December 8th, 2001
By eight-thirty that night, Blaise was in a right panic about Daphne's non-appearance. "Something must have happened to her," he worried. "I need to check." The terms of the Vow they'd just taken earlier that evening were clear: he would try to protect her, even if it meant risking himself.
Draco ran a hand through his bangs, pushing them off his face, frustrated with the circumstances. "If she ran into a trap, you'd get caught, too," he warned his friend.
"No choice," Blaise reminded him, holding up his arm, which still bore the reddish crisscrossing welts of the Unbreakable Vow.
Draco resignedly nodded. "Be back before ten," he warned. "I mean it. And if there's trouble, dodge it first before coming back here." He walked his friend to the balcony outside his bedroom. "You remember the signal, so I'll know to drop the wards?"
Zabini nodded. "Periculum Minimums Viridus." A small, sparkler-like green flare burst from the tips of their wands, occuring on both ends once cast, as their wands were charmed to respond to each other. It was their prearranged signal for each other back in their school days.
Draco put a hand on Blaise's shoulder. His friend was only a tad taller than he, so they were able to look each other in the eye. "Be careful, mate," he offered, sincerely worried. "I wouldn't want to have to be the one who tortures you if you get caught."
For a second, there was a serious regard, as if Blaise were searching Draco to see if he would, in fact, torture him if the Dark Lord ordered it. Then his friend's cynical smirk drew up the side of his face in natural Slytherin style. "Whips turn me on, you know," he chuckled in jest. He jutted his chin towards the Manor's boundary. "Let me the hell out before you turn all weepy on me, will ya?"
Draco waved his wand and lowered the wards around his home, and with a crack of splitting air, Blaise had Apparated out. He waited a few moments, to be sure his friend wouldn't have to fast return, and then he closed the wards again.
"Hello, Draco."
He swiftly pivoted, wand up and ready, a curse upon his tongue, only to realize at the last second that he'd recognized the voice. "Almost lost your head that time, Granger," he growled in irritation.
She was standing just inside the French doors, her robes tightly drawn around her, her hood shadowing her face so he couldn't see her from this angle. He stepped towards her to return to the bedroom, and she automatically retreated. Like the other night, with each advanced measure he took, she fled, but he noted the wary tension to her silhouette, and knew under her cloak, her wand was trained on his heart. As he shut the balcony doors, locking them behind his back, his gaze fastened on her. "Were you going to fire that hex at me anytime soon?"
Lips tilting in sardonic amusement, she pushed her hood back and dropped open her cloak, lowering her wand arm. Once again, Draco was captivated by the glints of gold within her dark cider-colored eyes. He thought, perhaps, they were one of her best attributes, aside from the more obvious, feminine parts.
"Wipe the drool off your chin, Malfoy," she bit, frowning. "The whole reason we're in this mess is because your thoughts give you away every time."
He felt as if she'd just slapped him one hard. "What the hell does that mean?"
Hermione stared hard at him, and shook her head. "If you hadn't been so obvious that you were in trouble during sixth year, I never would have noticed you to begin with. And then we wouldn't have-" She cleared her throat, obviously uncomfortable with that line of thought. "We wouldn't have… you know, before. Hence you wouldn't have propositioned me the other night, and I wouldn't be standing here now caring a whit about your pathetic life."
"What wouldn't we have done before, Granger?" he mocked, taking several steps closer, daring her to say aloud that they'd had sex. He was pushing her boundaries on purpose, wanting to see that spitfire in her eyes that he'd missed for so long.
She clenched her jaw. "You know very well what I mean," she waspishly replied, her eyebrows snapping down over her brow in irritation, stubbornly refusing to rise to his challenge. This both amused and aggravated him. "And Dumbledore knew what you were up to then, too. Your face gave you away to him. He was trying to reach out to you the night he died." She sniffled. "Harry needed him-"
Sudden fury rose to the forefront, igniting his temper, shoving his playful mood away in an instant. "Don't you dare," he hissed, taking an ominous step towards her, his hands curling in fists. "Don't you try to blame this fucking war on me!" He was practically in her face now, her trembling wand tip pressed deep into the skin over his left pectoral. "I never asked to be made a pawn! I never wanted Potter to lose! I never wanted any of this!" He was so angry that instead of his voice rising in volume, it had gone coldly, viciously sibilant.
Granger stared up at him with wide eyes, her bottom lip quivering in real fear, as if she only then realized how dangerous an animal he'd become over the years. "Then why didn't you take my hand when I offered it?" she whispered, tears of panic and distress filling her eyes. "I even gave myself to you, and you still refused my help! Things might have been different if you'd just trusted me, Draco. If you'd walked away from the Room of Hidden Things when I asked, then…" She shut her eyes in anguish. "Why did ever you finish fixing that godforsaken Vanishing Cabinet?"
That she spoke the truth, and that she seemed so truly terrified of him knocked the wind right out of Draco's sails.
Yes, indeed, what might have been different if he hadn't gotten the cabinet working and hadn't let the Death Eaters into the castle that night? It was a scenario he'd played over and over in his head countless times over the years. He didn't think much would have changed. Snape had told him later that Dumbledore would have been dead within a few days or weeks anyway from a curse he'd acquired by destroying one of Voldemort's horcruxes. Potter wouldn't have gotten much out of the old Headmaster anyway. But still, the 'what if' plagued him as yet one more regret to add to the pile.
In a much calmer way, he spoke to her. "I was a kid, Granger, and I was scared," he admitted. "Not just for myself, but for my friend's lives, for my parent's lives, and for your life." He reached up, unclenching his free hand, and despite the nagging voice telling him that touching her right now wasn't the smartest move (Slytherin's soul, he wanted her!), he stroked her cheek, feeling his fury melting before the strength of her shining aura once more. "The Dark Lord hates me. Always has," he explained. "He'd have killed you and everything you loved if he suspected that you meant anything to me."
She blinked twice, and two hot, salty trails rolled down her cheeks. He stopped one with his fingertip, capturing the liquid against his nail. "So, it wasn't... just sex... for you? That day we-?" she hesitantly asked. "You know, a sordid, heat of the moment thing?"
He sniffed and shook his head over the whole, lamentable tragedy. "I could have let Pansy at me at any time if I wanted something as common and unremarkable as 'just sex,'" he stated without boast. "Heat of the moment? I suppose. I certainly didn't plan on losing my cherry on an old teacher's desk in the Room of Requirement - hardly an idealized spot for getting laid proper. Sordid?" He paused and shook his head. "No. You were the right girl. I've never regretted being with you that day."
He stepped into her, and her wand dropped down as her hand did, giving him the opportunity to press his entire length against her warm, soft body. Behind his ribs, his heart was hammering and he was fully erect in his pants. He knew she felt him pressed against her abdomen by the stiffening of her back. "I meant what I said, Hermione. I've thought about you a lot over the years. About kissing you and touching you - being inside of you, going deep." He bent his mouth down, hovering, slowly running his bottom lip against hers as his free hand cupped her cheek, while the one holding his wand slid around her back, to secure her frame to his. They both had their eyes open and were looking through half-lids at the other. "Sometimes I fancy I smell strawberries, the same scent as the lip gloss you were wearing that afternoon. And I can still taste your salt on my tongue." He shut his eyes against the shudder that ran through him. "Fuck, Granger, I loved coming inside you. I've touched myself for years to thoughts of having you again." He shook with the tactile and sensate memories, his body aching with heavy need now, his breathing raspy as he fought for control. "Have you thought about that day at all? About me? Like that?"
He not only heard, but he felt her swallow multiple times, trying to rein in her fear. "Yes." It was barely a whisper, unwillingly pried from between her teeth.
Shutting his eyes for a moment, he smirked. She did want him. This, he could work with. Peeking through his long lashes, he stared into her eyes and cupped her cheek with gentle pressure, assuring she couldn't look away. "Give me your answer then," he bid in a low, honeyed voice. "Will you accept my offer?"
Shaking like a small bird trapped in a cage, Hermione nodded. "On one condition," she murmured.
He chastely pressed his lips to hers - not really a kiss, just a light brush of skin - never taking his eyes off hers. "Name it," he offered, his free hand moving to tangle in the curls behind her neck, softly stroking the curve along her pulse with his thumb.
"I don't…" She stopped and licked her lips to give herself some courage, and her tongue accidentally nipped his top lip, which made his heart jump a beat. "I don't want to get pregnant."
The heated moment was suddenly shattered. "Unacceptable," he countered, moving his face away, and standing back to his full height, loosening his grip on her, preparing for another fight. "I want children someday."
Hermione sighed. "No, I meant that I won't bring a child into this world now. We kill the Dark Lord and all his lieutenants first. We re-establish the Ministry. Until then, we take precautions."
Draco considered the counter-proposal. It made sense. He wasn't sure he'd want to risk her being pregnant and delivering a child under these conditions anyway. And he definitely wouldn't want his son to grow up knowing nothing but Voldemort's version of the world. "I have a caveat to your stipulation," he offered back, seeing a potential loophole in her plan. "If he's not dead by the time you're thirty, we try anyway." She started to shake her head, and he put his fingers over her mouth to shut her down. "I want an heir, Granger," he explained. "It won't be much to leave him, but it's important. The Malfoy line has survived since the 10th century. I won't let Voldemort be the end of my family history, no matter my feelings for my parents." She made to argue again and he pressed down harder. "We'll have several years to take him and his whole order down. That should be time enough."
She shuddered against him, and he knew she would comply. "I agree," she confirmed it and the matter was finally settled.
"Good," he leaned back in, pushing her lightly against the nearby wall at the same moment. Pressing his lips to her left earlobe, he smirked. "Tonight, you're mine."
Hermione's whole body stiffened in his arms. "But… we need to… get married, still. We need someone to preside over the ceremony, to make it official."
Draco chuckled, licking the shell of her ear. "And who's going to do that, hmmm?" He ran his mouth over the golden skin above her pulse. "We won't need an officiate. We'll marry in the old wizarding way." He wound his left fingers through hers and stepped back, raising his wand above them. When Hermione didn't follow, he arched an eyebrow at her and frowned. "Lift your wand, Granger, and take the Vow with me."
The origin of the Unbreakable Vow was something they'd learned in Binns class as well. It had begun as a matrimonial contract (called Enguesis in its original Greek), between members of Pureblood clans, to assure eugenic breeding purity and spousal fidelity back during the wizarding 'Age of Philosophy' (the 3rd century B.C. – ironically, around the same time as the European Muggle epoch of the same name). Like the Unbreakable Vow, the Marriage Vow required parties to uphold their promises; speaking falsely to any of the terms after sealing the Vow resulted in instant death for the offending spouse. Wizarding Enguesis, unlike its Greek Muggle counterpart of the same name, required only the two parties involved – the husband-to-be and the wife-to-be - to contract the magic terms, but it had to be done together and willingly, otherwise the Vow would not take. In other words, Draco could not Imperio Hermione in this matter; she had to want to speak the words herself for the magic to deliberately, irrevocably take.
He teetered on a knife's edge now as Granger's wand slowly rose over her wrist to cross tips with Draco's own, recovered Hawthorn rod, praying that she didn't chicken out at the last. When she gave him a barely perceptible nod, he let out a tiny exhalation of relief, but was careful not to celebrate too soon, as there were still the words to speak and the magic to cast before this was a done deal.
He'd looked up the Enguesis ceremony in the Malfoy library earlier this week after returning from Gringotts, and had discovered an amazing leeway in how the Vow was spoken – which made perfect sense, as each party entering into it would have their own conditions and requirements to bring to bear into the marriage. He'd sat down that very night and carefully drafted up what they would say to each other at this moment (after all, the Vow was very specific and literal, so he'd had to word things just so to prevent one of them from accidentally being struck dead). He'd then memorized the oath, which he spoke now in a clear, concise manner:
"I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, Vow on my power as a Wizard to be your husband, Hermione Granger - in name and in body, and to faithfully endeavor to protect you and any children we may bear from harm all the days of my life. This I so solemnly swear."
A white myst wove out of the tip of his wand, curled down the length of hers, and twined about their clasped hands. He looked up to see Granger biting her lip, the top of which was coated with a sheen of light perspiration, despite the chill. Her sienna-colored eyes were wide and her pupils dilated in real, unadulterated fear, with too much white showing. Her breathing had accelerated, and against his thumb, he could feel her pulse slamming through her veins. For just a second, Draco felt guilty for forcing himself on her. It wasn't enough of a feeling to make him set her free – no, definitely not that. He'd waited too long for her, and like Blaise, he'd determined that they were in this now together, to the bitter end. But the pang in his heart told him that she didn't really want this, that she wouldn't be standing here doing this now if she didn't need the information he could provide, and that caused him some small measure of pain.
"Repeat after me," he told her, knowing she didn't know the ritual. "I, Hermione Granger…"
She licked her lips, swallowed hard and opened her mouth. "I, Hermione Jean Granger…"
His lips quirked in amusement. Jean, hmmm? Interesting. "Vow on my power as a Witch…"
"Vow on my power as a Witch…"
So far, so good. "To be your wife, Draco Lucius Malfoy - in name and in body…"
Here she paused, shut her eyes, and her trembling increased. "To… to be your wife… Draco Lucius Malfoy - in name and… in… body…"
That she stumbled over the last part made him realize that she was more terrified of what they were going to do in bed than in the idea that she was taking his name as her own. That worried him some. He knew she'd enjoyed what they'd done that one time; she'd orgasmed twice under him, for Merlin's sake! And he knew she still felt some fascination for him from her reaction to his nearness earlier. His ire grew as his insecurities did likewise, so he marched onward, determined now more than ever to finish this and make her his. "And to faithfully endeavor to protect you and any children we may bear from harm all the days of my life."
"And to faithfully endeavor to protect you and any children we may bear from harm all the days of my life."
That last part seemed to come easier for her. But then again, she'd told him a few times now that saving him was something she had wanted to do all along. If that was the case, then giving her body to him again shouldn't be that reprehensible, right? If she was willing to die for him, then why was fucking him so much scarier? His ego took the hit with little grace.
"This I so solemnly swear," she finished on her own without prompting, obviously remembering that part from his Vow.
Her magic wove around his like a snake writhing around its partner during the mating dance, and when the ends finally connected, there was a click in Draco's skull, followed by a warm, tingling rush through his body as the Vow took. It had felt very similar to the Unbreakable Vow he'd made with Blaise so long ago, and yet there was something deeper to this connection, something more primal, hungry. His whole body flushed with desire and need, and before he could stop himself, he was pressing up against her again. Once more, with his face only centimeters away, he stared at Hermione, willing her permission for a kiss.
It was just as it had been their first time, only now, her arms weren't around him; one hand was pressed to his, the other held her wand and gripped his hip at the same time.
She nodded, and he touched down softly on her mouth…
Green sparks shot out of the tip of his wand, jolting them both into a state of alarm. With a regretful sigh, Draco let Hermione go, feeling the moment his hand left hers as a physical tug against his heart. The Vow, it seemed, was firmly in place. He made his way to the French doors and unlocked and opened them. Far off, near the Manor gates, green sparks continued to burn. Draco dropped the wards, and in a moment, Blaise, Daphne and Astoria Side-long Apparated in together. He reset the protection spells around his home, and hurried them all into his bedroom, careful to check first that no other energy signatures had passed over the boundaries of his home with a quick flick of his wand and a 'brushing touch' to the familiar repelling hexes and curses that bordered the Malfoy ancestral estate. All was clear.
When he locked the balcony doors behind him once more, he noted Hermione warily staring at the three interlopers, obviously confused. "Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, and her sister Astoria," he introduced with a wave towards each person. He turned to his friends and stepped to Hermione's side. "My wife, Hermione Granger."
Four sets of jaws dropped, all for obviously different reasons.
It was his new wife who spoke first. "Malfoy, who are these people?" she demanded, clearly angry.
He tossed a grin at her, trying for unflappable himself. "Defectors, of course."
She blinked, processing it all. "You've been recruiting?" she asked, incredulous.
He shrugged. "Not intentionally, no. But your little resistance movement just got a bonus in four wizards for the price of one." He put his arm around her waist and smirked down at her. "Not bad for a night's work, Granger."
Gazing up into his eyes, his new consort frowned. "How do I know I can trust them?"
"I'm bonded to Drake," Blaise piped up finally in his deep baritone. "We took the Unbreakable Vow to each other for loyalty years ago. I cannot betray his trust under pain of death."
Daphne cleared her throat, holding fast to Zabini's arm like it was her only lifeline. "I've taken an Unbreakable Vow not to betray Blaise," she admitted, shyly looking to the floor, a small blush staining her cheeks. "And Astoria's taken one to me tonight not to betray my trust."
Hermione's eyes were hawkish, very carefully measuring the three former Slytherins before her. Draco could almost smell the oil burning as the wheels turned 'round and 'round in that head of hers. After long, silent minutes, she turned to him. "So, whether I accept them or not is a question of whether I trust you," she pointed out. "Since you're the linch pin to this train of secrecy."
Turning her in his arms, Draco smirked down at her. "'To faithfully endeavor to protect you and any children we may bear from harm all the days of my life,'" he reminded her. "No going back now, Granger."
Through narrowed, dark eyes, she studied him, and finally nodded.
"Why the delay?" he turned his attention to Daphne.
The pretty blonde threw him an apologetic grimace. "We had to wait for our parents to leave for their late night dinner party with the Parkinsons," she explained. "And it took longer than I expected to pack up our things." She indicated the two backpacks that Astoria held onto. "We hurried as best as we could without alerting mother and father."
He nodded, trading a look with Blaise. "Your responsibility, both of them," he reminded his friend. Zabini just nodded and rolled his eyes as if to say, "That was obvious."
"We're on a tight deadline," Granger told him, checking a Muggle watch on her wrist. "So, collect what you'll be taking with you, because we're not going to be coming back any time soon. Maybe not ever," she informed him, moving back out of his hold. She reached into an inner pocket of her robs and pulled out five medium-sized, drawstring bags and passed three of them to him. "You can fit a lot in these. They have Undetectable Extension Charms on them. Throw in your clothes, and all the bedding, toiletries, money, whatever trinkets you think you wouldn't mind selling, and your personal belongings that you want to keep." She waggled the other two bags. "These, I'm taking down to the kitchens to raid the cupboards, if you don't mind. We're a little short on food and essentials where we're at right now, since we just moved in a few days ago."
Draco called Moppy to them. The little house-elf appeared in a crack of rifting sound, and when instructed by him, led Hermione down to the kitchens. Before she left, Hermione turned back. "We don't have much time. We need to leave here soon, so please be quick about it."
With the help of his three former Housemates, Draco managed to shrink the contents of his wardrobe and all of the items he wanted to take with him, and fit them into two of the bags. He then went on alone to his father's study to extract liquor from the cabinets, and then the hidden vault behind his parents' back closet wall in their bedroom to pull out what money he thought they may need. He did not touch his mother's jewels, except to take his grandmother Malfoy's engagement ring, which was part of his personal inheritance, meant for his spouse. He would give it to Hermione later, as it was now rightfully hers.
He took one last stroll around the house to make sure everything was in order. He spoke to several portraits – specifically, those he'd talked to most often as a young child or in recent days and who would be sympathetic to his flight. "I will keep the wards in place when I leave," he promised his grandmother, Madeline Malfoy, whose portrait hung in one of the lesser used bedrooms in the East Wing of the house, banished there by his father, who kept it around only for aesthetics. "That way, you all will be safe for when my parents return. What they do with you then…" He left the thought unfinished, frowning.
"This cannot be an easy decision for you," the beautiful, aristocratic blonde witch replied, her face clearly saddened. "I am so very sorry for you, Draco."
He sighed. His father's mother was the one person he could truly let himself open to. "I wish-" he began, stopped himself, but decided to blunder on, seeing as no one was nearby to overhear. "I wish none of this had ever happened, Maddy," he confessed, using the nickname his grandmother insisted upon back when he was eight-years old and a very lonely, single child being brought up in a big, empty house, talking to the portraits for company. "I wish Potter had defeated the Dark Lord. I wish my parents were better people. I wish I'd taken Granger's offer years ago." He ran a pale hand through his bangs, brushing them out of his eyes again. His tone and face were resigned. "I'm probably going to die for her – Hermione, I mean. There probably won't be an heir." He looked up into his ancestor's beautiful blue-grey eyes and frowned. "I'm sorry."
Maddy smiled sadly at him. "Draco, please try to stay alive and come back. I should very much like to see you again, heir or no. You are the son I'd always wanted." She sighed, adjusting her petite, beautifully manicured hands in her lap as she shifted slightly. "Long ago, I failed my Lucius, and he has grown to become a wicked man. And for a while, when you stopped coming to see me so much, and I heard the rumors from the other paintings, I despaired that you were nearly lost to me in such hatred and prejudice as well. I was afraid of a repeat of history."
Tears wavered before his eyes. He knew his grandmother's tale well: abused at the hands of her husband, Abraxas, and desperate to keep her only son, Lucius, from following in the man's footsteps, Madeline Malfoy had tried to take her child and flee her loveless, violent marriage one day. But her husband had caught up to her on a Sunday morning in March, and made sure she "accidentally" fell down a flight of stairs, snapping her neck. He'd then taken his only child back to the ancestral Manor and raised him with the familial pureblood legacy of bigotry and snobbery. Under a strict, harsh rule, Abraxas made his son as cruel, apathetic and uncompassionate as he was.
And look where all that evil had brought them: his family had become little better than brainwashed toadies to Lord Voldemort. The Malfoys would forever be remembered as helping to turn the world into a smoky, nauseous pile of burning corpses.
Blaise and Snape and Dumbledore and even Potter had been right all along: Voldemort and all his lackeys – even his parents - had to go.
Maddy's gentle voice drew him out of his dark thoughts. "By joining that girl's cause, you have shown me that there is hope for us, Draco," she continued with a sweet smile – the one she'd always reserved especially for him. "You are finally the heir this family has truly needed for centuries. You are a Malfoy Lord with a heart."
Touched to the core, Draco bowed deeply to his grandmother. "I hope one day to meet you again, Maddy. Thank you for your years of guidance and love. I won't forget you."
"Adieu, mon enfant aimé," his grandmother blew him a kiss, and then he turned on his heel and walked back down the hallway to the opposite wing, to rejoin the others.
X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
When they were ready to go, he turned to his new wife. "Would you like to see where Potter is buried?" he asked in a respectful tone, not knowing what her reaction would be. He heard the gasps from his friends, but focused his whole attention on Hermione. Her eyes were fixed on his, filling with tears. She blinked them away and nodded once, so he took her hand and lead her through the large house, out the Conservatory door to the back gardens, and towards a corner of the property that was darkened by a copse of evergreens. Blaise and the two other women quietly walked behind; obviously harboring no love for the Dark Lord, he suspected they were interested in paying their respects to their former classmate as well.
There was only a small pile of stones gathered over a spot that was hidden behind one of the large trees, and they were half buried under the snow. The group stopped together, standing silently in the moonlight, looking down at this pathetic memorial, each lost in their own thoughts. Next to him, Hermione was so still, and her breathing was slowed, so that when she exhaled, her air appeared only as tiny puffs on the frigid air. Noting this, Draco cast a bubble warming charm about the group, worried that their breathing could be spotted.
"Oh, Harry." A small sob was ripped from Granger's throat, and tears poured in rivulets down her pale cheeks. Draco watched her struggle with her grief, recognizing that the wound in her heart caused by Potter's death had been freshly reopened by this one moment.
To his personal disgust, he admitted he was once more irrationally jealous of the love his wife obviously bore for his one-time rival, and shut his eyes against such unworthy thoughts.
Peeking over at the group of three standing off to the side to distract his musings, Draco was surprised by what he witnessed from his former housemates: Blaise looked solemn, a determined glint in his eyes, while Daphne and Astoria had arms about each other, forlorn gazes sealed to the small pile of stones. The three mourned the death of the boy they hadn't supported during his time of need, and now secretly wished they had. Theirs wasn't a sadness born from the loss of the man so much as what Potter had represented – hope.
Would people mourn him in this same way when it was his turn? He doubted it. There would be a lot of cursing and spitting instead, he was sure. Even his defection to the rebellion lacked altruism.
With his own mortality heavily weighing on him now that he was about to openly betray the Dark Lord, he felt it only appropriate to leave a final farewell over Potter's grave. This would probably be the last time he'd visit his old enemy. "Orchidius," he cast, and two red roses bloomed from the tip of his wand. He gave one to his wife, and then tossed his own over the gathering of stones. He said nothing, knowing his words would not be appreciated, and besides, what he felt for Scarhead was his own business and no one else's. He'd paid his respects the only way he knew how.
Hermione's hand let go of him and she knelt down, gently placing her rose over Draco's crosswise. The irony of the symbolism didn't escape him, although he doubted it had been her intention to imply that theirs was a relationship of antagonism and enmity. "I'll see you again someday, Harry," she whispered and then stood up and stepped back.
To Draco's surprise, her small fingers searched for his and tightly clasped against him, trembling. They didn't look at each other, but in his chest, his heart ran with a powerful beat.
Daphne used her wand to summon roses for her, Blaise and Astoria, handing them to her friends. The three also placed their flowers on the makeshift grave, beneath Granger's and his. No one said anything else for long minutes, and then Granger took the first steps back towards the house. He marched into the lead and wound a path towards the front of the Entry Hall, closing and locking the main door behind them. He led them down the gravel path towards the front gates of Malfoy Manor.
He lowered the wards to let them out, then released his hand from Hermione's and locked up the gate once more, fulfilling his promise to Maddy and assuring the wards were placed back up before he left for the last time. He took a final look at his home, feeling a wave of sorrow for the past. He had grown up here, and no matter how lonely or awful many of his memories of this place were, it had still been his home and he would miss it, like Hogwarts.
"Moppy, come to me," he called out, and the house-elf Apparated next to him in an instant, carrying a small, canvas bag over her thin shoulders. Despite the cold, she seemed perfectly comfortable in only her thin, magenta dress.
"Moppy is always ready to follows the Master," she greeted with a bright smile.
He looked down at his only servant and frowned. "You're free. I release you from your bonds to this family." He held out a single sock, which he pulled from an inside pocket of his pants (taken from his father's dresser), offering her the article of clothing required to assure her liberty from enslavement.
Blue eyes flared, tears gathered. The little elf ignored the present and launched her tiny body at his leg instead. "Oh, please, do not ask Moppy to leave Master's side. Moppy would be lost without Master Draco!" she positively wailed.
Now this was something he hadn't expected. He bent down on one knee in the snow, uncaring about the wet cold ruining his pants, and pried the little creature off his body and shushed her. "We talked about this, Moppy. You'll probably be killed if you come along. I don't want that."
The house-elf was pathetically crying, sniffling and trying to keep the snot from escaping her nose with one long-fingered hand. "Moppy hateses the Dark Lord," she told him in a shuddering voice. "He kills Moppy's friends and family. Moppy wants to fight with Master!"
Ironically, it was Granger who calmed them both. "Draco, let her come," she requested. "She doesn't want to be left behind. And she might even be captured and hurt worse if she has no one to protect her."
He considered her argument and sighed, worried about them being so exposed for too long. "Fine."
In a flash, the elf threw herself on first Draco and then Hermione, rubbing her disgusting, runny face all over their legs, profusely thanking them. After another few seconds to disentangle himself from the diminutive creature, he stood back up. Granger's hand slipped back into his and gave a warm squeeze.
"Thank you," she shyly smiled up at him.
Embarrassed by how uncharacteristically soft he was appearing tonight, he turned away and spoke with more anger than he intended. "She's yours to protect, Granger. I won't have her death on my head, too."
"I'll look after her," she promised.
His wife let him go again and when he turned back to watch her, she was pulling a woolen, grey scarf from one of her charmed bags. "Everyone ready?" she asked, holding out the accessory straight. "We're Porting out, so grab on." Five sets of human hands and one small set of elf hands (grabbing the trailing end) touched the coarse, hand-knit threads as instructed.
In that second, Draco felt a tingling along his spine and turned, alarm bells going off in his head, telling him that they were being watched. Too late, he saw his old mate, Goyle, standing under one of those electric street lamps down the road. The Manor's property lay just beyond the boundary of a Muggle dead-end street, outside the tarred pavement that Muggles preferred to surround their lives with, but even from the distance, Draco could see Greg's malevolent gaze glued on him.
"Shite," he muttered under his breath just as Granger cast the Portus spell, and then he was tugged along with the others through a rift, that peculiar fish-hook pull in his abdomen making him slightly ill.
They landed seconds later on a hillock above some sand dunes, scarf still firmly in hand. They'd all made it, he noted with a quick glance around, pulling his wand in case they'd been followed. He doubted they would be, as Portkey travel was extremely difficult to trace, but he had seen firsthand how adept his old friend was at tracking, so he kept his guard up.
Next to him, Granger breathed a deep sigh of relief, and he turned his gaze in the direction she was looking. A cozy, multi-story house built of stone and large clam shells, firelight showing through the multitude of windows at every level, rose up in long shadow from below. Two tall chimneys, placed on either side of the roof released a cheerful waver of smoke in their direction, and as the wind carried it towards them, Draco could smell the delightful fragrance of home-cook food on the air.
"Welcome to Shell Cottage," his wife invited them with a wave of her hand. "Headquarters for the Third Order of the Phoenix."
TO BE CONTINUED...
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Periculum Minimums Viridus = Periculum spell from HP world, but modified for this fic. Minimus is Latin for 'small' and Viridus is Latin for 'green.'
Enguesis = Pronounced en-GOO-ay-sis. Greek word for "Betrothal." In classical Greece, the process whereby a man agrees to marry a previously unwed woman. Negotiations happen between the interested male party with the male legal guardian (kurios) in charge of the woman (discussions included management of a dowry, a discussion of the rituals that would be required for the wedding to be cemented, and the man's registration of his new wife in the phratry of the new husband.
Adieu, mon enfant aimé = French for "Goodbye, my beloved child." In this case, "Adieu" (literally, "To God") is the forever type of farewell gesture, spoken in case you expect never to see the other person again.
