Chapter Seven

A Visit with the In-Laws

As she followed Narcissa through the double doors of Malfoy Manor, Hermione expected . . . . Well, she wasn't entirely certain what she expected.

The last time she'd seen the place was when Voldemort and his lackeys had claimed it as their headquarters. It had been dark. The very walls had radiated the most miserable feeling imaginable, as though the floor might open up and swallow her whole at any moment.

Yet, now . . . .

As they walked through the foyer, she was delighted at the scent of fresh flowers that tickled her nose. Turning her head as they passed though and started up a short flight of stairs, she saw beautiful vases on either side of the foyer floor filled with bright-red roses.

Every grand window on the main floor was open, the heavy velvet curtains tied back by artfully looped ribbons of satin. Light gusts blew through from the gardens, and sunshine poured in vibrant splashes across the floor and walls.

This felt worlds away from the same place where Bellatrix had tormented her. It didn't feel dark, at all. It felt . . . .

Hermione halted midstride, her chestnut eyes glimmering wetly as she stared around at all the gleaming, polished wood and pristine marble tiles. All the wide-open doors further along, and the curving staircase in the center with its plush, patterned rug covering the steps.

Harry stilled beside her, immediately slipping a protective arm around her shoulders. "If you don't want to be here—"

"No," she said forcing a sniffle as she shook her head. She was all too aware of how Narcissa paused at the foot of the staircase, her pale head turned toward them, and her gaze cast downward as she waited for them.

"No," Hermione repeated, a small smile curving her lips. "It's just . . . Malfoy Manor. It's beautiful."

Standing a little straighter, he blinked a few times in rapid succession as he let his arm fall away. "Oh," he said, though there was no masking the shock—and even mild disappointment—in his voice.

The last thing he wanted was for her to have to relive unpleasant memories, but he'd at least hoped she would have disliked the place a little bit. That she would have stopped, not because she remembered something awful, but because she didn't want to risk remembering.

That she simply would have been unhappy enough setting foot within the Manor again to say no to holding the wedding there, at least. But the way she was looking around now, she might actually like the idea. And he was already well aware he wasn't going to be able to say no to her.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione gave herself a shake at the sound of Narcissa's voice. "Right, sorry," she said as she started forward again to follow the other witch up the staircase.

As they neared the second floor, Harry and Hermione both winced as Lucius Malfoy's irritated hissing became audible. Hermione couldn't ignore the way Narcissa's shoulders sloped and she let out a sigh. It must pain her to let anyone see her family as less than perfect after how hard they'd worked over these last few years—especially so, to let her future daughter-in-law see them this way.

She couldn't begin to think on just how it was that Draco's parents viewed Harry's role in their pending nuptials.

"I was right," the blonde witch said in an irritated tumble of words. "They are still at it."

As they reached the landing, they turned as one to see Lucius at the end of the corridor. His arm braced against the door, he spoke through the polished oak panels in what certainly sounded like a seething whisper from their end.

The three started down the corridor just as Lucius said, "Young man, you are behaving like a child!"

"Oh, yes, Father!" Draco's spiteful voice was quite loud as it came through the door. "Because when you refused to come out of your room for a week after the Reformations passed, that was so very adult of you!"

Narcissa paused in mid-step. She sighed and shook her head, her elegant shoulders drooping further than they already had. Hermione and Harry each halted on either side of her.

The sidelong glance the older woman cast in her direction—as readable as if she opened her mouth and said welcome to your future—was not lost on Hermione.

Holding up her hand, signaling Narcissa and Harry to stay where they were, Hermione started for Draco's door, again. And apparently just as a fuming Lucius was preparing to say something more.

His mouth open to speak, he cut his words off before they even began and looked up to see the witch storming toward him. Straightening up as he closed his lips, he looked past her to his wife, clearly surprised to see their guest.

Well, guests, as it seemed his grey eyes shot wider, still, when he saw Harry Potter standing there.

"Allow me, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said through clenched teeth as she all but shoved him aside to stand squarely before his son's bedroom door.

She was wholly oblivious, now, to the way he stalked across the corridor. "What, may I ask, is this?"

"This is allowing someone your son might listen to just now to handle the situation," Narcissa said, her tone a mingling of bored and exhausted.

"Draco Malfoy, you come out here this instant!"

Harry's brows shot up as his gaze went from Hermione, to the door, and back.

"Granger?"

"Yes. Get out here!"

"No. You sound angry. Think I'll stay where I am, thanks very much."

Rolling her eyes in frustration, Hermione looked down the corridor to the three standing there. Shaking her head, she caught Narcissa's gaze and pleaded silently as she nodded toward the staircase.

Narcissa, to her credit, spun on her heel before forcefully grabbing each wizard by their elbows and turning them, as well. "Let us go downstairs. I will have the elves prepare some tea."

"Wait, what?" Harry asked, glancing back over his shoulder, even as Narcissa linked her arm through his—and her husband's—and began dragging them along with her.

The last Hermione heard from them was a brief, mildly confused exchange between Lucius and Harry.

"I see Miss Granger is here to help, but why are you here, Mr. Potter?"

"If she fails to get him to come out, I believe your wife expects me to, I don't know, break down the door and drag him out by his throat, or something."

"You would not dare."

"Oh, watch me, Mr. Malfoy!"

"Enough," Narcissa said in a growling whisper, before they moved beyond Hermione's ear shot, entirely.

Sighing, she shook her head and returned her attention to the door. "Look, if you're not going to come out, will you at least let me come in?" She'd waited quite intentionally for Harry's absence before she said this, because she knew he would not have reacted well to the idea of Hermione being alone with Draco in a bedroom.

She froze a moment as she heard the lock clicking on the door. Now that she considered it, perhaps this wasn't the wisest decision she'd made recently.

Steeling her nerves—and trying to quell a sudden rush of butterflies through her stomach—she gripped the knob and turned, pushing the door open.

She poked her head into the room before she stepped through. Draco sat at a gorgeous, antique roll-top desk, his head hanging and that dreadful front page of the Daily Prophet staring up at him.

Stepping in and closing the door behind her, she wasn't terribly shocked that he didn't even bother to look up. Instead of waiting for him to say something, she crossed the room to stand at his shoulder.

Odd as it was, she found that she had to deliberately tell herself not to make some overt gesture of comfort that might be misunderstood. They both kept making it clear they would be perfectly happy were this marriage-fiasco called off tomorrow; she couldn't confuse things any further than they already had been by doing something one might for their significant other.

"You know you can't stay in here forever."

Heaving a sigh, he sat back in his desk chair. "I hadn't intended to. I really just wanted to come in here, take some time to myself to calm down . . . . And then they started making a fuss and I reacted badly, which made Father react badly—"

"Which led to your mother thinking the best course of action was to invite me here."

"Well," he said, glancing up at her briefly as a smirk curved his lips, "you'll have to forgive her. The woman's gone a little mad since the War, I think."

"Living with you and your father, and can't say I'm surprised," Hermione said, nodding.

"Funny." Draco shot to his feet, immediately pacing the room. "I mean, you saw the bloody thing, right? You can't possibly be as calm about it as you're playing at."

Her shoulders slumped as she moved to claim his seat, her head shaking. "No, no, of course I'm not calm about it." Shrugging, she met his gaze. "I'm livid—Harry is, too—but all of us throwing tantrums isn't going to help the matter, anyway. Article, or no article, nothing has changed about—"

"Oh, Merlin's beard! Did she bring Potter, too?"

Hermione winced, shrugging again. "Well . . . ."

"Bloody hell," he said through clenched teeth. "Why?"

She cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably. Would it bother him to hear that Harry had been at her flat when Narcissa dropped by? Would it bother her that it bothered him? Not ready to ponder how this situation might be affecting her feelings toward Draco Malfoy—and ignoring that she wasn't supposed to feel anything toward him, at all—she decided on the safest answer.

"He's here to physically drag you out, should I fail to convince you to leave of your own volition."

"Fine, fine," he said, shaking his head as he held up his hands and stopped pacing. "I'll go. Honestly, though. Why are we still in this mess? Have you really found nothing?"

"No!" She pushed up to stand, chestnut eyes narrowing lethally. "I haven't. And you could always make good on that offer to help, you know!"

"Well, fine, I will."

"Fine," she said, shaking her head and wondering why they were suddenly raising their voices. "Ministry library, Monday after work."

"I'll be there!"

"Good!"

For a few heartbeats, they merely glared at one another.

Hermione, reminding herself in a snide voice that maybe she wanted to stall— because oh, look, there was a bed right there! How bad could the Ministry's deterrent be, anyway?—forced herself to speak. "You know, it's possible there isn't a way out of this."

He nodded, swallowing hard. "I've considered that, yes."

"So . . . we might be stuck going through with it."

His features pinched as he scowled. "And we're still going to try, Granger."

"I never said we wouldn't keep trying to find a way out, Malfoy. God! I swear, sometimes it's like you and I don't even speak the same language!"

"I just want to be clear," he said, his expression so severe he was actually baring his teeth a bit as he spoke. "I'm not willingly going into a marriage where I'm going to have to share my bride."

"You've been more than clear on that, thanks very much." She refused to ask the question his statement begged—that of whether he'd be fighting marrying her quite so strongly if Harry wasn't part of the equation.

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped closer and tipped her head back a little, peering up at him. "But if there isn't a way out, neither of us will have a choice. You think Harry's happy about sharing?" She hated talking about herself like she was an object, but the very nature of their discussion was leaving her little choice.

"As if I care about what Potter thinks!" There he went, raising his voice, again.

Sighing, Hermione shook her head. She was so done with this! He didn't want to share, Harry didn't want to share. What about what she wanted? Honestly, having two husbands was the stuff of smutty Muggle fantasy novels, yet she was already over the scenario!

"Grow up, Draco!" She gave him a dissatisfied once-over as she spoke. "You're not the only one upset with all this. But if we're stuck, then you'll just have to deal with it, like we will! And guess what? It's fine with me if you're unwilling to share. Harry can just have me all to himself, then, can't he?"

His jaw fell and he blinked a few times, clearly having trouble processing her words. "What?"

"That's how this works! You're marrying me, but you don't want me, right? So then you don't have to share me. Don't worry your pretty little head about the matter." When he looked only further dumbfounded by her declaration, she forced a syrupy grin. "But if you do want me, and you're not willing to share me, you don't get to have me at all."

Draco's brow furrowed as he watched her continue to speak, but he wasn't certain her words made sense. Did she actually want this to happen?

"And that's just fine, with me! I'll be free to focus all my attention on Harry and you can just . . . sit around in your own little room, untouched. Everyone will be happy."

"All your attention on Potter, huh?" That . . . somehow struck a chord.

She nodded, a triumphant gleam in her eyes over the flicker of irritation that flashed across his features.

So why—oh, why—did she next find herself sighing against his mouth as he slid his arms around her, pulling her tight against him?

His tongue plunged between her lips and she made a little whimpering sound in the back of her throat. She leaned into him, tilting her head as she stroked his tongue with her own.

Yet, somewhere, between his hands slipping down to cup her bum, and her breaking the kiss to nibble on his bottom lip, she tried to remind herself there was a reason they shouldn't be doing this. At least not here, and certainly not right now. Just as she was ready to slip her arms around his neck, she recalled that Harry—and Draco's parents—were on the floor just below them. Having tea, of all things!

She pulled away, forcing a breath.

"Pretty sure Potter's the one who'll be struggling for your attention, Granger," he said in a hushed murmur

Gritting her teeth, she shook her head, blindly grabbing his wrist as she turned away. "Shut up, Malfoy," she whispered as she proceeded to pull him from the room. "It's not my fault you keep snogging me."

She could tell by his tone that he was smirking as he said, "Pardon? It might be to our mutual benefit for you to realize that, other than that first time in the Matchmaker's office, you were the one who initiated the snogging. Both times. I've simply been meeting you half-way"

Hermione froze in mid-motion at the second floor landing. Her recollection of the precise chain of events in each incident was a bit fuzzy. It was entirely possible Draco was actually telling the truth. Not that she minded as much as she knew she probably should, but . . . .

Oh, dear, God. Harry was not going to be happy to hear about this.