AN: I'm an idiot. This was posted as chapter 5, but is really chapter 6. (If you already read this one, read the previous... again, so sorry!) I will try to update the next chapter early as an apology.
Thanks for all the reads and feedback!
Xonjax: Keeping reading to see! I can promise there will be a couple of twists with respect to loyalty in this fic.
Incwolf199: Glad you're enjoying the story!
Potter's head must have slipped from an invisibility cloak, as all Draco saw was his floating, disembodied head. Draco's mind entered battle mode, during which he made a split-second decision to flee before Potter pulled out his wand. He'd flee with flair at least. Giving his school nemesis a broad smile and wink, he quickly Apparated Hermione and himself back to the Manor.
The whole exchange had lasted only three seconds, if that, with no imagined interminable pause as the foes lock eyes as time stopped. It had been impossibly brief, and yet his heart thundered in his chest, as if it hoped to break free. Hermione looked a little green and more than a little peeved at the unexpected Side-Along she had just been subjected to.
"I saw someone I thought was in the Order," he rushed to explain.
Hermione's eyes widened, and Draco felt he could practically see her mind replaying those in the streets, trying to identify who had been the danger.
"I don't think you saw them, unless you saw a head floating above what I can only assume was an invisibility cloak," he responded to her unasked question.
Hermione looked rather more put-out than relieved that Draco had rescued her before she had so much as spotted the danger. Well, it wasn't as if Draco wanted her to fling herself at him in gratitude anyways. A thank you would have been nice though.
Several hours later, Draco scrounged around the Manor's attic, motivated by the panic that had gripped him when he realized Hermione didn't have an engagement ring. He had dutifully informed some underling that he'd successfully flaunted Hermione in Diagon Alley, leaving out the teensy detail of having seen Potty; he didn't want to be blamed for not capturing the mop-headed git if he could help it.
Draco was dusty and sore from rooting around old boxes and drawers, which made him quite peeved. He constructed detailed plans to punish the house elves for their failure to clean this room. Or, rather, he planned to make an announcement to them that he was disappointed in their behavior and their self-flagellation would do the punishment. Delegation was a powerful tool. He grumbled thinking back to their grovelling insistence that they couldn't be spared to search for a ring themselves-too busy with "guests."
How hard could it be to find a gaudy ring? Well, a gaudy ring without giant snakes on it; his family appeared rather fond of those, but he didn't think Hermione would appreciate it. Or even believe she'd accepted his suit if he'd presented it. Draco opened a small chest, ran a quick diagnostic spell to make sure nothing in it would bite-or worse; a faint bruise on his hand was a testament to the dangers lurking in Malfoy jewelry boxes. He was fairly confident that his father kept the really nasty things elsewhere, where they could be easily accessed for usage in service of the Dark Lord, but he remained cautious. Draco found no rings, but he did find a jaunty emerald pin that he tossed into his pile of things-I-might-want, which also included a few books, a dragon statuette, and a set of old, interestingly shaped potions bottles.
Several dusty minutes later, he found another jewelry box within one of the trunks. After donating a drop of blood-although donating was being generous, seeing as the box had bitten him, despite the diagnostic spell-to prove to the box that he was a Malfoy and therefore worthy of opening it, he found a veritable trove of shiny baubles. He picked up the rings and casually inspected them, waiting for one that seemed… well, engagement-y. He had no idea what sort of jewelry his supposed fiancee liked, since he'd never seen her wear any.
A flash of red caught his eye. He held up a small, silver band molded to look like twining rose stems, topped with rubies that formed rose petals. Around the ruby-rose, tiny emeralds in the shape of leaves fluttered in an imagined wind. Red for Gryffindor, green for Slytherin, with a hint of magic that made it move, as if ruffled by an invisible wind-Hermione would love it. Draco was both disgusted at himself and pleased with his perceptiveness that he had already formed such strong opinions about Hermione's preferences. He cast a quick self-sizing charm on it so that it would fit her when he presented it to her and mentally congratulated himself on a job well done.
Gathering up his other finds, he trudged back down from the attic, looking forward to a cleansing shower.
Draco returned to Hermione's room, still feeling rather smug. She was seated at the desk, dressed in one of the new robes he had purchased for her. Well purchased for her with the promise that she would pay him back; she had, however, failed to receive his promise to accept said payment, not that he expected her to survive long enough to contest any of that. Draco's thoughts continued to wander along that tangent. He hoped-for his own hide in the near future-that his public outing with Hermione today would result in Potter's capture as he came to rescue Hermione. He also hoped-for his own hide in the distant future, and maybe even Hermione's hide-that Potter survived and disposed of Voldemort. His hopes for his short and long-term survival often seemed at odds with each other.
He had just settled himself at the second desk he'd Transfigured out of the nightstand, and was trying to decide if he was relieved or a bit put-out that Hermione hadn't inquired where he'd gone. On one hand, it did save him effort in making up a lie. On the other, her lack of interest in his whereabouts indicated a lack of interest in him, which stung a bit. A Mudblood, uninterested in her very attractive, Pureblood fiancee was just preposterous. Draco's mental tirade was nipped in the bud when Zibby appeared with the Evening Prophet. Draco had planned to flip towards the society pages to see if he and Hermione appeared when the same dark mop of hair that had greeted him in Diagon Alley caught his attention from the front page. "The Boy Who Looted? Pilfering Potter Attempts Gringotts Heist!" the headline announced. The photo showed Harry whirling around in the lobby, looking panicked before Apparating away. Draco skimmed the text, but it was all fluff-quotes from Ministry officials speculating on his motives, emotional reactions from "witnesses" apparently scarred by their brush with the Wizarding World's most dangerous fugitive... Potter was trying to rob Gringotts! That explained why he'd seen Potter in Diagon Alley at least. Whatever he'd been aiming to steal must have been critically important for him to continue his mission rather than chasing after Hermione…
His thoughts were forcibly tugged back to his Aunt's paranoid questions about Gryffindor's sword as she'd tortured Hermione. She'd immediately gone to her Gringott's vault after she'd packaged pieces of the house elf to send to Potter then. All of Draco's instincts screamed that the events were related, but he couldn't see how. A pathetic part of Draco's mind informed him that Hermione might be able to figure it out, even without her memory. He turned his attention away from that discouraging thought and flipped through the paper to see if he and Hermione had, indeed, been featured.
There. His dramatic instincts had been correct (although his assessment of the photographer's affiliation apparently had not been, he mused) as the picture of his leaning across the table to kiss Hermione looped over and over. It transfixed him. The surprised, but pleased, look on Hermione's face as she saw him moving closer; the way she closed her eyes when his lips mets hers; the smug look on his face as he whispered to her; and the bashful, hopeful sheen to her eyes as he did so. He whispered to himself that he was appreciating his own artistry in creating such a moment despite the nagging voice that insisted… things that didn't bear repeating, much less considering.
Draco dragged his eyes to the accompanying text. "Handsome Heir and Pureblood Prince Draco Malfoy spotted snogging in Diagon Alley! Is Britain's rising most-eligible bachelor off the market? Find out next week with the Prophet's exclusive coverage!" He snorted, and mentally bet himself that he already had a request for an interview sitting with his mail downstairs. His eyes flicked to Hermione. He nearly jumped when he found her brown eyes already staring at his own.
A bushy, brown eyebrow rose elegantly, copying his own gesture so smoothly that he had the odd sensation of looking in a mirror. Well, a mirror that changed his coloring and made him female.
"Interesting news?" she inquired, apparently not having learned the patience necessary to allow the eyebrow lift to ask the question alone.
Draco tossed her the paper, glad-for once-that the excision of anything resembling the truth would save him a great deal of effort in explaining the current political situation in such a way that vilified and sanctified the appropriate actors. She fumbled the catch. A tremulous voice in Draco's mind found her miss and save adorable; he viciously crushed that suggestion with the thought that he would never be attracted to someone so ungraceful. He made a mental note to start dating Quidditch players. Blond, pureblood Quidditch players. Just his type.
Glancing over at Hermione, he sighed. Only a halo of frizzy curls were visible around the newspaper. No hot blond Quidditch players that fawned over him for now. No, he had to pretend to be affianced to her.
As he had predicted, a request for an interview from the Prophet had arrived on thick, high quality parchment (as if a show of wealth could impress a Malfoy) and awaited him with his mail. Draco twirled his quill as he pondered his response. He could write a perfunctory answer for them to publish-easy. But, an interview would mean a longer piece, maybe with pictures-a much better effort. That thought wove together with that image of Potter's flustered face on that evening's paper. Something important enough for Potter to be ignoring Hermione's rescue was clearly afoot, so Draco needed insurance his plan to rile his school nemesis would succeed. He almost felt a bit sorry for Hermione, being prioritized under some other mission by her best friend. Well, and being used as a decoy and molded in a weapon by her "fiancee."
He sneered internally; at least he knew he was a Slytherin through and through. Potter's actions showed how deep Gryffindor loyalty runs. Potter hadn't abandoned his Gringotts plan to chase after Draco and rescue Hermione, so Draco needed to tap into the one wellspring of the Gryffindor, and Harry's personality, he knew could never be exhausted-reckless rage.
Draco nodded to himself as he decided on his course of action. He'd invite the reporter over for a joint interview with his fiancee, spinning a story of their clandestine schoolday romance. They'd get a few photos of the happy couple, the beautiful engagement ring, and hear about the tragic attack Hermione had suffered at the hands of the Order. Photos of Draco with Hermione and the smear against the precious Order? If he was lucky, Hermione would even chime in with her opinion. Draco could almost imagine Harry's apocalyptic rage. He smirked as he set his quill to his own sheet of parchment.
Two days later, the morning dawned bright, a glimmer of real spring. It felt inappropriate to Draco, who felt that his scheme was rather more suited to the gloom. The light would only illuminate places of his soul that were best left hidden. The pragmatic part of his mind tried to shove his melancholy thoughts back into the recesses of his cluttered, confused brain and instead rejoiced that the day had cooperated with his plans for "re"-proposing to his fake fiancee. The reporter was arriving tomorrow and the previous two days had been lousy with rain, so today was his only chance to make sure Hermione had a photogenic ring on her finger in time for their interview.
He'd spent the rest of the previous evening with Hermione, alternating their studies and research on her condition with cocoa and conversation. He found her surprisingly good company when they were in the thick of a deep discussion of magical theory. He supposed it shouldn't have come as a surprise that her mind could grab, twist, and unfurl complicated concepts, exposing new angles and raising questions given her swotty school record, but he had always assumed her smarts were shallow memorization. In the quiet lulls, he had planned out the next few days. He'd invited the Prophet reporter to come on Friday, today was the proposal; they'd have a nice dinner tonight out in Hogsmeade, very cosy and romantic. The tentative rapport he shared with her made the betrayal he was planning feel worse, not better. The slimy, dark guilt that slithered in his gut was new, or at least no longer obscured by the fear and panic that had overwhelmed him in his quest to kill the headmaster. He didn't like the feeling.
In contrast, the morning sun gilded the tips of the new unfurled roses, and fountains babbled happily. The garden was idyllic, romantic, perfect. He and Hermione had shared breakfast on a small balcony that overlooked the side lawns and had played a game that involved challenging each other to Transfigure increasingly difficult objects that had ended with Draco's teaspoon swimming around his tea as a tiny silver fish. He'd then led her out to the gardens. They were the real jewel of the Malfoy property, containing plants that old, potty Professor Sprout would have probably sold multiple limbs to even touch, much less possess. As his father had told him often, things could be bought, but vessels of magic itself were precious, pure, and to be treasured. It was a nice sentiment, albeit one Draco wasn't sure his father, with his obsession with dark objects, actually held.
He waited until they were in the midst of the roses, their fragrance perfuming the spring air. Draco let Hermione take a few steps ahead of him, and fell down to one knee before she realized he wasn't beside her. Predictably, a second later she whirled to see where he had gone and saw him-an Adonis kneeling in supplication, he imagined. Hermione quirked her eyebrow up at him, mocking him again. Not quite the effect he'd hoped for, but close enough.
"Hermione, I know you don't properly remember me, but my feelings for you now are just as strong as they were then. No matter how long it takes you to recover your memories, I want to be the one by your side. Love, will you marry me? Or at least give me the chance to re-win your heart and convince you to?" He smiled, raising his eyebrow in the way.
Hermione stood, fidgeting for a long moment. Draco felt his stomach drop into the pit of his stomach. Was she going to turn him down?
"We're not planning the wedding imminently, right?" she queried as she held out a shaking hand. "I'd really like to get my memories back, or, build new ones before that. And finish school, for sure…" Not the enthusiasm he would have hoped for, but not a denial; Draco mentally heaved a sigh of relief as his fingers brushed hers, sliding the ring onto her pale finger.
His hand had yet to leave hers when a scream tore from Hermione's lips, and she convulsed in a horrible, strange dance before falling into a dead faint.