Author's Note:
In case you get confused, the italicized words are their thoughts. Enjoy!
Library: Think of the Beauty and the Beast library
Song: Can't Make You Love Me by Bonnie Raitt (cover by Rozzi Crane)
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, credit goes to J.K. Rowling.
I'd smile, just to hide the pain.
It was a long, tiring day for Draco. Once home, he immediately headed to the library. He spent most of his time in the library rather than the den, preferring to use the long coffee table between the two couches that sat in front of the fireplace in lieu of his desk. The library provided his life with a gentle touch of warmth and a bit of comfort, which was something he wasn't used to. He pushed the library doors wide open and walked in, muttering curses under his breath about incompetent workers, difficult company partners, and the missing part to the company that was still nagging at his brain to be discovered. He was in a middle of his whispered rant when he froze at the sight of Hermione. She looked adorable.
Hermione was perched comfortably on the couch near the roaring fire in the fireplace, reading a novel. The flickering light danced along her black nightgown and across her face, illuminating her deep look of concentration and giving her skin a warm glow. She was so immersed in her book to the extent that she didn't hear Draco come barging in, let alone sprouting unpleasantries.
"Hermione." Draco whispered.
Hermione was so deep in her book, she thought she heard a voice calling her name. But she disregarded it as her mind playing tricks on her, so she continued to read.
"Hermione." Draco said a bit louder.
Still no response.
"Hermione!" Draco yelled.
"Ahhh!" Hermione jumped up so fast and dropped her book, facing Draco. "Oh my gosh, Draco. Don't scare me like that." She stood facing him, placing a hand over her beating heart, trying to slow down her breathing. While doing so, she noticed Draco's appearance. He looked so tired, bags under his eyes, hair ruffled, and he looked skinnier than before. In one word, haggard.
"Draco, are you alright?" She asked, her voice full of concern, walking a few steps towards him. He looked almost dead. Compassion filled Hermione, here was the man that held her in his arms to provide her comfort and safety when she was scared and he was looking almost dead. Hermione didn't have it in her to be mean to him.
Draco did not respond, but continued to look at her, transfixed.
"Draco." Hermione said a bit louder.
Still no response.
"Draco!"
"Huh?" Draco said, snapping out of his trance.
"I asked if you were alright. You look sick."
"I'm perfectly fine." He scoffed, folding his arms.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You're lying and I'm not stupid. Anyone with eyes could see that you are far from being fine. Have you eaten?"
"Of course I have. I ate breakfast."
"Breakfast?! That was more than 12 hours ago. Sit here." Hermione demanded, pointing to the couch. "I'll be right back." With that, she strode out of the library.
Draco was too tired to argue and did as he was told. Ten minutes passed and Hermione still hadn't come back. Pulling the coffee table closer to him, he pulled out his paperwork and began working. He didn't notice Hermione walk into the library with a tray of food, until she snatched the papers out of his hands to get his attention.
"Hey that's - ."
"Time to eat." Hermione stated, placing in front of him homemade beef stew, seasoned diced baked potatoes, garlic-sautéed rice, and a tall glass of ice tea.
Draco couldn't stop his mouth from watering at the delicious food in front of him. He couldn't remember the last time when he ate a home cooked meal. But he couldn't stop himself from asking: "Why?"
"I admit, we don't get along great. To be completely honest, we don't get along at all. Period. You barely eat, barely sleep, and you've lost so much weight." Hermione exclaimed, concern in her voice and eyes as she looked at him. By now, Hermione had now resumed to sit on the couch across from him.
"Why do you care?"
"You're my husband."
"So?"
"To many people, that's more than enough reason to care. But think of this as a thank you for comforting me that one night. Now eat." With that, Draco began eating and Hermione began to read the papers she snatched from him.
"So what exactly are you working on anyway?" Hermione asked, reading and flipping through his papers.
"Those are confidential."
"Who am I going to tell? The man in the painting? You're the CEO of the company, you can tell whoever you want. Besides, you know who my Father is. He raised me to be the very best in almost anything."
"Is that so?" Draco asked, eyebrow raised.
"Yes."
"Alright. I'll bite. What do you know of Malfoy Industries?"
"Just about anything that any outsider would know. Maybe even more. Ask me anything." Hermione challenged, looking Draco dead in the eye.
"Who was the first CEO?"
"Leo Evander Malfoy."
"What does the Malfoy Insignia contain?"
"In the center of the insignia lies a shield containing a dragon in the innermost part with mystic symbols riding along the edges of the shield. Directly behind the shield is the intersection of two long-edged swords with encrusted hilts. Each hilt contains an orb surrounded by two dragons on each side, leading to a ridged handle with a circular pommel. Behind these two intersecting swords lies two dragons, holding an orb together with one claw as their wings fan out and their tales intertwine vertically down the insignia."
"Was my family wealthy before Malfoy Industries was invented?"
"Yes. Your family is one of the richest and most influential families in the world."
"Has my family always been influential?"
"From my understanding, your family can be dated back to the 13th century in France, maybe even farther back. But even then, your family has been influential – a noble family."
"How did Malfoy Industries come about?"
"The public has been told that Malfoy Industries was created to bring about the essential necessities for human beings. If the person needed something, anything at all, then the first place they would search would be Malfoy Industries and nowhere else. Leo Evander Malfoy created this image that Malfoy Industries was everything the world needed. No one would turn to any other company when Malfoy Industries was in existence, there was no need."
"All your answers are correct." Draco said, clearly impressed.
"But I don't think that's what really happened. Tell me, Draco, what happened to Athena Malfoy?"
"She disappeared." Draco replied, clearly confused with the direction the conversation was heading.
"No, I don't think so." Hermione exclaimed, leaning forward. "I think she was traded. Traded for this ideal company. Did Leo Malfoy marry her for love or for business?"
Draco narrowed his eyes. "What are you getting at?"
"Your family is wealthy and when I mean wealthy, I mean old money. Money has been connected to the Malfoy name centuries before you were born. Leo Evander Malfoy is a businessman and just like every businessman, there is always room to expand, progress, and to acquire more money. Athena Malfoy didn't disappear. She was traded. Traded for the idea of Malfoy Industries from the original maker of Malfoy Industries."
"Stop it! You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."
"It's true, isn't it? Leo Malfoy sold her, sold her for connections and ideas." Hermione taunted, rising from the couch and now standing and staring at Draco. "Just like me."
"Enough." Draco hissed. He was now towering over Hermione, a hard glint in his eye. "Did you come to this conclusion yourself? How very clever of you. A word of advice, wife - you should never talk about matters you know nothing about, it's unbecoming of a Malfoy. If there is something a Malfoy does, it's take care of their own. We do not belittle each other in public, we do not besmirch each other's reputations, and we treat each other with respect.. We may not love each other, but we tolerate another's presence. Leo Evander Malfoy loved his wife - she was his world. He loved her with every fiber of his being and vice versa. Their love was one that would match that of the gods - invincible and aesthetic. The only thing you and Athena have in common is this: you were both married for connections and reputation. So let me make one thing very clear, in all other regards to Athena Malfoy – you don't measure up."
Draco walked to one of the aisles of books, in search of something. He returned and dropped onto the table several medium-sized books that seemed to look like journals, a large tome, old newspaper clippings stapled together, and a photo album.
"The world sees the Malfoy name and what we want them to see. A Malfoy's business, is just that - a Malfoy's business. No one else's. Read these. Maybe, just maybe you'll learn how to be a true Malfoy," he sneered.
Draco glared at her one more time and started making his way to the library door. With his hand on the doorknob, his back facing Hermione, he said: "One more thing, dear wife. I suggest you learn quickly, we are to attend a dinner at the end of the month at your father's insistence."
With that said, Draco threw her the invitation and left the library, papers and briefcase in hand without a backwards glance.
Hermione: 1 Draco: 1
Hermione remained rooted to her spot, staring at the library door that Draco just stormed through. She couldn't get what he said out of her head. You don't measure up. You don't measure up. You don't measure up. A single tear slipped down her cheek as it continued to replay in her head. You don't measure up. Subconsciously, Hermione's hands clenched into fists in anger, crushing the invitation she held. More tears continued to fall down her cheeks. How dare he! The nerve of that pompous git! I don't measure up? Fucking rubbish.
Hermione continued to vent as she tore open the invitation viciously. Idiotic, pompous asshole. I don't measure up? Well obviously I measure up if he married me for connections and wealth. Imbecile. He doesn't measure up! Stupid jackass.
Hermione stopped her rant when she saw the invitation.
You are cordially invited to the Riddle's Thanksgiving Dinner, which will be held at Riddle Mansion on Thanksgiving Evening,to appreciate our families and our friends. It is the season to reflect upon our past failures and to celebrate our successes. But more importantly, it is the season of giving, so the Thanksgiving Charity will be accepting donations for Coopers Home For Children.
Daughter,
I insist that you attend.
-Father
Hermione narrowed her eyes. Whenever Tom Riddle used "insist" it was synonymous with "obey or suffer dire consequences." Chills ran up Hermione's spine as she recalled when she was 15 years old and had made what seemed to be a harmless mistake.
Flashback
Hermione stood before Tom Riddle in his office. He was intently working on paperwork, scribbling away notes on the margins and referencing files while simultaneously demanding things to be done by his secretary, Miss Bella, who was standing in front of his desk, scribbling away on a notepad.
"Hermione."
"Yes, Father?"
"This week you are to continue your vigorous study sessions with your tutors. You are not to fall behind in your studies and you are to complete your list of chores. Also, from now on, Miss Bella will be instructing you in fine etiquette. Do I make myself clear?" He asked, a hard glint in his eye.
"Yes, Father. But who is Miss Bella?"
"My secretary. She is highly recommended for both her secretarial potential as well as her etiquette at being a very proper lady. You are a lady; it's time you act like one."
"Yes, Father."
Tom Riddle smiled. "You are now excused." With that, he returned to his paperwork.
- 3 days passed -
Hermione was studying in the library, but her eyes kept drooping shut. So sleepy, must stay awake. She walked to the couch and laid down. Maybe he won't mind if I just take a quick nap first before studying and completing my chores. Yes, I think that's what I'll do.
Apparently it wasn't a harmless mistake that she made.
She was violently awakened to see Tom Riddle's vicious eyes peering down at her. His eyes became a violent shade of red as his voice harshly spat: "Wake up you insolent child. I adopted you and I can easily put you back in that orphanage. You are to increase my wealth and connections." He was now directly in front of Hermione's face, glaring. "Dare to defy me again and you will be sorry."
From then on, she dared to never disobey him no matter how tired or how angry she was. She feared what the punishment would be, but most of all, she did not want to return to the orphanage. With Riddle, she had a warm bed, food to eat, and several articles of clothing. With Riddle, she had a life – maybe not the life she wanted, but something better than the orphanage.
End of flashback
Hermione couldn't help but crumble the invitation in her hand. All she ever wanted was affection, to be loved. Was that really too much to ask for in this hopeless place? Tom Riddle didn't love her and neither did Draco. She threw the crumbled invitation in the fireplace, quickly grabbed the journals, the large tome, the old newspaper clippings, and the photo album. She made her way towards her bedroom, but quickly changed her mind and walked in the opposite direction. Granted, her bedroom could offer her guaranteed privacy, but privacy wasn't what she was looking for at the moment. She needed something that her bedroom could not give her; she needed a place that could allow her to channel those pent-up emotions into something other than tears. So she went to the room that relaxed her most in the manor - the piano room.
Once there, she placed everything on the piano top and heavily sat down on the piano bench. She slowly placed her head upon her folded arms that rested on the piano keyboard and within seconds, heart-wrenching sobs racked her body. She cried for all the times she felt unloved, she cried for all the times she had to put on a façade to be the perfect wife or daughter, she cried for all the times she felt helpless and scared in the dark, but most of all, she cried because she was so tired. So tired of pretending, so tired of being unloved, and so tired of trying to be strong. She was so tired of this sad life she lived.
Right outside the piano room was Draco, standing with his eyes closed as he rested his forehead and hands on the closed door. She's crying and it's my fucking fault.
Draco sighed as he continued to listen to her cry her heart out. This sham of a marriage was taking its toll on him. He just couldn't help, but argue with her every time they spoke, it was just so difficult to be civil to someone who constantly provoked you. She was always getting under his skin, always pushing his buttons. Everything would be going fine and then she had to open her smart mouth to say something that would ruin the sweet silence. But he'd be lying if he said that he didn't enjoy getting a rise out of her. And he'd be damned if he didn't love watching her face flush pink when she was angry or the way she would clench her fists in anger when he pushed her to the limits. He thought that this time wouldn't be any different than any other argument they've had – he'd say something rude, she'd insult him back, he'd insult her, and then he would leave and she would go to her room in a huff. But he didn't think she'd cry, at least not like this. Not heart-wrenching sobs as if someone had just passed away. Damn. She was in the wrong, so why the hell do I feel guilty? Shit.
He grabbed the doorknob and was about to turn it to go to her, but he stopped. Why is it quiet all of sudden? He placed his ear to the door and listened. Soon enough he heard the piano's melody. He sighed once again; he turned and slid his back down the door. Now sitting, he leaned his back on the door, bent his head, and closed his eyes to listen. Soon enough, he heard her sorrow-filled words.
Turn down the lights;
Turn down the bed.
Turn down these voices
Inside my head.
Lay down with me;
Tell me no lies.
Just hold me close;
Don't patronize.
Don't patronize me.
[Chorus:]
'Cuz I can't make you love me
If you don't.
You can't make your heart feel
Something it won't.
Here in the dark
In these final hours,
I will lay down my heart
And I'll feel the power;
But you won't.
No, you won't.
'Cuz I can't make you love me
If you don't.
I'll close my eyes,
Then I won't see
The love you don't feel
When you're holding me.
Morning will come,
And I'll do what's right;
Just give me till then
To give up this fight.
And I will give up this fight.
[Chorus]:
'Cuz I can't make you love me
If you don't.
You can't make your heart feel
Something it won't.
Here in the dark
In these final hours,
I will lay down my heart
And I'll feel the power;
But you won't.
No, you won't.
'Cuz I can't make you love me
Damn. Fuck. Shit. Draco lifted his hands to wipe the silent tears he cried. Tears that he continued to cry to the piano's melody. He cried for this sham of a marriage, he cried for all the times he was pushed to the limits by his father to take over the company, he cried for the ruthless industry of business, he cried for the pain he caused Hermione, he cried for his horrible childhood, he cried for all the times he felt unloved, but most of all, he cried because he was so tired. Tired of living the life his parents wanted for him.
Together they cried, with Draco against the door and Hermione playing the sorrowful melody on the piano. Neither knowing the other was present, neither knowing that they had more in common than they realized. Both knowing that their life wasn't what they wanted, but both promising themselves to make it better, to change. Nothing could be heard for the rest of the night, except for Hermione's melody as both continued to shed silent tears.
Hermione: 1 Draco: 1
