Sorry about the delay. There wasn't much on Arbella except her birth and school records.” He pulled out the chair next to Hannah and started to examine the old parchments with blotched ink in places.
Burke squinted and started to read, “Arabella Margo Flint. The second daughter of Flint Senior and accomplished herbologist. Married to some rich Russian Bloke…..”
A picture of her was attached to the file. She was in her Hogwarts uniform. The symbol of Slytherin on her robes was clear as day. Hannah ran her fingers over the picture and muttered, “She's beautiful.” The long, luscious red hair stood out.
Burke flipped through the pages and said thoughtfully, “Hmm, that's strange…”
Hannah snapped out of her daze and questioned, “What's up, Burke?”
Burke didn't sound pleased. He stated with a certain level of annoyance, “She disappears from our records after that. I can't find any mention of her. Most odd.”
Hannah widened her eyes in surprise, “What? How is that possible?”
Burke shrugged, “If they moved to Russia, it would make sense.”
Hannah was adamant. She insisted firmly, “But we know they’re here. Wouldn't we be alerted to their presence in England?”
Burke leaned back in his chair and shook his head, “Hmm, not if they used Muggle means to enter the country under assumed names. Plenty of buggers have done it.”
Hannah sighed, “It is highly possible, but we must be sure….” They couldn't catch a fucking break with this maniac.
Burke patted her on the back and offered reassurance, “Since you've been such a good girl, I have a buddy at the Russian Ministry. Let me have a chat with him and see.”
Hannah smiled broadly, “You're amazing. Thank you so much.”
Burke raised a curious brow, “How urgent is this?”
Hannah sighed. She responded gravely, “It's a matter of life and death.”
Chapter 68
Summary:
To all the comments:- Thank you all for taking the time to write such encouraging words. Much love and appreciation!
This is one of my longest chapters to date!
No Spoilers! ENJOY!
Enjoy Chapter Sixty-Eight!
Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay safe, beautiful people!
HAPPY READING! :)
Chapter Text
London
The man sat at the bar at the Leaky Cauldron and nursed a drink. His tolerance for alcohol wasn't the best, but he needed a drink to numb the feelings of resentment bubbling inside of him, or else Sarah would be on the receiving end of his terrible temper.
He sat at the very end, hoping no one would pay him much attention, and it seemed to work since no one approached him or glanced his way. He went the extra mile and kept the disfigured half of his face well covered. Even in the magical realm, such a disfigurement wasn't expected and caused people to stare at him, especially children. He hoped his child wouldn't be afraid.
He grew distant from his surroundings and thought back to his mother. The money her parents had paid to get rid of them was running out, and her madness and lack of compassion made it nearly impossible to hold down any sort of job. Not that she would dare work for Muggles or live as one.
In her eyes, death was a far better option. However, she never asked for another wand or even mentioned her old wand that was broken to bits by her monstrous husband. Instead, she took solace in tormenting her son, who, in her mind, was the root of all the horror.
It was his duty to provide for her and take care of her despite her savage treatment of him. Without his father's presence, he had ceased raping her, although he secretly watched her undress and pleasured himself over it. To him, she was perfect.
Unbeknownst to her, he had found his way to Diagon Alley. He was no simpleton. Quite the contrary, he was reasonably intelligent and deeply obsessed with the magical world. As a squib, he could see what witches and wizards saw but lacked magic. It was a cruel existence.
However, he had charmed his way into the good graces of an ageing witch minding a small shop. She had taken pity and given him the job of looking after the place in her absence. He could've left his mother to rot and lived better if he wished. Perhaps, if he had taken that route, he might have turned out differently, but he loved her and couldn't bear to be away. She wasn't aware of his employment, nor did she pry how he earned money.
He remained at the shop for several years, working diligently and often being ridiculed by certain patrons for his disfigurement. Until an undeniable opportunity came knocking, and he set his sights on bigger targets.
A polite barmaid came over and inquired sweetly, “Are you alright, love? Can I get you another?”
The man blinked twice and came crashing back to reality. It was nice to be treated like a human being for once.
He was about to respond, but the movement of luscious red locks caught his eye. He turned at once and caught sight of a beautiful woman conversing with a handsome man who seemed entirely enthralled by his companion. She tossed her lovely long hair out of the way and laughed. The sultry peals of laughter invaded his space, and his lips curved upwards to form a slight smile.
She was pretty and definitely his type, but he had Sarah, who was his everything. Soon, she would give birth to their child, completing the everlasting bond. Unlike his bastard father, he would lavish his child with love and attention.
He preferred to stay home but ordered another round with a happy smile plastered on his grotesque face.
Hawaii
Draco looked around the partially empty bar and restaurant, pulled out a bar stool, and enthusiastically said, “Well, this is an interesting spot.” It was a few minutes’ drive inland. They had a slight conversation and got to know each other a bit better. She wasn't particularly interesting but better than most, he supposed.
Unfortunately, the many glasses of scotch he consumed were doing his thinking for him. It was not in his character to just leave with some random stranger he met in a new place. Of course, he was perfectly capable of fending for himself, but it was still reckless.
He wondered how Hermione was fairing and felt a wave of guilt wash over him.
Jennifer gently settled on the high bar stool and giggled, “Isn't it? I come here often.”
She smiled fondly at the bartender, waiting eagerly for their order and instructed, “Brian, the usual, please.”
Brian smiled broadly, “Coming right up, Miss Summers.” He turned away and grabbed a bottle of expensive champagne resembling Dom Pérignon from the neatly stacked row of bottles.
Draco couldn't help but be somewhat impressed since she was charismatic, “You seem to know everyone.”
They had arrived by car. She had simply walked out of the hotel, snapped her fingers, and a chauffeur-driven, sleek black Mercedes Benz had pulled up in a matter of minutes. Clearly, she was wealthy and not in the least bit afraid to flaunt it. Of course, it didn't quite interest him since he had long since renounced any fascination over materialistic items.
The driver eyed him sceptically while opening the door for them to get in, and Jennifer caught sight of the perturbed man and mused, “Marshal, he's a friend. Please stop analysing him. I assure you his intentions are noble even if mine aren't.”
The man looked visibly ill and hardly convinced but held his tongue. The bloke probably thought Draco was a good-for-nothing beach bum trying to trap his beloved employer.
Jennifer shrugged casually, “I guess I do.” It was the world she was born into, and she loved every second of it. The only drawback was it made it hard to maintain a relationship or judge a person’s true intentions, but the man before her seemed genuine and trustworthy. She felt instantly drawn to him.
Brian placed the tall champagne flutes on the bar counter and expertly poured the golden liquid into the glasses. Jennifer nodded her approval and delicately held out a flute for Draco to take with a genuine smile, “I hope you don't mind champagne.”
However, Draco sceptically eyed the glass in her grasp and politely refused, “Not at all, but I don't think I'll drink.”
Jennifer pouted, much like a child, “Oh, come on! Please, for me?”
Draco chuckled, “Just one glass then.” He had indulged far too much on this trip, and his self-control hung by an invisible thread. Once they were back home, he would need to catch up on his meditation and training.
Jennifer smirked. One glass was all she needed.
He took the glass and held it gingerly by the stem. They clinked their glasses together, and Jennifer made a short toast, “To new beginnings.”
Draco raised a curious brow but kept his true feelings on the matter hidden as he sipped and savoured the richness of the champagne.
Hawaii
Hermione ordered a scotch neat and downed it. She stared into the bottom of the empty glass glumly. After seeing him leave, she resorted to getting horribly drunk to numb the pain that was ravaging her body. She wasn't particularly pleased by her intense reaction to seeing him with another.
The sky darkened, and the beautiful lights that decorated the bar came to light, adding a luminescent glow to the area. A few miserable hours had passed, and Hermione still sat at the bar, striking up an animated conversation with the bartender, who seemed genuinely interested and a bit concerned. The woman had clearly had too much to drink, and he wondered whether he should cut her off before she passed out.
Hermione ran her finger around the rim of the tumbler and smiled as the friendly bartender pushed a bowl of salty peanuts towards her. He must have figured she needed nourishment.
She grimaced, “Are these fresh?” She was mildly drunk but acutely aware of the many fingers that dug around the bowls of nuts at bars, and she had no intention of consuming ghastly snack items.
The barman laughed and reassured, “I prepared this bowl especially for you, miss. I assure you no one else has had a taste.” He wasn't a native but travelled from South Africa to make a better life for himself. What he earned in tips alone was enough to support his family back home.
After walking the length of the beach to the point where massive rocks and waves crashed against them, the illustrious group of witches and wizards turned back and headed towards the comfort of the hotel.
Theo wiped his brow, “It's so bloody humid here.” He wished he applied some cream to save his pasty white skin. For once, he longed for the coolness of the London air.
Blaise nodded in agreement, “Yeah, mate. It gets under your skin.”
Luna and Ginny chatted among themselves, exchanging bits about pregnancy and what to expect afterwards. At the same time, Pansy and Neville were oblivious to their friends' presence and lived within their little bubble entirely and utterly in love.
Hermione heard her friends' voices, but Theo’s tone of surprise made it to the inner shell of her ear.
“Where the fucks Malfoy?” Theo inquired while approaching the bar. He immediately ordered a drink.
Hermione smiled almost angelically and leered, “He’s off on a date.”
Blaise frowned, “That can't be right.” He had come behind Theo and heard Granger.
Theo took a sip from his drink, licked his bottom lip and asked thoughtfully, “Yeah, are you sure, Granger?”
Hermione hopped off the stool and scoffed, “Oh, I saw him leave with her.” She settled her bill and gave the bartender a hefty tip. It was well deserved. She made a mental note to inform the front desk of his outstanding customer service.
Blaise and Theo swapped a worried look of sorts.
Ginny saw Hermione, and her eyes widened in surprise. She pulled her friend aside and asked urgently, “What happened? I thought you were with Malfoy.”
Hermione was unsteady on her feet and muttered so only Ginny could hear, “I’ll tell you later. Right now, I’m famished.”
Neville had his arm around Pansy’s waist and addressed the group in general, “How about we have dinner outside? The restaurant has a wonderful open area, and we can see the beach.”
Theo kissed the top of Luna’s head and asked lovingly, “Is that alright with you, darling?”
Luna nodded at once. She realised that she felt better out in the open rather than cooped up inside. Her morning sickness seemed to be under control, and she was grateful that her body was letting her enjoy at least one day without being violently sick.
Blaise shrugged, “I’m fine with anything. I could eat a whole cow. I’m starving.”
Ginny chuckled, “I’m with you, mate.” She thoroughly enjoyed spending time with Blaise. He was hilarious in a sarcastic way and unafraid to speak his mind.
Hermione was far away and couldn't be arsed where they ate as long as the food was well prepared and tasty. When Ginny nudged her, she made her thoughts vocal, “I don’t care.”
Everyone glanced in her direction with a pinch of sympathy and sadness. They weren't overly thrilled with the way Draco was handling the situation. It was clear his actions had some impact on Granger. She did her best to show indifference, but her body language and eyes told a vastly different story.
Neville took the lead and led them to the busy restaurant, where most guests preferred the airconditioned indoor seating to the natural breeze of the setting outside.
However, it was ideal, and everyone settled into their seats. After a few minutes, they realised that guests returning to the hotel could cut across the outside dining area using an illuminated pathway to avoid the crowd in the lobby. It was pretty discreet and hassle-free.
Once everyone had served themselves, they sat down and began eating except Hermione, who, despite herself, kept looking at the entrance. Her eyes searched the crowd for that one familiar face. She hated herself for looking for him but couldn't help herself.
Ginny looked over and found Hermione pushing bits of chicken and vegetables around the plate and asked in concern, “Darling, are you alright? You've barely touched your food.” She could tell from her friend’s behaviour that she was moderately drunk and possibly on an empty stomach.
Hermione impaled the closest piece of meat with her fork with unnecessary force and exclaimed somewhat loudly, causing everyone at the table to look her way, “I'm fine, Ginny. I swear. He's free to do as he wishes.” No one had mentioned Malfoy, but she saw the need to share her feelings and get some matters off her chest.
Blaise smiled slightly and said kindly, “Granger, I’m pretty sure it's not a date of sorts.” He would have a stern word with Draco once he returned. His behaviour was completely insensitive.
Hermione scowled. She was trying so hard not to show any emotion, “Honestly, I'm good. Malfoy and I aren't a couple in any sort of way. He's quite a free agent.”
A hardened voice of jagged steel sliced through the moment, “Am I now?” The air around them shifted from vibrant to reserved.
Hermione felt a shiver go down her spine. Nervousness turned to anger when she realised, he wasn't alone.
Blaise gritted out, “Mate, where have you been?” His eyes immediately went to the woman standing next to Draco. She seemed daft and blissfully unaware of any tension in the room.
Draco kept his composure and responded with little interest, “Sightseeing.” When Jennifer suggested a more discreet way to enter the hotel, he had not betted on running into all his friends having dinner.
Bollocks.
Besides, he had been gone for hours, much longer than anticipated. Still, Jennifer was a hard woman to discourage, or he was far too weak-willed to stand his ground and judging by the icy daggers directed his way by his fiancé, he had royally fucked up.
Jennifer pointedly cleared her throat, reminding Draco of her existence. Good manners finally kicked in and he politely introduced, “Oh, sorry. I would like you all to meet Jennifer.”
She waved at them and smiled broadly in greeting before offering a well-rehearsed apology, “Hi, I’m so sorry I kept him. It's completely my fault.”
She gazed adoringly into his face and batted her long eyelashes, adding rather hotly, “I guess the time got away from us.” She touched his arm for effect, and the intimate gesture was not lost on the people watching them intently.
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes to mere slits. She was absolutely furious.
“Not a problem, love,” Theo quipped, but the utter look of smugness vanished off his face when he caught sight of the stern look Luna had bestowed upon him. He missed Draco’s darkened eyes staring angrily at him.
Finally, Jennifer realised something was amiss. She ignored the rest and asked Draco eagerly, “Yes, well, good night then, Draco. Oh, are we on for snorkelling tomorrow?” They had discussed the event in detail, and she looked forward to it. It would allow her to impress him with a two-piece bathing suit that moulded perfectly to her shapely body.
Draco looked uncomfortable and fought to find the right words to reply with, “Umm…”
Jennifer noticed his hesitation and quickly extended the invitation to include everyone, “Your friends can join. That would be so cool.” She smiled at the group, hoping for some positive reactions that never came.
She thought it prudent to sweeten the invitation and said, “Honestly, you guys should totally join us. Daddy is letting me take out the yacht.” A trip on a yacht in Hawaii was a dream come true for anyone. Of course, she had no real idea about the group before her, except they seemed rather reserved and annoyed by her presence.
Ginny rolled her eyes. Merlin, she was one of those. She was born with a silver spoon right up the arse. Malfoy definitely had a type. The woman was remarkably like Astoria Greengrass in attitude and personality, but the Greengrass woman outshone her with her looks.
However, Draco smiled and reassured, “Why don't I call you in the morning so we can talk about it?” He was never going to call. She had come onto him quite strongly on the drive back to the hotel, and he didn't care for her attention. Of course, he had only himself to blame by acting stupidly, giving her false hope and omitting that he was indeed an engaged man.
Jennifer perked up instantly and giggled, “It's a date then! Awesome! I look forward to it.”
Hermione was livid. She averted her gaze from the pathetic display and stared into the distance. She could vaguely make out waves and turmoil of them crashing into rocks. The destructive actions matched her internal battle of feelings.
Draco ran his fingers through his hair and said politely, “Okay. Take care.” He wished she would just leave well enough alone and go on her merry way instead of lingering.
Jennifer beamed, “Great. It was nice to meet you all. Good night.”
She went on tiptoes and kissed Draco on the cheek while he looked utterly uncomfortable, but it wasn't gentlemanly to push her away. The group stared openly, and Hermione flagged down the nearest server and ordered a double scotch with a splash of water and ice.
The pain was deep and visceral, like a physical ache in her chest. Hermione felt a sense of loss as if a part of her was being ripped away. The betrayal cut deep, leaving her feeling hurt and vulnerable.
Neville pursed his lips, and Pansy rolled her eyes. Draco was a certifiable moron.
Theo chuckled and waited for the fireworks that would indeed follow, and Luna looked rather sad.
After Jennifer left the area, Draco awkwardly pulled out the chair next to Blaise and lowered his six-foot-two frame into it. Even though he didn’t wish to draw attention to himself, everyone at the table, excluding Hermione, was staring at him.
He leaned close to Blaise and asked quietly, “What did I miss?”
Blaise muttered in reply, but it was apparent from his tone that he was far from pleased, “Draco, it might not be my place, but I’m going to share my opinion nonetheless.”
Draco raised a curious brow and waited for Blaise to start talking.
Blaise didn't beat around the bush and came straight to the point, “What exactly are you playing at?”
Genuinely confused, Draco responded with appropriate naivety, “I don't quite follow you, mate.”
“Do you give a shite about Granger?” Blaise gritted out while glancing at Hermione from the corner of his eye.
Draco responded without hesitation, “I do. Isn't that fairly obvious?”
Blaise scolded rather pointedly, “Then why the fuck are you off with some skirt you just met?”
Draco sighed and argued, “It wasn't like that, Zabini. She showed me some nice spots.”
Theo, who was within earshot and listening to the conversation, couldn't help but chuckle. He mused, “I'm sure she did, mate.”
Blaise looked pointedly towards the entrance and enlightened, “You're an idiot. Granger's been starting at the entrance and eaten nothing since we sat down for dinner.”
Draco exasperatedly responded, “Blaise, Granger and I aren't in a committed relationship and never will be, so you lot must accept it for whatever it is and move on.”
However, Blaise was hardly convinced and stated his opinion, “Yeah? If you say so, but you're in denial.” His friend was a complete buffoon. How could he not see that Granger was affected by his behaviour towards another woman? Malfoy was an intelligent man, but obviously not when it came to matters of the heart.
Luna felt her emotions getting the better of her and said, “Draco, that wasn’t very nice.”
Pindrop silence followed. Draco pursed his lips and averted his gaze.
Hermione drained her drink, leaned closer to Ginny and whispered, “I have a headache, Ginny. I think I’ll call it a night.” She pushed back her chair and got to her feet, but before she could leave the area, Theo asked in a somewhat disappointed tone, “Leaving so soon, Granger? We were planning on hitting a nightclub or two.”
She smiled, not wanting to be a spoilsport and answered, “You guys carry on. I'm not feeling well.”
Theo tilted his head and said curiously, “Maybe you've got what Luna has.”
Luna almost choked on her beverage but somehow managed to hide her reaction from her husband, who wasn't paying her much attention then.
Hermione mused, “Trust me, it's not that.” Her fiancé refused to sleep with her. It would be impossible for her to conceive without his bloody help.
Ginny glanced at her friend’s plate and asked solemnly, “Hermione, are you sure? I thought you were hungry.”
Still, Hermione insisted, “I need some fresh air, Ginny.” Which made little sense since they were already outside, but it seemed like the most plausible excuse. She slowly moved past the others, but a hand came out of nowhere and grasped her wrist tightly.
“Are you alright, Granger?” Draco asked in a low voice, somewhat hesitantly but with concern. His intuitive eyes roved over her while he held onto her arm, awaiting an explanation.
Hermione hissed in unmistakable anger, “Unhand me this instant, Malfoy, if you know what's good for you.” The rage she held at bay threatened to break the barrier and spill onto the surface for all to see.
He let go at once. In all their time together, he had never heard that tone of intense loathing in her voice. It was evident his callous actions had hurt her.
Ginny quickly rose and came to stand by her friend. She threw Malfoy a look of pure annoyance and took a protective stance. Still, she mused, “I'll come with you. If I eat another bite, I'll explode. Besides, I’m knackered.”
Hermione frowned, “Ginny, you should go with the others.” She felt awful that Ginny would miss out on a fun night out because of her mood. Maybe it would be best if they both went, and she could flirt with some random man and hopefully make Malfoy jealous.
However, Ginny yawned pointedly and covered her mouth with the back of her hand. She said sleepily, “Nah, I’m ready to call it a day.” She wasn't in the least bit tired but would go to the ends of the earth to ensure Hermione was okay.
Surprisingly, Blaise pushed back his chair, got to his feet and wholeheartedly agreed, “Me too.”
Draco stared at Hermione, hoping to make eye contact, but she studiously ignored him.
Theo was beside himself. He crossed his arms over his chest and complained, “Pussies.”
No one paid him much attention except Blaise. Ginny and Hermione had already left the area.
When Hermione made a detour and headed towards the lift, Ginny asked, perplexed, “Huh? I thought you wanted to go to the beach and clear your head.”
Hermione pushed the button and sighed, “No, I need a drink.” She had nearly drunk her body weight in various alcoholic beverages, but still, the pain of Malfoy’s betrayal pinched at her heart.
Ginny didn't argue. Instead, she offered the most plausible location to pass out without shame or judgment, “Room?”
“Yeah,” Hermione replied with a slight smile. It was nice not to have to explain one's actions.
Draco wasn't in the mood to return to the room, nor was he up for a whole night of dancing and debauchery. Still, he convinced a completely sober Blaise to accompany them.
Reluctantly, the father of two went along with the plan, which he was sure to regret later. What he wanted was to retire to his room and call his wife. He missed his family terribly and realised how incredibly lucky he was to have Daphne and the children in his life.
Theo and Pansy took the lead and headed to an exclusive club catering to the rich and famous. It was a pricey establishment but worth the money spent. Still, Draco wasn't interested in the women who paid him attention or the free-flowing alcohol. He wanted to check on Granger, but she had made it abundantly clear that she wanted nothing to do with him.
He checked with Blaise, “Do you think I should talk to Granger?”
Blaise smirked, “Yeah if you want her to hex your balls off. She’s not happy with you, mate.”
Draco argued, “I didn't do anything wrong.”
Blaise laughed aloud, “You bloody idiot! Do you actually believe running off with some bird wasn't wrong?”
Draco frowned. He supposed his actions weren't without consequences, but he hadn't intended them to be romantic.
Neville pulled Pansy close, and they danced while laughing and having a merry time. They seemed to be the only people thoroughly enjoying themselves.
Theo sighed. He had seen Luna back to the room before joining his friends. She had briefly expressed disappointment in his childish behaviour and wanted to rest, blaming it on her aching feet and slight backache.
He threw back his shot and immediately requested another. Turning to Draco, he issued a dire warning, “Do not get married, mate. Run away while you still can.”
“Trouble in paradise?” Blaise mused.
Theo scowled, “I don’t want to fucking talk about it.”
Draco figured he would fix things with his fiancé the following day when everyone was sober and more in control of their emotions. He owed her an apology for his crude behaviour.
Hawaii
Hermione sat cross-legged on the bed in her jogging bottoms and t-shirt, popped a piece of chocolate into her mouth and asked, “Are you shocked about Luna?”
Ginny broke off a large piece of delectable chocolate and shrugged, “Not really. She's been wanting kids for a while now.”
Hermione nodded in agreement, “I suppose, but she seems petrified.”
Ginny sighed, “I guess she'll feel better about it once she fesses up to Nott.” She was honestly surprised that Luna hadn't told her husband and couldn't imagine keeping such a secret from Harry. When she suspected she was pregnant with James, Harry had been in the bathroom while she did the pregnancy test. Well, couples are different, she supposed, and Nott had a horrific childhood.
Hermione stated openly, “He's going to be pissed that she didn't tell him.” Nott was always the one to crack jokes, appropriate or not, and she couldn't quite imagine how he would take the news.
Again, Ginny shrugged rather casually, “Well, Nott adores her. I doubt he's going to lose his shit with her in her current condition.” If he acted poorly, the marriage would end, and Luna would raise the child to be unique and brilliant.
Hermione licked the melted chocolate off her fingers and nodded, “True.”
Ginny suggested, “Do you want to get that drink? I'm sure the minibars got some stuff.” While her companions had drunk themselves to a standstill, she hadn't indulged and wished to let loose in the room's safety. Besides, she handled her alcohol well.
Hermione rolled off the bed and headed towards the minibar. She first looked at the docket with the prices listed and widened her eyes, “These are ridiculously priced.” Even by Muggle standards, the amounts were exorbitant.
However, Ginny wasn't bothered and said, “Fuck it. I've got plenty of money. I used to be an international Quidditch star, remember?”
Hermione smiled, “How could I ever forget how brilliant you were.” Ginny had been on the fast track to instant fame. She was extraordinarily talented and simply that good.
Ginny looked forlorn and sighed, “I miss it sometimes, you know? I wanted to play for England. I was so close.” Her last words mirrored the desperation and disappointment she sometimes felt. They had planned to get pregnant after she made the national team and played on it for a few years, but life would have other plans, and she embarked on another more challenging journey—raising their beloved son.
Hermione completely sympathised, “I know, Ginny. Maybe you can get back into it.” She knew Ginny would never agree, but she wanted to be a supportive friend.
Ginny responded solemnly, “That ship has sailed.” She grabbed onto a tummy roll and chuckled.
Hermione scanned the contents of the minibar and said, “Well, we've got vodka and whiskey.”
Ginny smirked and said with purpose, “Hand me one of those small bottles of vodka.”
Hermione fetched the assortment of bottles from the small fridge and dropped them onto the bed with a playful smile, “Nice!”
Ginny twisted the cap off a bottle, took a swig and asked earnestly, “Now, what's all this about? Is it about that girl?” Obviously, it was, but she needed confirmation to offer appropriate advice.
Hermione toyed with a small bottle and sighed deeply, “No. Maybe. I didn't handle it very well, did I?”
Ginny gulped down the remaining contents of the bottle and stated frankly, “Well, it's hardly your fault. He's a wanker for just showing up with some random woman, especially after his childish exit after breakfast the other day.”
“True,” Hermione exclaimed rather glumly. It was the absolute truth Ginny spoke, and she wondered if Malfoy was trying to make her jealous by courting another woman.
A sudden thought came to Ginny's mind, and she asked urgently, “By the way, isn't Malfoy supposed to be your bodyguard?”
Hermione scoffed, “He is, but since I insisted on sharing a room with you, he placed protective charms around the room so he's alerted if I exhibit signs of distress.” Funnily enough, it was him, and only he was causing her any distress.
She added in an irritated tone of voice, “It's so bloody tiresome to be treated like some helpless fucking child.”
Ginny defended her husband, “He's only following orders, Hermione. You could be in real danger.” Harry would never take a threat on Hermione’s life lightly. There had been many instances in the past in which Harry played the role of bodyguard and watched over one of his dearest friends.
Hermione hissed, “Yeah, your stupid husband's orders.” She was certain Goyle was over whatever sick fantasy plagued his mind. He could hardly march up to her and assault her where she stood, probably surrounded by hordes of people.
Ginny chuckled, “Funny, isn't it? That Malfoy is taking orders from Harry?”
Hermione gritted out, “It's bloody hilarious.” It was funny considering their past, but Malfoy seemed to have no qualms about obeying his former enemy.
Ginny said thoughtfully, “You must believe he's worth saving; otherwise, you wouldn't have spoken on his behalf at the hearing.”
Hermione argued pointedly, “That was different. I was stating facts relevant to the situation.”
“He seems changed,” Ginny said, offering Malfoy the benefit of the doubt. The man before them now did seem to be the opposite of his younger, horrid self.
Hermione had no choice but to agree but did so reluctantly, “He does, but I'm going to approach this marriage cautiously. I cannot afford to let my guard down and be hoodwinked.”
Ginny focused on another bottle and chuckled, “If you say so, Hermione.”
Undeterred, Hermione continued speaking about her insecurities, “He scares me far worse than any other man I've ever encountered.”
Ginny laughed aloud, “You make him out to be some venomous creature.”
Hermione made a face. She responded with dripping sarcasm, “I wouldn't be wrong. He is a snake, after all.”
However, Ginny asked sceptically, “Are you afraid he'll hurt you should you open your heart to him?”
Hermione was appalled and defended profusely, “There will be no opening up of anything. I will not get emotionally involved with Draco sodding Malfoy.”
Ginny didn't mince her words and went straight to the point, “Hmm, a bit too late for that, isn't it love?” She knew Hermione well enough to know that she had feelings for Malfoy. She acted the same way when Ron started dating Lavender.
Hermione rolled her eyes, “Don't start, Ginny.”
Still, Ginny pressed forward with a slight wink, “Do you find Malfoy attractive?”
Hermione frowned and sighed, “I've already answered this question, Ginny. Isn't it obvious?”
Ginny chuckled, “Humour me.” She was merely trying to get Hermione to admit that she indeed fancied Malfoy, and it just wasn't about sex.
Hermione cried out in frustration, “Obviously, I find him attractive. Any human, man or woman with functional eyes would find him attractive. He is quite fetching.”
“Agreed,” Ginny said without a moment's hesitation. They weren't fond of Malfoy, but he was definitely easy on the eyes.
Still, Hermione stood her ground and insisted stubbornly, “But let me be clear. I'm attracted to Draco Malfoy's physical, umm, attributes but not his personality.”
She further emphasised her point: "His appearance and certain mannerisms get me going but nothing else whatsoever.”
Ginny opened another bottle of vodka and grinned, “What do you reckon is his best feature?”
Hermione answered without skipping a beat, “His hands.” His hands were strong yet tender, with fingers that moved gracefully. The warm and inviting skin bore the marks of experience, hinting at a life well-lived.
Like rivers on a map, veins subtly traced their paths beneath the surface, adding to the allure of his arms. Muscles, toned and defined, flexed with each movement, showcasing both strength and elegance. When his arms enveloped her, it felt like being embraced by a safe harbour, a place where she could find solace and comfort.
“What?” Ginny responded with appropriate shock. She was baffled by Hermione’s choice.
Hermione blushed. She knew her preference was a bit odd, but it made perfect sense to her, and she explained best she could, “They are rough with obvious hard work but gentle and soft when he touches me and don't get me started on his long fingers and perfectly cut clean fingernails.”
Ginny nodded in understanding, “Yeah, you always were a bit of a germaphobe.” She recalled Ron complaining about it. Of course, Ron was a complete pig and challenging to live with.
Hermione sighed, “I suppose I am, but he's extremely clean and…she paused for effect, “He smells so intoxicating.” His scent was a blend of warmth and masculinity, with notes of sandalwood and cedarwood that enveloped her in a comforting embrace.
It was a scent that lingered in the air long after he had passed, a reminder of his presence and the allure of his essence. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel his arms around her, his breath against her skin, a whisper of desire and passion. It was a scent that spoke of intimacy, closeness, shared moments, and unspoken connections, leaving her longing for more.
Ginny closed her ears and started to giggle, “Okay, I've heard enough. You really need to shag him.” She was beginning to feel the effects of the highly compelling vodka.
Despite all the alcohol she had consumed, Hermione remained alert and in a highly chatty mood. She declared, “Ginny, all this doesn't excuse the fact that he is Draco Malfoy, bigot, muggle-born hater among plenty of other things.”
Ginny said with a definite roll of her eyes, “It's just sex, Hermione. Just go with the flow. Besides, if you let him, he will surprise you.” She was undoubtedly sure that Malfoy would give Hermione a good run for her money. He wasn't one to simp after her and yield without just cause.
Ginny laid down, propped herself up with her elbow and smirked, “Also, I've made plans for my one hundred Galleons.”
Hermione threw a pillow at Ginny and laughed, “You haven't won yet, and I doubt you will since he's got a little playmate.”
Still, Ginny did not change her mind. She replied hotly, “Oh, but I will. He's been looking at you like he wants to pounce since we arrived. By the way, weren't you supposed to make something happen?”
Hermione frowned and made a disgusted face, “You are incorrigible. By the time I walked up to the bar, he was leaving with that American girl. I thought we established that.” Her friend was drunk and not in the right state of mind.
Ginny became wide-eyed with realisation, “Oh, so that's what happened.”
Hermione scowled, “They returned pretty late. I'm sure they did other stuff amidst sightseeing.”
Ginny brushed her friend's suspicions aside and argued, “What? I don't believe it. It's probably innocent, and Malfoy has no idea he's being a giant knob.”
Hermione retorted, “I hardly think she wants to teach him knitting.” She couldn't help the hearty chuckle that erupted out of her. Before long she was laughing hard at the mental image of Malfoy knitting a jumper.
Ginny shook her head and frowned, “You two are morons.”
Exhausted and fed up with letting her life revolve around Draco, Hermione pleaded, “Enough about Malfoy. Honestly, I would like to hear one sentence without his sodding name.”
Ginny gave in and said, “Alright, alright, don't get your knickers in a bunch.”
Hermione thought it best to turn the tables a bit and shake things up. She adopted a rather sultry tone and questioned, “So, did you have fun with Zabini?”
Ginny blushed crimson, “Yeah, it's been nice. He was always good fun.” Their talk on the beach had led to some much-needed closure. She was happy they could put the past behind them and move on as good friends.
Hermione grinned devilishly and teased, “Uhuh, I see.”
Ginny shot back, “Oh, shut it. Harry is my one and only.” She buried her head inside the duvet and laughed while Hermione did the same.
London
Daphne poured herself a cup of tea and said, “I gather things are better between Ron and you.”
Tracey followed suit. She added two sugar cubes to her cup and stirred. She solemnly replied before siping, “Yes, I suppose they are. I love him, and that's precisely why his fascination with his ex drives me insane. I doubt he feels the same about me.”
Daphne was always the voice of reason and advised, “I'm sure he does, darling. Just give him some time to come around.”
Tracey asked offhandedly, “Is Blaise having an enjoyable time?” She was fond of her half-brother-in-law and wished Daphne was still with him in Hawaii. It was unfortunate that Adam’s allergy had brought her back.
Daphne smiled fondly, “I'm sure he is. Draco arrived on Friday. I haven't spoken to him since yesterday.” Not since he had unceremoniously hung up on her without explanation.
Tracey couldn't help but ask. She wondered, “Don't you worry about what he's doing?”
However, Daphne smiled and reassured, “I trust Blaise, Tracey. I always have. He's never given me a reason to doubt him.” Still, the voice she heard bothered her. Who could it possibly be? Maybe someone they met? But somehow, it sounded familiar.
Tracey sighed, “You're so lucky, Daphne.” She was inspired to have a marriage like her older sister. They were blissfully happy, and it was the ideal relationship.
Astoria made her presence known and said softly, “Draco?” She had heard someone mention her beloved.
Daphne glanced at her younger sister and nodded, “Yes, Tori.” Astoria was more like her old self. She had taken to oil painting, which kept her mind occupied and her illness at bay. Still, they worried and fussed over her daily, hoping against hope that some miraculous cure would be invented.
Astoria became dreamy-eyed and smiled but with a hint of sadness, “I miss him. He hasn't called or sent word through owl post.”
Daphne and Tracey exchanged a look of concern. They had to be careful not to mention Draco in their disturbed sister’s presence.
Daphne responded with a rather motherly tone of voice laced with love and worry, “We know you do, darling, but try to forget about him. I know it's hard, but it's for your own good.”
Astoria laughed rather manically, “Do you think I haven't tried? But I can't. He's my soulmate.” She had tried to be happy with someone else for years, but it never seemed to work out.
Tracey reached over and squeezed Astoria’s hand, “Tori, we hate to see you this way. All broken up over a man.”
Astoria smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes, “I don't particularly enjoy it.”
A well-dressed house elf announced himself and entered Greengrass Manor's parlour. He carried a massive bouquet bigger than himself and held it with incredible difficulty.
He walked over to Astoria and said timidly, “Miss Astoria, these just arrived for you.”
Tracey teased, “Hmm, a secret admirer, Tori?” Astoria was constantly receiving bouquets and presents from random men who fancied her. Despite all that, she loved Draco unconditionally throughout the years and waited for his return. Of course, she hadn't been celibate.
Despite her polished, well-put-together appearance, Astoria was a bit of a wild child. She indulged in one-night stands if and only if the man in question grabbed her attention.
Astoria offered the house elf a heartfelt thank you before accepting the large bouquet of exquisite red roses.
Daphne giggled, “She's had plenty of those.” She turned her attention to her son playing near the fireplace and instructed firmly, “Go play with your sister, Adam, darling.”
The child protested but reluctantly obeyed his mother. He pulled his toy truck behind him and disappeared.
Tracey touched the surface of the wrapping and looked impressed, “It's an expensive bouquet. All roses. Is that gold on the wrapping?”
Daphne concurred and nodded, approving, “Whoever it is has exceptional taste.”
Astoria rolled her eyes, “Will you two give me a minute to find out who it is.” She urgently searched for a card of sorts, and sure enough, there it was, buried deep within the thorns.
It was such an odd place to put a card. Maybe the intent was to cause pain.
Hopefully, she wouldn't cut herself on the lethal thorns of the fresh flowers. She fished it out and opened it with some difficulty, but her heart sank to the pit of her stomach.
Tracey chuckled, “Sorry, little sister, our lives have become so mundane that we want to live vicariously through yours.”
Astoria gritted out in frustration, “Oh, Merlin.”
Her curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, “Not who you were hoping for?”
Astoria hissed, “The one I'm hoping for is marrying a woman who hates his guts.”
Tracey couldn't bear it any longer and insisted, “Well, who is it?”
Astoria said the name rather slowly, “Julius Avery.”
Tracey cried out in disbelief, “What the hell?”
Daphne widened her eyes and exclaimed, “The man from the Ministry lift?”
Astoria kept the flowers aside and nodded, “The same.” She was intrigued but showed indifference.
Tracey couldn't help but be impressed by his determination, “He is persistent. I'll give him that much.”
However, Daphne advised a touch sternly, “Turn him down, Tori. His father is in Azkaban and a nasty man. I do not want you getting involved with him.”
Astoria frowned, “I already did, Daph. It's clear he's hard to discourage. I guess I'll accept his invitation to dinner and tell him to his face.”
Daphne strongly disagreed, “What? No!”
However, Tracey was more diplomatic, “Is that wise?” She knew her sister had a mind of her own and was extremely strong-willed. It would be futile to forbid her from doing anything.
Astoria mused, “I'm not afraid of him.” She didn't particularly care who his father was or who he was, for that matter. She would give him a severe tongue lashing for not leaving her alone as she had initially instructed.
Still, she thought back to their chance meeting. There was something dangerous about him that got her mildly interested.
Knowing full well that she would get shot down, Tracey suggested, “Would you like us to accompany you?”
Astoria laughed, “Don't be silly. I can take care of myself.”
Daphne couldn't help but wonder how the meeting would go. She fought an internal battle with herself on whether to inform her parents. The man wasn't some unknown; he was the offspring of a renowned Death Eater, and the whole situation was disturbing, to say the least.
Hawaii
Throughout breakfast and most of the day, Hermione avoided Draco. She was simply not ready to face him without an emotional outburst. However, she was acutely aware of his mesmerising eyes following her every move.
The day's activities were over, and everyone was left to their own devices. They decided to spend it by lounging by the pool and bar. They would be leaving the following day, so it was prudent to spend the remaining time wisely, soaking up the sun and indulging in some fruity cocktails and beverages.
Hermione emerged in a daring red bikini that barely kept her decent. Nearly everyone did a double take. Her curls added to the appeal, making her appear unbridled and wild.
Draco saw her and frowned. His eyes darkened, and it was evident by the change in his disposition that he was far from pleased with her choice of swimwear.
Theo released a low whistle of appreciation, and Blaise nudged him in the ribs, knocking the wind out of him before Draco heard.
Pansy, who had been dozing off, removed her shades and exclaimed, “Wow, Granger. I didn't know you had it in you.” The Gryffindor Princess had filled out. The bikini top hardly covered her breasts, but the whole get-up was tasteful and nicely put together.
Hermione smirked and responded tartly, “Times have changed, Parkinson. We aren't the same people we were over a decade ago.” The attitude was unnecessary, but she wanted to make a valuable point. Her interactions with Parkinson had been severely limited up until now.
Pansy retorted with a dash of sarcasm, “Hmph, I wish you extended that same courtesy to Draco.”
Hermione turned to face the ex-Slytherin girl who almost gave up Harry to Voldemort and sized her up.
She cocked her head to the side and replied with a bit of annoyance creeping into her tone, “It's not that easy, Pansy.”
Still, Pansy dismissed the swift explanation and insisted, “If Neville and I can do it, so can you both.”
Hermione laughed and stated frankly, “Whatever you two had going on pales compared to my past with Malfoy. It's easy for you to say forgive and forget, but some scars are more than skin deep.” Her hand went to cover the gruesome words carved into her flesh by Bellatrix.
Pansy softened her tone, “I understand your predicament, but at least be open to the fact that he isn't the Draco Malfoy we all knew.”
She looked towards the far side of the bar, and Hermione followed her gaze. Ginny, Draco, Theo and Blaise were at the bar, sharing drinks and a good laugh. Apparently, something Theo said had them all cracking up.
Hermione caught sight of the man she met at breakfast. He was accompanied by the woman Malfoy had gone off with the previous evening.
It was apparent Draco saw them because his body language changed, and without a further word, he dove into the pool. He penetrated the surface with barely a sound, creating a small ripple that quickly dissipated. The dive was executed flawlessly and he vigorously swam laps, hardly coming up for air.
Hermione avoided him altogether. Instead, she kept her eyes on Ryan, who returned the compliment with a slight smile plastered on his face. He seemed to remember her.
The man was undoubtedly interested in her and made it quite apparent to all around them since he kept staring at her without bothering to conceal his intentions.
Hermione laid back on the sun lounger, slipped on dark sunglasses, kept her eyes trained on Ryan and sighed. He was charming, and she loved the way he dressed.
Her concentration was broken by cold water droplets landing on her abdomen. The skin where they touched wrinkled, and she looked for the source with a frown on her face.
Draco ran a hand through his wet hair and stared down at his scantly clothed fiancé with a disappointed, puckered brow.
He didn't mince his words and said darkly, “Eyes on me, Granger.”
Blimey, where had he come from? Hermione thought at once and became somewhat flustered and bothered by his presence.
Still, she answered boldly and somewhat flirtatiously, “That isn't particularly hard to do, considering you are easily one of the most handsome men here.” Her eyes slowly roved over his body. Aurors were generally fit, but she knew his training in Kung Fu shaped his taut physique, and perhaps training for Quidditch kickstarted it all.
Draco sat by her feet and smirked, “Good to know that generations of inbreeding haven't had any effect on me.”
Hermione relished the opportunity to shed light on any matter regardless of the situation and quickly recited, “As mortifying as it sounds, it has been practised since ancient times. The Egyptian royals, in particular, married their siblings in order to keep their bloodlines pure. Horrible decision since it led to multiple congenital disabilities and psychological problems.”
Draco pulled her large towel towards him and used it to clean himself despite her protests. He grinned, “Not the smartest thing to do.”
Hermione recalled being frothing mad at him and glared, “Well, times were different then. It's frowned upon now.”
Jennifer waved at Draco, desperate to catch his attention, while Ryan helped himself to a tumbler of what looked unmistakably like scotch.
Draco obliged by waving back. It was a decent thing to do. She had left multiple messages for him to call, but he had been busy, and it completely slipped his mind.
Hermione asked before she could help herself. Her voice was laced with evident frustration and a smidgen of anger, “Did you have fun with your American?”
Draco thought it best to answer honestly and responded truthfully, “As a matter of fact, I did. She's been coming to the island since she was a child….”
Apparently, honesty wasn't the best policy since his words profoundly impacted the woman he was trying to appease. She seemed highly angered by the truth.
“Oh, a whole 15 years, how wonderful,” Hermione interrupted crudely. The woman looked about Brenda’s age and right out of Hogwarts, but of course, she was a Muggle.
Draco ignored her blatant attempt to get a rise from him and added, “And she knows the best spots and places to eat. She took me to a little place inland. It was fantastic.”
Hermione gritted out, “You went on a date?” Was he actually boasting about his bloody date?
Draco rolled his eyes, “It wasn't a date, Granger.”
Hermione poked him hard in the chest with her foot, hoping to cause pain and lashed out, “I can't believe you would entertain her this way.”
Draco argued with reasonable frustration, “You've been ignoring me for most of this so-called holiday and eyeing the bloody Yank or other blokes. I basically kidnapped you just to go see the sights.”
Hermione was absolutely livid, “You fucking hypocrite” How dare he try to turn this around on her? Bloody wanker.
Draco sighed and conceded, “Look, I admit I made a poor judgment call regarding Jennifer.” Well, if that wasn't the understatement of the century.
Hermione scoffed, “Glad to see your enormous ego allows room for apology.”
He moved closer and muttered, “I thought you wanted to spend time together. If I was wrong in my assumption, I apologise profusely and will refrain from approaching you for the duration of the trip.” They would be returning to London tomorrow, so what did it matter? All they had done was bicker for the most part.
Hermione took the shades off and stared at him with considerable anger. She hissed, “You pick other women over me, and I'm supposed to apologise? This is bloody ridiculous.”
Draco argued defiantly, “I didn't pick anyone over you. Why must you always assume the worst of me?”
Hermione shot back, “Because you keep proving me right.”
Draco sneered, “Besides, you've picked plenty of men over me recently, or have you forgotten about the little incident in your office with Weasley?” He was still bitter about that.
Hermione sat up and defended her actions with every bone in her body, “That was Ron! The situations are vastly different. You can't possibly compare my relationship with Ron to some bimbo you just fucking met.” She didn't realise she was being loud until she caught sight of people looking their way.
Draco looked absolutely disgusted. They would never be rid of her past with Weasley. He shot to his feet, pursed his lips and turned away.
She sprang to her feet and caught hold of his arm, “No, Draco, please stop. You do not get to walk away.” Her fingernails dug into his flesh, and she felt him flinch.
Draco turned around. He easily towered over her, and while most would have been intimidated, sadly, she was not.
He gritted out in frustration, “What?”
Putting her ego and anger aside, Hermione decided it was best to be honest with each other and told him her true feelings, “I did,..I do, but I'm just really nervous about being around you. I came back, but you left with her, and I didn't know what to make of it.”
Draco felt his temper die down. He came closer and said, “How do you think I feel?”
It dawned on him, and he urgently asked, “Wait, what? You came back?”
Hermione smiled, “Yes. Look, I'm sorry, Draco. Let's make the most of what's left…”
He was about to reply when Theo’s dulcet tones cut through the somewhat intimate moment.
Theo tried to drag Draco away, “Come on, mate.”
Draco barred his teeth and gritted out, “Theo, can't you see I'm busy?” Honestly, was he doing it on purpose?
Theo shrugged and showed utter indifference, “What? You're just talking to Granger.”
Idiot.
Draco warned, “Fuck off, Theo.”
He turned to the woman before him and insisted, “What were you saying, Hermione?”
Blaise came up from behind with a sheepish grin and requested, “Draco, mate, where are the keys to the bike?”
Draco sighed, “I left them in the room.”
He asked pointedly, “Can't this fucking wait?”
Blaise looked apologetic, “I'm afraid not. We need to return the bikes, mate.”
Hermione cleared the air, “He's all yours, Blaise.”
Draco was fuming, “Excuse me for a moment, Granger.”
Theo quipped, “See? She knows how important friends are.”
With a mischievous grin, he added, “Thank you, darling, and might I add how sexy you look in red.”
Draco heard enough and glared, “Shut up, arsehole.”
Theo crossed his arms over his chest and teased, “Do I sense a territorial streak?”
Draco stepped closer, forcing Theo to take an involuntary step back and issued a dire warning, “You sense my fiancé! Now cut it out, Theo. Before I fucking thump you.”
He picked up the nearest towel, threw it at Hermione and instructed firmly, “Cover yourself up.”
With those words, he stormed away, but Hermione didn't heed his words. Instead, she addressed the others, “Um, thank you for the compliment, Nott. I'll see you guys later.”
However, she took the wrap-around skirt she had brought, tied it around her slim waist, and headed towards the bar to order herself a drink. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ryan get up from where he was seated under a private cabana and make his way towards her.
Ginny sensed trouble and made her thoughts perfectly vocal, “Whatever you're about to do is not the solution, Hermione.”
Hermione parted her lips to reply, but a deep voice interrupted her, “We must stop meeting like this.”
Hermione tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and bit her bottom lip, “Are you stalking me?”
Ryan’s lips curved upwards to form a cute smile, “Ah, I was wondering when I might run into you.”
Hermione cooed flirtatiously, “Oh, were you?” She took the opportunity to teach Malfoy a valuable lesson. It was petty and would probably backfire, but she didn't care.
She made rather stupid decisions when her feelings had been hurt.
Ginny rolled her eyes and moved well away from the drama. She walked along the beach and used the solitude to call Harry. He was managing remarkably well, according to her mother, but she greatly missed her boys, especially when surrounded by couples and families.
Ryan laughed lightly and briefly explained. He sounded sort of tired, "I've been busy with a bit of business, but that's all over, and I can finally have some fun.” He breathed a sigh of relief.
Hermione smiled, “Good news.”
He offered politely, “Can I get you a drink?”
The one in her hand was almost empty, and she was mainly sticking to white spirits. She agreed with a drop of hesitation, “Um, yeah, sure.” Maybe Ginny was right. Her paying Ryan attention might be taking things too far, and it seemed unnecessary, especially after Malfoy apologised and they agreed to spend time together.
Ryan tapped her gently on the shoulder and interrupted her thoughts, “What's your poison?”
Hermione was taken aback, “Excuse me?”
Ryan chuckled, “What would you like to drink?”
Hermione gathered her wits and answered, “A rum and coke, if you don't mind. Plenty of ice, please.”
Ryan obliged with a little bow, “Coming right up, milady.” He snapped his fingers, and the bartender hurried to fill the required order.
They exchanged a few pleasantries, and one drink turned into two and so on. Before long, they spoke about everything under the sun.
Nearly two hours later, Draco re-entered with Theo and Blaise, who had returned their bikes and picked up the deposit. He looked towards the bar, and the smile vanished from his face. He was not in the least bit happy with what he was seeing.
Theo and Blaise joined Ginny and Luna at a table by the swimming pool. They were drinking fruit juice and enjoying chicken sandwiches. Clearly, Luna was famished since she kept shovelling food into her already cramped mouth.
Ryan leaned forward and whispered, “Are you having a good time?”
Hermione smelt an earthy cologne; it was pleasant but did not affect her. Still, she made no real effort to move back and replied happily, “The best. It's so beautiful here. Especially the weather, it's gorgeous.”
Ryan nodded with understanding, “Yeah, London can get pretty cold. It’s not my favourite place to visit.”
Hermione playfully punched his arm and reacted, “London is special. You just need to know when to visit.”
Ryan smiled, “How about you enlighten me?”
Hermione giggled, “That would take a while.”
He looked around and said, “We make it a point to visit Hawaii yearly. Sometimes twice.”
Hermione sighed, “Lucky you.”
Ryan looked into her eyes and muttered, “Yeah, this year has been one of the best.”
Hermione took a sip and asked innocently, “Oh, how so?”
He boldly declared, “I got to meet you, didn't I?”
Hermione snorted, “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
Ryan laughed, “Only the special ones.”
He looked over to where his sister was and said, “By the way, my sister is crushing hard on one of your friends. The tall blonde surfer-looking dude.”
Friends?
Hermione followed his gaze and couldn't help but glare, “I see. Isn't that her speaking to him? I think they're already acquainted.” She wondered whether she should mention her connection to the blonde dude but thought against it for the time being.
Ryan smirked, “Yup! She's pretty bold.”
Hermione wasn't impressed, “I can see that.” Jennifer was attempting to touch Draco, but clearly, he wasn't having any of it since he politely kept moving away from her advances.
Ryan observed, “He seems to be into her.”
Hermione almost laughed in his face, “Oh, I doubt that.”
A DJ was playing a warm-up session, and people were already starting to dance.
Ryan pointed towards the makeshift floor and asked, “Do you want to dance?”
She was about to politely decline when a hand came out of nowhere, grabbed her wrist and pulled her away. It took Hermione around a second to register whose side she was standing next to.
Draco was mildly intoxicated and hissed, “Sorry, mate, but she's needed elsewhere.”
Hermione broke free from his hold. She was livid, “You do not speak for me, Malfoy. Know your place!” How dare he behave like some uncouth brute?
Ryan eyed Draco with adequate caution but took the opportunity to dismiss him, “I believe the lady has made her choice. Run along now.”
Draco ignored Ryan but looked at Hermione with conflicted eyes. He smiled slightly, gave a curt nod and responded, “So she has. Enjoy yourselves. I shall stay clear out of your way.”
Ryan offered Hermione his hand and asked, “Shall we?”
Anger clouded her judgement and she accepted without remorse, “I would love to.” What was wrong with her? She was behaving like a complete bitch.
Draco got himself another drink and disappeared into the crowd.
Ryan moved closer and whispered in Hermione's ear as they moved to the music, “When do you leave?”
Hermione pouted, “Tomorrow.” She was truly sad to go since they would be returning to a world of problems. Their break from the wizarding world, although short, had been rather marvellous. However, she was keen to get back to work and catch a serial killer. Her feelings were quite contradictory.
Ryan sighed, “That's a shame.” He wondered whether she could be coaxed into staying back with him.
They began facing each other, their bodies close but not touching, eyes locked in a silent conversation. As the music started, they moved towards each other, their movements mirroring and complementing each other's.
Their bodies come together in a series of fluid movements, sometimes close, sometimes with a tantalising distance between them. They used their entire bodies to communicate – from the gentle touch of fingertips to the press of hips and chests.
As the dance progressed, the intensity built. There was a push and pull between them, a game of seduction played out through movement.
He bent his head to her ear. She felt his breath ghost over her skin and said in a low voice, “I like you.”
Hermione smirked, “You hardly know me.” If she were single, she would’ve given Ryan a chance.
Ryan smiled warmly, “I feel like I've known you my whole life.” He pulled her close by her hips and bent his head to claim her very sensual lips.
Draco, who had been watching this whole time, was livid. His fingers balled up to form hardened fists, but he kept composure. He played right into Jennifer's hands in a moment of weakness and anger.
Jennifer had been watching Draco but was irritated by his lack of interest. He was paying too much attention to some curly-haired tramp in a skimpy red bikini. She needed to devise a plan to get him to her room and decided to play a damsel in distress.
She walked over to Draco and grabbed his arm to steady herself, “Draco, I'm not feeling well. Can you see me to my room?”
Caught completely by surprise, Draco peered into her face and said, “Oh? Of course.”
Their lips barely touched, and Hermione backed away and swallowed hard, “I'm sorry I led you on, but I'm kind of here with someone.” What was she doing? She didn’t want this, and she didn’t want Ryan. How could she possibly be this stupid?
Ryan frowned, “Would that someone happen to be the man my sister is interested in and the same person who just tried to control you?”
Hermione looked away, ashamed by her behaviour and nodded, “As a matter of fact, it is.”
Ryan mused, “I wish he were as loyal to you as you are to him.”
Perplexed, Hermione’s brow furrowed together, and she questioned curiously, “What do you mean?”
Ryan delivered the news delightfully, “He just left with Jen, and I'm pretty sure they've gone to his room.”
He shrugged, “I guess he couldn't be bothered waiting for you.”
Hermione felt miserable. This complicated situation was her doing. Malfoy had started it, but she had undoubtedly finished it.
She immediately excused herself, “It was nice to meet you, Ryan.”
He didn't try to stop her but watched her leave with interest. He had known she was engaged from the moment he saw her. The ring on her finger was hard to miss. However, he couldn't quite put his finger on the type of relationship they shared. It seemed to be an open one. Their behaviour was proof of that.
London
Harry could hardly believe his ears, “Flint? The Strangler is of pure blood origin?” They sat around his kitchen table, exchanging details about ongoing cases. Thomas had come by early morning and dropped a bombshell.
Thomas helped himself to another piece of toast and butter and replied, “Hmm, Arabella was most likely his mother. His father is unknown. Hannah is doing a thorough background check.”
Harry nodded, “That should provide plenty of answers.”
Thomas bit into the toast and agreed, “Indeed.”
Harry frowned, “Why didn't you inform me at once?”
Thomas shrugged, “You had your hands full with the children, and I wasn't available.”
Harry raised a curious brow. What the fuck did that mean? The man was married to the bloody job.
However, he insisted firmly, “Still, I expect to be informed at once.”
Thomas nodded, “Duly noted.” He intended to inform Potter but didn't want to disrupt the man’s life completely.
Harry collapsed into a chair and said, “Blimey, this is fucking huge.”
Thomas continued eating his buttery toast and muttered, “It is.”
He bitterly added, “There's a matter of an imprisoned man he wants released. Dolohov has trusted the mission to Dorian. The man is apparently a Potion Master.”
Harry asked curiously, “Polyjuice?”
Thomas elucidated, “Among others, but Polyjuice seems to be his speciality. Hannah made the arrest along with Malfoy.”
Harry nodded knowingly and said with adequate frustration, “I know whom you speak of. Corner and I interrogated the deranged fool. We got nothing from him, even under the influence of Veritaserum. He's fiercely loyal but knows piss all.”
Thomas cautioned, “Malfoys name keeps popping up, Potter. It has since the very beginning of this fiasco. Maybe we need to warn him. He seems to have a good head on his shoulders.”
However, Harry refused, “Not yet, Spencer. Let's get to the bottom of this. We can't just let prisoners escape because it serves another purpose.”
He spat out, “First, we had to let the letter incident pass since we didn't want to endanger Blackwood and compromise his position, but there's a limit we can bend over for these arseholes.”
Thomas gritted out, “I don't like it any more than you do, Potter, but for the moment, our hands are tied, and he holds all the fucking aces.”
Harry banged his fist on the table and hissed, “I hate this situation.”
Thomas gave his input, “I'll speak with Hannah, but we might have to stage a breakout at Azkaban if Dorian is to win Dolohov's trust, and we need him to remain in his good graces.”
Harry was adamant, “Let's see. If we deny him the Polyjuice potion, we can flush him out. We could stop or have strict restrictions on all ingredients arriving in the country and monitor current supplies.”
Thomas pointed out the obvious: "There are plenty of shops and suppliers operating underground. We do not have the staffing to cover them all, Potter. Clearly, this man is important to Dolohov. It goes beyond a mere relationship between a supplier and customer.”
Harry nodded in complete agreement but offered another suggestion, “You have a point. Let's speak again after discussing the matter with Abbott. We can plan a hit better during prisoner transport rather than Azkaban. It would certainly save us a lot of fucking red tape.”
Little James wandered in, clutching the front of his pants and doing a small dance. He almost pleaded, “Daddy, I need to go to the potty.”
Harry scooped him up and smiled, “Yes, of course, James.”
Thomas took it as his cue to leave and walked over to the fireplace, “Right. See you on Tuesday.”
Harry sighed, “Yes.”
He insisted, “Keep me updated on the Strangler situation. Oh, and good work, Thomas.”
Thomas mentioned without hesitation, “Hannah and Malfoy deserve most of the credit.”
Harry nodded curtly, “Duly noted.”
“Daddy!” James squealed, prompting Harry to run at top speed towards the bathroom.
Hawaii
Hermione went up to Draco’s room. She had no idea what or if she would do anything. All she knew for certain was that she needed to stop whatever was happening inside.
Emotionally, she was on edge, anticipating the confrontation and unsure of how it would go. She felt a fear of conflict or of Draco’s reaction to her presence and a sense of vulnerability in putting herself in a potentially uncomfortable situation.
She tried to knock but hesitated and paced outside his room, wearing out the carpet and trying in vain to gather her courage. A sudden thought dawned on her: what if they returned to her room?
Taking a deep breath, Hermione made a firm fist and knocked on the door. She could have used magic to make out the occupants of the room, but her wand was back in her room, and she didn't think she could deal with the fact of catching him in a lewd act.
Finally, after what felt like forever, Hermione heard movement. Draco threw open the door while pulling a white Calvin Klein t-shirt over his head. His vision was compromised, and he was completely sweaty.
Seeing him in such a state made her heart ache. The worst had been confirmed. He was having sex, and there was no doubt about it.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice him staring at her strangely with an amused expression.
His curiosity piqued as he wondered what could be causing her distress. He tilted his head slightly, a non-verbal cue signalling his interest and openness to listen, but clearly, she was in another world. Judging by her expression, it didn't seem to be a happy place.
Draco cleared his throat, prompting Hermione to snap out of her daydream and pay him attention.
She found the right words, “Umm, I'm sorry to intrude.” There was a softness in his eyes, indicating empathy and a desire to understand her feelings. He offered a reassuring smile to alleviate some of her nervousness, but that was momentary.
Draco playfully exaggerated the situation, pretending to be shocked or offended by her unexpected visit, “Well, well, Granger, this a surprise. Did you tire of the man you were with?”
Her sharp tone showed her irritation and suspicion, “Are you alone?”
His tone was defensive, signifying that he felt unjustly accused or bothered by the implication.
He expressed frustration at her lack of trust and constant questioning, “Hmm, that's hardly any of your business.”
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and demanded, “Answer the question, Malfoy.”
While Draco was annoyed with her behaviour, he was thoroughly amused by her reaction and teased, “Was I not supposed to be?”
After realising his irritation, she reacted sheepishly, showing a hint of embarrassment and regret, “I thought you were with Ryan's sister.” Her words were merely a whisper.
His tone was filled with anger and resentment as he gritted out, “Oh, is that what that wanker told you?”
Hermione tried to look past his shoulder into the room, but he blocked her view. She was tipsy and fuming. It wasn’t the best combination.
Draco ran his fingers through his hair and invited her inside to see that nobody else was there. He was largely to blame for her suspicions.
He wanted to reassure her and potentially dispel any suspicions, “Would you like to come in and see for yourself, Granger?”
Her tone was soothing since she wanted to avoid escalating the situation, “Umm, no.” Why was he so sweaty?
Draco was still somewhat annoyed, but he was willing to prove his point and address her concerns, “I assure you, I'm alone. Jennifer was rather intoxicated, so I saw her back to her room and bid her good night even though she made it abundantly clear that she was seeking physical intimacy.” The woman had tried her best to seduce him and failed miserably.
He wanted to tell the truth despite what consequences might follow, “We kissed….” He hadn't been a willing participant. Jennifer grabbed his head and kissed him before he could say Bob’s your uncle.
Hermione's immediate reaction was disbelief, struggling to process what she had just learned. As the reality of the situation sunk in, she felt a deep sense of betrayal and hurt, “What? You kissed?”
He conveyed regret and immense discomfort, proving that the kiss was not consensual or desired on his part, “I didn't want to kiss her, but she initiated it unexpectedly, and I didn't know how to react. I tried to pull away, but it happened so quickly.”
Hermione tried to downplay the situation and act as if everything was fine, “No, umm, it doesn't matter.” It mattered more than she was willing to divulge.
Still, Draco went ahead despite him knowing it was hard for her to hear, “She is beautiful, willing and extremely receptive to my touch. Much like someone else I know.” His eye contact was intense, almost challenging as if he dared her to confront him.
Her expression turned to disgust as she processed his seemingly callous attitude towards her feelings. She turned away from him, avoiding further eye contact, “Ugh, Whatever.”
He leaned against the doorway and smirked after Hermione tried to hide her true feelings, "Why are you here, Granger? Perhaps you wish to apologise for your behaviour earlier."
She asserted her independence in the face of his dismissive behaviour, “I don't have to explain my actions to the likes of you.”
Draco cupped her chin and stared into her eyes, “I do love it when you're jealous. Your face turns a brilliant shade of pink, but it's those pools of darkened amber that give you away.” His loving gaze was a gesture of reconciliation as he sought to repair the damage done by his earlier behaviour.
Hermione pushed his hand away and cussed, “Fuck off.” He wasn't getting off that quickly.
Draco stifled a laugh and invited, “Come in.” She had come to him, and it felt immensely satisfying.
Hermione asserted herself and gritted out, “When I'm good and ready.”
Draco shrugged, left the door open and returned to his notes. Earlier, he had a few drinks at the bar and currently sipped a whiskey.
A few guests passed by and smiled at Hermione, who instantly felt self-conscious and quickly entered the room and closed the door behind her. Her bikini was suitable around the pool but not for wandering about the hotel.
She went to the study desk and scoffed, “You brought these along on holiday?” Sprawled across the table were books of spells, potions and pictures of the Dollhouse Stranglers victims.
Draco refused to give her the satisfaction and scowled, “This isn't much of a holiday. I have to protect you against yourself more than others.” Once more, his temper was reaching its peak.
Hermione said with a distinctive roll of her eyes, “Must you be so dramatic? I'm only having some fun.”
Draco was beside himself with anger, and his tone was proof of that, “Fun? Chatting up random blokes is fun, is it? I didn't have you pegged for being easy.”
Hermione blushed, feeling incredibly embarrassed. “How dare you!” Had he just called her desperate and easy?
However, he wasn't done with his barrage of abuse, “Does provocatively dancing with some stranger get you all hot and bothered? I don't fancy seeing my future wife in the arms of another man.”
Hermione gawked. He just kissed another woman, and he was lecturing her. The absolute gall of him
She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he got under her skin and instead pointed out, “Well, we have an agreement in place, so it shouldn't matter, and I don't need this abuse from the likes of you.”
Draco’s tone was accusatory, expressing frustration at her words, “Of course, you don't need me since you've got a long list of men just waiting to get into your pants. Should I name a few?”
Hermione choked back a sob. She felt her resolve crumble, “I understand your anger, Malfoy, but there is absolutely no need to be cruel. Besides, he's not some random bloke. His name is Ryan, and he's from New York.”
Draco laughed aloud and hissed, “He could be some Polyjuiced bastard Goyle sent after you.”
She argued weakly, “Goyle has probably forgotten all about me.”
He was defensive, “No, he hasn't. The man has a sick infatuation with you and won't stop until he gets what he wants. Do you ever think?” He could only imagine what Goyle would do to Granger if he had his way, and it was physically painful to think about.
She attempted to assert her own perspective, “Excuse me, are you implying that I'm being stupid and reckless?”
He was harsh and outwardly critical, “Yes, I am. You were lusting after that man like some lovesick puppy dog. It is not a good look on you, Granger.” He certainly lacked any empathy for her point of view on the matter.
Hermione refused to be belittled and disrespected, “Why, you insufferable man? You've been off with another bloody woman. You have no right to lecture me.” She pushed him hard but failed miserably to move him even an inch.
Draco grabbed her wrists and asserted his authority and control in the situation. He felt more than justified in warning her, believing that her words crossed a line and needed to be addressed, “Don't ever insult me or take me for some fool. I do not take kindly to being treated like some nobody.”
Her reaction to his dominating presence was a mix of surprise and arousal, as she found his assertive behaviour intriguing.
Hermione was sincere and remorseful, as she acknowledged her mistake and sought to take responsibility for her actions, “It was never my intention to insult or hurt you.”
Draco glared, “Yet, you aced it. Didn’t you, darling?” They were fighting, yet again.
He added in frustration, “Now if you excuse me. I must study and pass the bloody trials because Audrey holds me to a higher standard.” He was intoxicated and doubted he would recall anything he read.
Hermione dismissed his ridiculous notion, “Nonsense. She treats everyone the same.” Audrey was a good and fair woman. She would never treat anyone differently.
However, Draco insisted stubbornly, adamantly refusing to listen to reason, “Indeed, but I'm the ex-Death Eater joining the DMLE. You war heroes bypassed the system anyway, so trust me when I say I have a lot to prove at the upcoming exams. You have absolutely no idea what goes on behind the scenes.”
Hermione scowled, “You certainly sound like your old pigheaded self.”
Draco sneered, “You bring out the best in me, my love.”
Hermione fired back. She didn't realise she was shouting, “We worked hard to get to where we are. Harry had been through enough yet went through the same trials as you. I worked my arse off to get to where I am, and I will not listen to you whinging about how you might be treated differently. Did you expect any different?”
Draco hissed, “No, I did not, but it doesn't make it any easier.” Despite his training to look the other way, it was exceedingly difficult when faced with oppression every single day. He was pouring out a self of him he had kept dormant since his return.
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips.
His composure crumbled, and he said frankly, “Granger, if you have nothing better to do, you are welcome to stay and insult me some more, or you could go keep the bloody Yank company, and I might take Jennifer up on her offer to spend the night.”
Hermione’s mouth fell open in disbelief. She couldn't believe his words.
He added salt to the wound, “Especially since you seem rather determined not to have anything to do with me.”
Hermione fought the tears that threatened to break free and gritted out, “Is that why I'm standing in the middle of your hotel room at this hour? God, Malfoy, you are so thick.”
They stared at each other, and Draco moved closer to gather her in his arms. He was tired of pointlessly arguing. However, the mood was ruined by constant bashing on the door.
They jumped apart, not knowing what to expect, but the knocking continued, and Theo’s voice came through, “Draco?”
Draco looked to the heavens and barred his teeth. He slowly spat out the words, “Merlin, help me. I will Avada him soon.”
Hermione lowered her voice and said, “Just keep quiet. Maybe he'll go away.”
Yet, Theo was no simpleton. A spell had told him all he needed to know, and he bellowed, “Malfoy, I know you're in there. Actually, there are two of you, or is it four?”
Fuck.
Hermione hissed impatiently, “What does he want!?”
Draco shrugged, “I have no bloody clue.”
Hermione pointed urgently to the door and said, “Deal with him.” Nott was like a child, following them about.
Draco watched Hermione disappear inside the bathroom and mumbled, “What? Granger, what are you doing?”
Theo’s voice filled the space, “Draco, what the fuck are you doing in here?”
Keeping in mind that he loved Theo very much, Draco threw the door open and snarled, “What do you want, Nott?”
Theo smiled broadly, “Blaise ordered a bottle of tequila. It's shots all around.”
Draco forced a smile onto his face, “I'll be down shortly.”
Theo was taller and could get a bird's eye view of the room. He peered in and questioned, “Are you alone? Where did you hide her? We tried to call you.”
Draco grabbed Theo by the face and literally shoved him out of the room, “Fuck off, Theo.” Bloody cockblock
Theo stumbled but managed to stay on his feet. He winked, “Say no more.”
Draco shut the door and said in a carrying voice, “He's gone, Granger. You can come out now.”
Hermione raised a brow, “Is he always like this?”
Draco tried his best with a summarised explanation, “Theo comes from an abusive home, and now that he's an adult, he tries to overcompensate for it.”
He solemnly added, “I'm sure Lovegood would have mentioned it. His father was a nasty piece of work. Nott Senior makes my father look like a fluffy poodle. Theo is sometimes overzealous, and we go along because he's our best mate and brother.”
Hermione felt awful. She apologised, “I didn't mean anything, Malfoy. I think the way you guys look after him is adorable.”
Draco looked at her suspiciously, “Why did you hide?”
Hermione bit her bottom lip and shrugged, “I don't know. Force of habit.”
Draco wasn't in the least bit convinced by her lie, “Force of habit? What's that supposed to mean?”
Hermione averted her gaze and said, “Nothing. It was a slip of the tongue.”
Draco sighed, “You really are embarrassed by your feelings for me, aren't you? When we're alone, you succumb, but once we're pushed in front of the public eye, you retreat behind an impenetrable wall.”
Hermione knew he spoke the truth, but she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right. Instead, she denied his words adamantly, “I'm not responsible for your assumptions.”
Draco smiled slightly, “There's no need for secrecy among friends.” At least among his friends, her friends were far less understanding, except for Ginny.
Hermione mused, “Try telling that to Ron.”
Draco closed the gap between them and drawled, “Enough talking. You came here expecting something, and I intend to fulfil that requirement.” She had mentioned that twat once again.
He tipped her chin and crushed her lips with his. As their lips met, an immediate spark and connection ignited a fire within them. The kiss was initially hungry, exploring, tasting, and savouring each other's lips.
As the passion built, the kiss became more urgent and more intense. A dance of tongues, a mingling of breath, created a primal and intimate rhythm.
The world around them faded away, and all that mattered was the sensation of their lips on each other's, the heat of their bodies pressed together.
Their hands roamed freely, exploring each other's bodies, heightening the moment's intensity.
Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in the embrace, lost in the hunger of the kiss. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated desire, a moment of connection and intimacy that was beautiful and powerful.
Draco whispered, “Granger…”
She could only mewl with longing to be consumed, “Mm…”
His phone buzzed, and he silently cursed, “Fuck.”
Reluctantly, Draco broke the embrace and rasped, “We best get going. Theo won't leave me at peace until I join him.” He pulled off his t-shirt and replaced it with a casual white linen shirt.
The last thing he wanted was Theo to barge into the room and find them in bed together, and the stupid shite was capable of doing just that.
Hermione chuckled, “Always an excuse, and I'm the one coming off as the prude who doesn't want anything to do with you. I'll meet you downstairs.”
Draco called after her, “Granger…..”
However, Hermione silenced him and said, “Save it, Malfoy. Our friends are waiting for us.”
They found their friends in one of the cabanas and the party atmosphere was vibrant, energetic, and filled with excitement. It had changed into a place where people could come together to celebrate, socialise, and have a good time.
The air was filled with laughter and chatter as guests mingled and caught up with friends. Music pulsed through the space, setting the mood and encouraging people to dance and let loose.
Draco walked to the bar while Hermione headed towards the table where their friends held court. He wasn't a tequila fan and wanted something more substantial to calm his nerves.
He placed his order and knew it would be a while before he got it, judging by the amount of people shouting out their requirements. So, he leaned with his back to the bar counter, hands in his pocket, surveying the crowd.
Draco looked into the crowd and spotted Ginny and Granger dancing together, with Blaise hovering in the background.
A voice invaded his space, “Your girlfriend is pretty special.”
Draco set the record straight, “She's not my girlfriend. She is my fiancé, and you will stay away from her if you know what's good for you.”
Ryan tossed back his drink and smirked, “I think she's capable of making her own decisions.”
Draco turned to face the man beside him and regarded him with no real emotion, “Undoubtedly, but I won't ask twice. Mind your own business.”
Ryan mused, “My sister said you kissed her. She's quite upset that you didn't stick around.” His sister was a spoiled brat used to getting her way. Their father failed to realise that he had raised an entitled little monster.
Draco responded frankly, “She kissed me. I have no such feelings towards her. However, I can see how she felt misled, and I apologise for that.”
Ryan pointed his glass toward Hermione and said, “You should treat her better.”
Draco began losing patience and glared, “Don't assume to know anything about us.” The words upset him because they were true. He had made plenty of mistakes and hurt Granger, which was never his intention.
Ryan glared but didn't pursue. It wasn't entirely worth it. Plenty of unattached women on the island were looking to share in mutual fun. Besides, the blonde looked like he could go a round of two.
While dancing with Ginny, Hermione saw the exchange between the men and froze. She hoped nothing drastic would happen.
The stern tone of voice discouraged Ryan from saying something moronic. He disappeared into the crowd, intent on looking for a pretty woman to share his bed. His job made it nearly impossible to maintain any healthy relationships.
A girl in a fluorescent pink bikini and floral wreath around her neck sauntered up to Draco and tried to engage him in conversation. He received his drink and sipped the fiery amber liquid.
She asked him boldly, “Do you want to dance?”
Draco declined politely, “I'm not much of a dancer, I'm afraid.”
She was clearly American and drawled, “I love your accent.” She bought two tequila shots and held one out for him to take. However, Hermione appeared out of nowhere and took it out of the reluctant woman’s hand.
She proceeded to lick the salt, then down the shot, suck on the lime wedge and pull Draco into a passionate embrace, purposely showing off her very prominent ring by cupping his face.
He responded hungrily, almost lifting her off the ground. His lips lingered on her skin, moving downwards, savouring the warmth and softness of her neck. As the kisses became more fervent, Hermione felt gentle sucking and his warm breath against her skin, sending shivers down her spine.
She regarded the woman staring at them and mouthed, “Excuse us.”
The woman came out of the trance she seemed to have slipped into and snapped, “Bitch.”
Hermione waited until the woman was out of earshot, playfully pushed Draco away, and teased, “I can't leave you alone for a minute without getting hit on.”
Draco rolled his eyes, “I don't encourage it, Granger. It happens.”
He pulled her close and winked, displaying an endearing boyish side to him, “You have nothing to worry about. I'm yours for the foreseeable future, love.” His words made her shudder. He would never be hers. Their situation wasn't permanent, but to hear his words was the ultimate turn-on.
Hermione laughed, “Shove off.”
Draco quipped, “Fine. Have it your way.” He jokingly turned away to leave.
She pulled him back and asked seriously, “What did you say to Ryan?”
Draco sighed, “I told him to stay away if he knew what was good for him.”
Hermione bit her lip and whispered, “Possessive, aren't you?”
Draco smirked, “I've never been one to share. Although I have mellowed, my restraint goes to hell around you.”
Hermione asked thoughtfully, “Isn't Kung Fu all about turning the other cheek?”
Draco laughed, “The men who grab your fancy seem determined to be taught a valuable lesson by me.”
He pulled her close and drawled in her ear, “I’m only human, Granger. There is only so much I can tolerate before I snap.”
She gathered her bravado and apologised wholeheartedly, “Look, I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have dismissed you like that.”
Draco smiled devilishly, causing his eyes to glisten in the darkness, “You can make it up to me in due time.”
Unsure of his meaning, Hermione reluctantly agreed, “Hmm, I guess so.”
Draco eyed the bottle of tequila Theo had dragged him down to taste and said with a curious look, “There's a more interesting way to consume tequila. I've been watching the locals.”
Hermione was perplexed, “What?”
Grabbing her hand, he led her over to their friends. He picked up a salt-rimmed glass, poured himself a shot and, without much thought, poured it down Hermione's exposed front, drenching the material underneath.
Theo watched, gobsmacked, and Hermione protested loudly, “Malfoy!”
As the tequila was poured onto her body, it created a tantalising sensation, leaving a trail of cool liquid against her warm skin. She arched her back, offering her body, her skin glistening with anticipation, as Draco prepared to lick the liquid off her body.
He leaned in, tasting a mixture of sweet and bitter, heightened by the warmth of her body.
Hermione’s arms went around his neck, and she could hardly contain the mewl that left her lips. Her bikini bottoms were rapidly dampening.
Ginny and Blaise stared wide-eyed. Even Neville and Pansy stopped dancing to stare at them.
Hermione moaned, “Mmm, that is better. Draco….”
They moved as one, their bodies responding instinctively to each other's cues, creating a seamless and beautiful dance. The music reached a crescendo, and so did their dance.
Their movements became more urgent and passionate as they lost themselves in the moment. And as the music faded away, they came together in a final, lingering embrace, their hearts beating as one.
Her back to his front, they swayed to the sounds of the DJ near the bar. Draco couldn't bear it any longer. He grabbed Hermione around the waist, pulled her flush against his chest and urgently muttered, “I think we've put in enough of an appearance.”
Hermione brought his arm around her to the front and rasped, “Mmm, I agree.” She needed him to satisfy her hunger and put out the fire burning in her loins.
She teased, “Is this the right moment?” They were pretty tipsy but not outrageously drunk.
Draco kissed her hand and mused, “Try stopping me. It's been the right fucking moment, so to speak since we arrived on this island.”
Hermione looked at him expectantly and answered, “There have been too many miscommunications.”
Draco nodded in agreement, “Yes, but no more tonight.”
She glanced at their friends dancing and drinking on their last night in a beautiful land and asked timidly, “What about our friends?”
Draco didn't hesitate, “They can fuck off. This is about us, and if Theo interrupts us, I swear I'll feed him to the sharks.”
Taking her by the hand, Draco led Hermione inside and towards the row of lifts. The surrounding area was deserted, and with a ding, a lift arrived.
Once inside, he pushed her roughly against the sleek wall and kissed her senseless.
He pleaded almost desperately, “I want you. Please don't deny me.”
Deny him? He was the one shying away from physical intimacy. He would take her high up only to drop her and leave her wanting.
Hermione kissed him back fervently, “No…” She had consented weeks ago.
Time seemed to slow down as they lost themselves in the moment, savouring each touch, each kiss. And just as quickly as it began, the elevator doors opened, and they were brought back to reality, left with a lingering desire for more.
Draco held on to Hermione’s hand tightly as if he was afraid she would turn and run away, but he needn't have bothered since she followed him quite willingly, as if under a spell.
They entered his room, bright lights greeted them, and Draco switched most of them off, leaving only two dimmed to perfection.
Hermione bit her bottom lip and watched his slow movements.
Ginny and Blaise swapped a knowing look. Even though she acted casually and made a silly bet for fun, Ginny was apprehensive about Hermione and her budding relationship.
She looked at her watch and yawned, “Well, it's getting quite late, and I'm exhausted.”
Blaise nodded in agreement, “I know what you mean. I want to ring the wife before going to bed. Shall we head up?”
Ginny looked at him confused and raised a brow, “Excuse me?”
Blaise blushed crimson, “Oh, I mean, I'll see you to yours and bugger off to mine.”
Ginny chuckled, “Relax, Zabini. I'm just teasing you.”
She touched his face and smiled, “Daphne is a lucky woman.”
Blaise brushed a strand of hair off her face and replied fondly, “And Potter is an extremely lucky man.”
He gave Ginny a slight nudge and said urgently, “Come on, let's get going before Theo forces another round of drinks down our throats. My liver can't take much more of this abuse.”
Hermione wasn't outrageously drunk, but she was mildly intoxicated and feeling pretty good. Looking at Draco, she felt a warmth. A sort of heat that was settling down low inside her. Be careful, Granger. Oh, be quiet, she ordered that annoying internal voice that insisted on being sensible.
Draco came around the tiny table to stand beside her. He reached out with a finger to play with one of her red bikini straps and rasped, “Are you sure about this?”
How could he ask such an obvious question? More, how could she be burning up with this much lust for him, knowing full well about their hideous past?
Apparently, her mind and body were riding two different tracks. Her skin felt as if it was on fire when he touched her. It was nothing new, but nerves rattled through Hermione’s body, and she knew without a doubt that she was in considerable trouble. But at that moment, she didn't care.
She nodded since words seemed to have deserted her completely.
“I think I need some convincing,” Draco said with a smirk, his grey eyes flashing with a need that her body was clamouring to answer.
Hermione replied, “I don't know what more I can say.”
Draco ran his fingertips over her skin and eased one of the straps down her shoulder. Hermione's breath hitched as her gaze met his, and her blood started to pump thick, hot, and urgently.
“I've been waiting to do this for weeks,” he drawled, dipping his head to kiss her bare shoulder. He was ready to give himself to her completely.
Hermione threw her head back and sucked in a gulp of air.
Draco straightened up and touched the space between her breasts with his finger. "Plus, you smell so good it's driving me insane," he remarked. His chain dangled around her neck, feeling smooth and chilly to the touch.
Her nipples reached their peak. Her body cruelly betrayed her, and he didn't even have to try. She shuddered. He was too close. Too warm. His breath was gentle on her face, and the flame in his eyes stoked a similar fire inside of her like a torch.
When he wasn't trying to seduce her, he was nearly irresistible. When he was trying, he was downright bloody illegal. His finger stroked the tops of her breasts, and Hermione's already fuzzy brain started clouding up completely.
“Draco,” Her mouth was dry, and her breath came in tight, short gasps. Her nerve endings were lit up like Hogwarts at Christmas, and her core was damp, hot, and achingly ready, so all mindful thoughts deserted her completely.
His lips and tongue moved on her bare shoulder, and the edges of his teeth scraped against her flushed skin, sending shockwaves pulsating throughout her weakened system. He kissed the side of her neck, and Hermione tipped her head to one side to ensure he covered every inch of available skin.
“Hmm,” he whispered, kissing the base of her neck until her toes curled. His fingertips smoothed over the tops of her breasts, and her nipples popped even harder, each of them eagerly awaiting his attention.
Sliding his free hand up her bare back to the nape of her neck, his long fingers rubbed, stroked and slid into her hair. The wild strands wound themselves around his fingers.
She groaned and closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of him all around her. His body was pressed close, and his erection straining against her hip was undeniable.
“Ah,” Hermione took a breath, forcing it into her lungs, straining for air, and when she blew it out again, she opened her eyes and looked at him. He lifted his head, his clear grey eyes locked on hers with a burning intensity she’d never seen before, and she felt those flames reach for her and engulf her.
Draco slid his hand from the base of her neck down her spine to the curve of her arse. He leaned in and kissed her, then smoothed the tip of his tongue across her bottom lip before easing back to meet her gaze again.
She moved against him, letting him feel that she was as electrified as he. That she wanted him as much as he wanted her despite all they had suffered.
He kissed her, slid the straps of the bikini down and freed her breasts to his hungry gaze. She had indeed filled out since Hogwarts. Pert, eager nipples stood ready and wanting. The coolness of the air conditioner touched her skin, causing Hermione to shiver, but it had nothing to do with temperature.
Draco cupped her supple breasts in his palm and bent to take her nipple into his mouth. He murmured, “Beautiful.”
Hermione hissed in air through gritted teeth and held onto Draco’s shoulders as if without that stability, she might slide off the very edge of reality.
He backed her towards the bed, the edge hit the back of her legs as Draco bent his head, taking first one nipple, then the other into his mouth, sliding his tongue across the sensitive tip, suckling, nibbling. He tormented her with tenderness, and her knees almost gave out.
While she was in a world of her own, surrounded only by his desire to conquer her defences with gentle deliberation, he straightened and claimed her mouth with his, brutal and punishing, sending her flying again.
His tongue tangled with hers, and everything within her went hot and wild. Her core became a molten ache, desperate to have him inside. Her hips twisted against his, and his erection pressed tight and hard to her body, letting her know that he was as hungry, as frenzied as she.
How was this possible, Hermione wondered frantically. How could she feel so much for a man she’d practically loathed her whole life? How was there this much passion in someone she’d considered an enemy? How could she slip so totally into complete abandon at his touch?
Then she stopped thinking. Stopped wondering. Instead, she surrendered to the magic rising between them. He wrapped a hand around the base of her neck and tipped her head to one side. He nibbled his way down the length of her throat and then slid back up, leaving a trail of damp heat behind as he kissed and licked her skin.
Hermione could hardly breathe. Malfoy was overpowering her senses, taking over her body in the most glorious way, and she had hardly laid a finger on him. But she wanted more. Needed much more. Needed to feel his skin beneath her hands. She needed to touch him as she was being touched and feel as she felt.
Sliding her hands up his chest, she tore at the buttons of his linen shirt until she’d freed them all, sending several of them pinging to the floor. She pushed it off his shoulders, and it lay in a crumpled heap near their feet. Then she was touching his hard, muscled skin, feeling the healed contour of scars beneath her fingers.
He growled in her ear and took her mouth harder, deeper. Their breaths mingled, and their tongues played out a dance their bodies had hungered over for weeks.
“I want you. Now.” His voice was harsh and strained, as if it were all he could muster to say at that moment. Draco reached down, undid the tie to the wrap-around skirt she wore, tossed it away and ripped the bikini bottoms from her body.
Hermione inhaled sharply and then groaned as he cupped her aching core. Sliding first one, then two fingers into her depths, he pushed her so high, so fast, her head spun. She threw her head back as his fingers delved inside her. His tongue continued to twist with hers in a frantic dance of need and passion.
Her body spiralled out of control as he rubbed one sensitive spot over and over, causing her legs to tremble violently as she desperately tried to keep her balance while surrendering to the incredible sensations shooting through her. Repeatedly, he stroked her, pushing her as if he couldn't wait to feel her climax.
Hermione fought the feeling; she wanted to prolong the pleasure and draw this out as long as possible. It was overwhelming the way she wanted him, needed him. She’d never known anything remotely like this before, and she wanted more of it.
She broke the kiss and sat on the edge of the bed. Slightly confused, Draco stared at her, his chest rising and falling with rapid breathing. Her hands dropped to his waist, she pulled him closer, and her fingers fumbled with the belt, then the snap and zipper of his shorts.
She half expected him to withdraw as he had in the past, but he didn't.
His trapped member sprang free, and it was long and thick, slightly curved and a shade darker than the rest of him.
His eyes briefly slid shut, and he ground out one word. Her name. “Granger…”
Impressive. Just like the rest of him, she supposed with her eyes closed.
“I want you to feel what I feel,” Hermione whispered, opening her eyes and looking at him, now staring at her with lips slightly parted. Raw passion and desire shone out of him, and she knew he must be seeing the same things reflected back at him.
Hermione bit her lip and drawled, "To the victor go the spoils." Reminding him of their duel and his humiliating defeat. She stroked him, her fingertips sliding up and down his length, stroking the sensitive tip of him, marvelling at the soft strength of him.
Draco went entirely still for one long, shattering minute when their ragged breaths were the only sound in the room besides subdued music.
Then he looked down at her and said, “Move back, my darling.”
Hermione didn't think to ask why. She reluctantly let go and moved backwards until her bare back hit the neatly stacked pillows at the head of the bed.
Draco stepped out of his shorts, leaned into her and laid on top, covering her with his body. She spread her legs to accommodate him and adjust to his weight. He was heavier than he looked.
Her hand boldly moved down to touch his arse. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on his body.
Her eyes were wide and shining, the deep brown sparkling with a golden glow that intrigued and captivated him. Her mouth was swollen from his kisses, and when she touched the tip of her tongue to her lips, he bent his head to capture it.
He almost pleaded, “I won't hurt you, Hermione.”
Hermione gently bit down on his bottom lip and whispered, “Yes, you will.”
They locked eyes, and so much was said between them.
Draco gently moved a piece of hair off Hermione’s face.
Her need to be with him was evident in her tone and words, “But I don't care anymore.”
And in the next moment, their mouths fused, and he was sliding inside her, pushing himself into her body. He entered her on a slow slide of languorous satisfaction. He groaned as he entered into her heat with a calm deliberation he wasn't really feeling. Every instinct had him clamouring to take her, to drive himself into her body.
Their bodies fused together, and she was on fire for him, her body burned inside and out as if a fever were raging through her system. They looked beautiful together, and dare she think it, but they looked right. His body nearly covered her whole except for her leg poking out from under his imposing frame.
Draco bared his teeth, his fingers dug into the soft material of the bedspread. He felt her fingernails dig into his back, and her magic surrounded him. He wasn't quite sure what was happening, but it was safe to assume this was entirely out of the ordinary.
“Oh, Draco,” Hermione managed to sigh. She twisted her hips and writhed on him as she took every inch of him. It was an invasion of the most wonderful kind, she thought, relishing the feel of his body filling hers.
He groaned tightly and began to move, slowly at first as he sought to find his rhythm after years of celibacy, then with soul-shattering speeds that had his hips pistoning against hers. Their bodies met and separated over and over as tension coiled and the need escalated.
Pure pleasure.
Hermione felt it building and knew her release was so close she could almost touch it. The tingling sensations soared, and a delicious ache rose until it was nearly unbearable. His strength surrounded her, his body filled her, and he didn't stop. Couldnt stop. She moved with him, her body welcoming his, holding him tightly, creating a fabulous friction that accelerated the desire clawing at the both.
When the first tiny explosions shattered within her, Hermione's eyes flew open so that she could look at Draco. Her body exploded in a shower of light, colour, and sensation like she’d never known before.
His gaze was dark, hot and steady. His back was slippery with beads of sweat.
“Let go,” he rasped, almost commanded. It was all it took. She listened to his words.
“Draco!” She held on to him, arms locked around his body, one leg crossed over his spine. She pulled him in tighter, closer, holding him to her as an enormous wave of pleasure created inside her.
Hearing his name and her climax pushed him over that tethering edge of control, and before the sweeping tide of ripples had died away, Draco called her name in a hoarse shout of satisfaction and emptied himself into her.
It hadn't lasted long, and he regretted that, but it was unbearable to hold on any longer.
Hermione moved her fingers into his hair and pulled his head down to claim his lips. She kissed him fervently.
When the storm passed, Draco’s blood was still pumping like fury through his veins. He’d thought his attraction to Granger was purely sexual, and having her would clear his head, make the wanting less, the attraction he’d felt for her less powerful.
Big mistake.
Naked, satisfied and confused, Draco moved to the side. Hermione nestled against him, laying her head on his shoulder, and he wanted her all over again. Her heat. Her touch and her explosive reaction to his lovemaking all combined to only feed the fires already quickening inside him. He hadn't eased his desire for her. He had only fed the undying flames.
He turned his face toward her, kissed her forehead and murmured, “You're not what I expected.”
She lifted her head, kissed him lightly, briefly and whispered, “Neither are you.”
They kissed passionately before falling asleep in each other's arms. Draco hadn't bargained on this lightninglike connection between them. Now, he couldn't imagine doing without.
Hermione kept thinking she should return to her room, but the messages didn't seem to reach her legs. She was in a state of bliss.
London
Julius lay on his bed, getting his cock sucked by his latest conquest. He sure knew how to pick them. The woman had the most talented tongue. His moans and groans bounced off the walls and echoed.
The tapping sound was gentle but persistent. The owl's beak lightly struck the window as it tried to interact with its perceived surroundings and gather the attention of the people within.
Julius sneered at the bloody bird. He grabbed the head of the woman and fucked her mouth hard and fast until he was utterly spent. She choked but didn't disappoint since she swallowed every last bit of him.
He went to the window, grabbed the ruddy bird by its neck and tore the letter off its leg. The handwriting was beautiful, and the passage was well-written. The letter carried no name, but Julius knew who it was from.
The flowers were beautiful but not well received. However, let me elucidate my reasons in person. I accept your dinner invitation with the sole intention of setting you straight.
And so it begins, Julius thought to himself with a sly smile.
He dismissed the gorgeous redhead in his company and stood up stark bollock naked, walked onto the balcony and lit a cigarette.
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