Malfoy Manor. Years later...
Draco hadn't intended to pry...
Hermione had floo called him from the Ministry in a flat panic after lunch. The briefing parchments that she needed for her three o clock meeting were still on her desk at the Manor. Would he mind getting them please? Tibby could bring them over to her if it was easier, but she would prefer it if she didn't go into Hermione's study. Even free elves have an insane desire to tidy up, and the last time Tibby had "cleaned" up for her, it had taken Hermione weeks to find anything.
Laying down his copy of the Prophet with a sigh Draco walked up the stairs to the two adjoining rooms that he and his wife of the past 27 years used as studies. Hermione's study was warded, but only against small grandchildren, house elves and intruders. The big mahogany door admitted Draco without protest. There were some advantages to being the Master of the House.
He paused for a moment to appreciate the beauty of the room. Heavy gold brocade curtains hung at the huge bay window where her desk stood, turned slightly so that she could enjoy the stunning views of the herb garden below. Draco knew very well that in the summer evenings the air in the room would be heavy with the scents of the hundreds of herbs, grown for domestic as well as magical use. The walls were predominantly decorated with Hermione's personal collection of books, which was starting to rival the Manor's library in size, but the floor to ceiling bookshelves were interspersed with panels of gold brocade, on which hung examples of his wife's taste in art, both magical and muggle. In pride of place, over the fireplace, was a magnificent oil painting of Hermione herself, Draco had commissioned it to celebrate Hermione's investiture as Minister for Magic, five years ago. In a smaller panel to the left was a beautiful little muggle oil painting of a girl with a rose. It had never particularly appealed to Draco, although he suspected that Hermione had chosen it for the girl's resemblance to their youngest daughter Lyra. It was, Draco noticed with a frown, crooked, which was unusual. Most paintings in the Manor were charmed to always hang straight. Collecting the pile of parchment from the desk he paused to straighten the picture as he left the room...
As the picture moved there was a distinct clunk from behind it.
Mindful of his wife – no doubt wearing out an expensive ministry carpet as she waited for her papers, (it was ten minutes to three by Draco's pocket watch) he stepped into the corridor and called for Tibby. Instructing her to deliver the parchment urgently to her Mistresses' office, he went back to the study, carefully resetting the wards behind him. Returning to the picture, he pushed it back to its original position; once again, the mechanical clunk was heard from the panelling behind. But nothing happened. Perplexed Draco examined the picture once more. It was Dutch he knew, Hermione had told him it was almost certainly 17th Century. The little girl in a window leant her cheek onto her hand, gazing past him out of the picture. Soft dark blonde curls tumbled over her shoulder, and in her other hand was a crimson rose; drops of dew still clung to the velvety petals, but one had dropped already, and was lying on the windowsill.
A crimson rose.
Draco reached out, his eyes soft with old memories, as he ran a gentle finger over the painted petals. Just as his fingertips caught on a small bump behind the canvas, the panel that the portrait hung on swung open.
Stunned Draco stepped back sharply, stumbling into one of the comfortable sofas that flanked the fireplace. A secret panel? He'd lived in the manor all his life; it was part of his blood and bones. His very magic was woven into its ancient stones. Aside from some of the most disreputable areas of the cellar, frequented by some of his more dubious ancestors, including his father (areas now safely warded against all comers except himself) he knew every nook and cranny inside and out, including its priest holes, secret passageways and hidey holes, and Draco was absolutely certain that whatever he had found was not a relic of his family's ancient past – it was there because Hermione had put it there.
He had come this far. He had to know.
If his hands shook a little as they opened the panel, Draco would have denied it vehemently. The space inside was not particularly large - reaching into the darkness, Draco's fingertips encountered what was undoubtedly polished wood. Carefully drawing the object out, he found a beautifully crafted wooden box. Utterly plain, it was about the size of a small muggle suitcase, the kind that Hermione sometimes used on short business trips.
Cradling the box carefully in both hands, Draco set it gently down on Hermione's desk, took a deep breath, and lifted the lid. A tingle of magic indicated that the contents had been charmed, probably a stasis charm to preserve them. Within the box, was a set of robes. Witches robes, lightweight silk robes, for a hot summer day. Even after, what was it, 33 years; Draco remembered vividly the deep crimson shimmer of these robes. But what in Merlin's name were they doing here? Lifting them carefully from the box Draco realised that there were other objects beneath them. Putting the armful of soft fabric to one side he found a jewellery box, a letter and a book. Well, in for a sickle in for a knut Draco thought. It was a little late to wonder about the ethics of intruding into his wife's privacy now. The parchment of the letter was stiff and heavy, and to his shock Draco unfolded it to reveal the Black family crest at the top. The script was flowing and exuberant, but easy to read.
"Dearest Hermione, this is not a family piece – it would be too dangerous to give you anything that my family had owned, but I hope you like it. The Crow is an old Celtic symbol for the Morrighan, she who brings life and death. You have brought back life to me, and I trust that one day you will help in bringing death to the evil that threatens us all. Incidentally she is also the Goddess of War. Appropriate I thought for these times we live in.
Happy Christmas to you my darling girl.
Sirius.
Draco didn't need to open the box. He already knew what he would find within. Sure enough, there it was. The last time he had seen the stunning garnet pendent with its beautifully rendered carving of the crow it was lying on the breast of Morrigan, the mysterious and alluring stranger that had, without a doubt saved his life. In his memory, he heard her voice, telling him of the one who had given her the pendent, how her eyes had clouded with sorrow at the memory:
"a lover – once, a long time ago. He has passed on now."
Draco dropped bonelessly onto the sofa stunned shock replacing his earlier curiosity, as the events of that scorching summer day, so long ago, flooded his memory.
xx0xx
It had been a long day thought the Minister for Magic, dusting herself down as she stepped from the fireplace in the Great Hall. When she had finally managed to get her parchments for her 3pm meeting, it had stretched out interminably, far beyond the hour and a half allotted to it. By the time Hermione had finished up, spoken to her assistant and secretary, and taken her private floo home it was nearer 5.30 than 4.30. Leaving the Great Hall, and ascending the main staircase to her office, she passed Tibby and, asking after Draco, she was informed that he had gone back into her study, and that nothing had been seen of him since. It was unusual, thought Hermione, for Draco to spend that much time in her office, but not unknown. He had probably found a book that interested him, and dozed off.
Instead, she opened her office door – and froze in shock. Her husband was seated on the sofa an open wooden box in front of him. He was clearly miles away.
"Draco Malfoy, what in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?"
Draco looked up, clearly uncomfortable. "Hermione... I" unusually for him, he was clearly struggling to bring his thoughts together, and the clear grey eyes that she had loved for so very long were confused and deeply troubled. Hermione's face softened. Dropping her briefcase onto a side table, she called Tibby for some tea for them both, before joining her husband on the small sofa.
"I came into your office to get your papers, and the picture was crooked." Draco repeatedly ran a nervous hand through his pale hair, a gesture Hermione recognised all too well as a sign that he was very upset.
"I see, and you found the compartment, and decided to have a look..." that came out a little more defensively than she had intended. "...I suppose I would have done the same."
Once Tibby had served their tea and departed. Hermione squared her shoulders, unsure as to where this conversation, at least thirty years overdue, was going to go. She reached out and ran her fingers over the soft crimson silk. "I haven't seen these for so long. A lifetime ago."
Closing her eyes she allowed her mind to drift back to those dark days immediately following Professor Dumbledore's death.
"Did Harry ever tell you that he was on the astronomy tower that night?" she asked. Draco shook his head his eyes wide. "He and Dumbledore had been searching for the Slytherin locket that night - when he realised what was happening Dumbledore petrified Harry under his invisibility cloak. Harry saw everything.
I had been convinced for some time that your heart wasn't given to Voldemort's cause. What Harry told me that night just confirmed it. I was desperate to reach out to you if I could - there was no need for you to go further down that path than you were already."
"So it was your idea. We never really talked about it - I had always assumed that Dumbledore had recruited M- Morrigan and set it up."
Hermione shook her head. "It was mainly my idea with support from Harry. Obviously we knew that you would be useful to our cause - but that wasn't the main reason." Hermione looked up at him and smiled softly. "Despite everything I think I was half in love with you already. During that last year at school I couldn't stop thinking how worn down and afraid you seemed. Harry wasn't the only one that was worried about you."
Draco scowled. "And you couldn't resist the chance to rescue and redeem the 'bad boy'?"
Hermione shrugged. "What can I say - I'm a sucker for a lost cause."
"Did Harry know how far you were prepared to go - or was screwing me part of the plan from the start?"
Hermione's smile was positively wicked. "Well it was always in MY plan. Harry was aware that it was a possibility." She chuckled. "I can't say he didn't try to talk me out of it. But don't forget that I had no idea at this stage that you felt the same. The fact that I got one incredible night with you - was your first in fact, although I didn't know that at the time. That was just for me.
At the time, Harry was convinced I was making the ultimate sacrifice for the cause. I think he consoled himself with the idea that it wouldn't be necessary, that I would slip something into your pumpkin juice and sleep innocently on the sofa until he arrived to 'rescue' me. She shook her head smiling. "Bless him he was so shocked when he turned up that morning and found you naked and that bed looking like a battlefield. Apparently it was so obvious we might as well have just put up a sign. And I didn't even have the decency to be traumatised afterwards. I strutted around for days like the kneazle that got the cream"
So lost was she, smiling at her memories, that she hadn't seen the way Draco was gradually closing down...
When he failed to speak to her, she turned, to find herself looking at a Draco Malfoy that she hadn't seen for a very long time. The beautiful, cold pure blood mask, so familiar from her years at Hogwarts was back in place, his grey eyes glittering with hurt and anger.
"Draco...?"
"I searched for her" he whispered. "All through the war and after, I searched for her. But no one knew who she was. In the end, I assumed that she was dead, that Voldemort had killed her for what she had done – because of me." The mask slipped "I mourned her – I felt guilty... and all these years you knew. Potter knew! Who else has been laughing behind my back for the last thirty odd years?"
Her chickens were coming home to roost with a vengeance. She avoided his eye, suddenly guiltily aware that she had never considered that Draco might have harboured feeling for her alter-ego. "Ginny knew, but not until much later." She winced at the look of utter betrayal on her husband's face.
He jack-knifed off the sofa, as if unable to be so close to her any more. "I don't even think I know you anymore. Maybe I never did." He shook his head in disgust. "You slept with Sirius Black when you were what – 15 – 16? Then you used the tricks you learned from him to lure me in.
If you'd been honest from the start it might have been easier to deal with. But to say nothing for all of those years..." Clearly he had nothing more to say. Without another word he turned on his heel and slammed out of the room.
Hermione walked over to the window, gazing blindly at the garden below. Looking down, she was surprised to see that her hands were shaking. Biting her lip, she struggled to hold it together.
"Draco.."
