Chapter Nine
Suspended
Hermione couldn't say what roused her that morning, but the shock of finding the bed empty was enough to jolt her all the way awake. She looked around, confused, trying to get her bearings. It wasn't the room she'd woken up in most days for the past month or so. No long bay windows stretching across the left wall. No four-poster bed. No tasteful cream walls. No. Fresh, white walls, and a normal-sized window, that spilled warm light onto the pale floorboards. A normal bed, with a white down comforter and almost cheekily green sheets.
And no Lucius sitting beside her, or Bellatrix sneering over her.
And Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.
She slid slowly out from between the cool sheets and her feet thudded dully on the bare floor beneath her. It was not entirely a surprise when she stretched up on the balls of her feet and looked down at her naked body. Well. She didn't expect he'd have magicked her into pajamas now, did she?
Some underclothes and a blue terrycloth dressing robe were laid out on the desk chair, and she slipped into them quickly, tying the robe as she padded downstairs to the kitchen. Draco had said he rarely took his meals in the dining room, which was nice. She could go for a meal that felt a little less like a banquet.
The ears of the little house elf waiting for her at the kitchen door were quivering and stiff. The elf's eyes were popping and indignant, and for the briefest of moments, Hermione thought he might be protesting her presence in the kitchen, or perhaps her half-dressed state.
Instead, he drew himself up to his full height of two and a half feet tall and said, "Master Draco is telling Blinkers to warn Mistress Hermione that young Master and Mistress is eating with Master Malfoy today," he announced, managing to work a disapproving note into his formal monotone.
She turned cold, and wished she had taken the time to look for more clothes. Tugging the neckline of the robe closed awkwardly, she tried to smile down at Blinkers. "Thank you. I suppose that means I'm allowed in, then?"
Blinkers' large, hazel eyes roamed over Hermione, pausing just below the knot of her robe. "Blinkers does not think this is wise," he muttered to himself, bowing low and opening the door for her. "Especially not with Mistress Hermione in her condition. Master Malfoy has never been nice to other people, oh, no, but Blinkers cannot be saying this in front of Master Draco. Very angry Master Malfoy would be if he found out…"
Swallowing hard, Hermione walked into the kitchen with her head high, and smiled uncertainly at the two men at table.
Lucius looked horridly out of place in Draco's kitchen. The one room Hermione hadn't seen last night was full of angles and smooth surfaces, polished knobs and stainless steel. The elves ran the kitchen impeccably. Draco had changed into a pair of powder blue pajamas, and his hair was still mussed from bed. He glanced up as she entered, and she read the tension on his face, in his grip on his coffee mug. Meanwhile, Lucius sat, resplendent in his work robes, sprawled elegantly over a Spartan kitchen chair, wearing a wide grin.
"Mrs. Malfoy. How nice of you to join us."
Quietly, she took her seat beside Draco and looked down at the blonde wood tabletop. "My Lord," she said flatly. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?"
Draco pushed a coffee mug toward her gently.
"Is that safe?" Lucius asked mildly. "I thought there was something in the papers from the Healer about avoiding caffeine right now."
She could feel Draco watching her through dark eyes, and Lucius was sitting in front of her, maddeningly casual, smirking at her. Her heart was jumping in her ribcage, and anxiety twisted in her gut. Good morning, Hermione. She didn't touch the coffee.
"Father, we weren't expecting to see you so soon," Draco said tightly, waving his wand and turning the coffee to tea. "Don't you have work today?"
"Oh, I do." Lucius reached out for one of the croissants that one of the house elves had left out, and broke off the crumbling end. "I just wanted to stop in to make sure that everything went smoothly last night."
"We're fine." Draco didn't drop his wand; he twirled it quickly between rigid fingers. "Honestly, it was just one night. One might think you had separation anxiety."
"Am I not allowed to be concerned for my grandson?" Lucius raised an eyebrow at Hermione.
"Grandchild," she said quietly.
"I'm sorry?"
She forced her head up to meet his eyes. Draco's here. I'm not Lucius' anymore. "I didn't test for the gender. It could very well be a girl."
To everyone's surprise, he chuckled. "Hermione, it will be a boy. It's a Malfoy baby."
She sneered slightly and stirred a lump of sugar into her tea.
"I trust you found the sleeping arrangements satisfactory last night?"
A muscle in Draco's jaw twitched. "We did everything that the Dark Lord asked of us last night, Father. I do wish you would stop prying."
His anger was met by a snicker. "One would think you were ungrateful, Draco."
Hermione worried at her lip, spinning the spoon absently on the table. She couldn't tell if this was better or worse than an awkward morning-after spent alone. If they were alone, they'd at least have privacy. The tension in the room was suffocating – even worse than last night's dinner.
"Hermione?" Lucius said sharply.
She looked at him questioningly.
"I asked if you were feeling quite well. You are still taking all the right potions, correct?"
"I'm fine. It's been what, a full twenty-four hours?"
"Really? From the both of you." He sighed heavily. "One would almost think I weren't welcome here. But I know that isn't the case, right Draco?" He smiled warmly at his stonily silent son and turned back to Hermione. "You have to understand, being a grandfather for the first time is an exciting thing. I can't help wanting to keep a closer eye on things."
Was it because it was his own baby? Would he have acted like this if it were anyone else?
"I'm sorry your mother isn't here, Draco. She so wanted to be a grandmother."
Draco was so stiff beside her that Hermione wondered if she could snap off pieces of him. Pain flashed in his eyes before he smoothed his face into an emotionless mask. "I'm sure that Mother wouldn't have approved of you cheating on her, Father," he said thickly. "Perhaps it's better that she wasn't there to see that."
Lucius' mouth curled into a vicious smile, and Hermione huffed impatiently. "What is this? An insult contest? Saying nasty things isn't going to change anything."
They both turned to look at her. She frowned. "Don't you have to go to work or something? That's more productive than this."
The elder made a show of checking his watch. "She's right, Draco. Don't you need to be at the office in fifteen minutes? And still in your pajamas, I see. Tsk, tsk."
"And leave you alone with Hermione? I think not." Hermione looked at Draco quickly, but he ignored her, staring coldly at his father. "May I see you to the door? Perhaps it would be better to come back some time when we're dressed and awake."
"How about a deal? You go up and get dressed and I'll meet you going out. I'm sure that Mrs. Malfoy would be more than happy to show me to your front hall herself."
Draco shot his father a withering look, but obviously could say nothing to that. Of course not. Lucius still had him wrapped around his finger, evil bastard that he was. Draco shoved away from the table, the legs of his chair grating painfully on the floor. He stalked away without looking back at them.
A long silence fell over Hermione and Lucius. She reached for a croissant, and pushed the plate toward her, smiling. "It's good to see you eating again."
She split it down the middle and buttered it, wordlessly.
"I hope that you find Draco satisfactory. You know I only want the best for you."
She remained silent, feeling almost like she was back at Hogwarts and Ron was trying to apologize to her after he'd fucked up big time. Her heart twinged a little.
"You could still look at me when I speak to you, Hermione."
She looked up. "I'm sorry?"
"It's generally customary for new brides to respect their in-laws."
She let herself sneer lightly, tried to keep from showing the way her heart was in her mouth. "I'm not scared of you anymore." Lie. "I don't know if you think that you still have some sort of claim on me because the baby is yours, but you gave that up when you made me marry Draco."
His lips tightened severely. "Hermione, that may be true under normal societal rules, but let me remind you that we're all living under the Dark Lord's mandate."
She shoved her plate away, her nausea having nothing to do with pregnancy. "Yeah, Voldemort's regime. Not the Malfoy Regime."
A pause. She wondered if she'd gone too far, but he was just looking at her speculatively. She drew the robe tighter around her and set her chin, but had to look down when his eyes met hers.
"I thought so," he said softly. "Why are you still trying to fight this?"
"My Lord –"
"Father."
"What?"
"Father. I think it's traditional to call your father in-law Father. Go ahead, dear."
"Father." You killed my parents, you bastard. "While the thought is appreciated, I'm sure that Draco and I don't need constant babysitters. We're all adults, are we not? Let's not play… games."
"I am sad that you so distrust me. Do you really think I would do something to hurt my child?" Lucius raised a hand, as if to reach out for her. She slipped her hands onto her lap under the table and scooted her chair back a fraction.
They just stared at each other for a moment, and then Lucius sighed. "I won't pretend this wasn't an enlightening breakfast."
"I'm glad you found us entertaining." Hermione stood as he did, and she offered a small, tight smile. "Father, may I show you to the door?"
"With pleasure." He took her arm, and she winced slightly. They made their way out of the kitchen almost too slowly, and Hermione wondered if he was making a show of being attentive.
Draco came back down stairs, fully dressed now, in what seemed to be the start of a permanently bad mood. His scowl did not lighten when he saw the way his father stood too close to Granger in the foyer, and how she was looking back up at him with a pale face and widened eyes.
He should have words. With both of them. "Can't you keep a grip on yourself?" he sneered, brushing past his father and curling his hand around the doorknob. The protective charms on the door melted under his touch and he turned the handle.
Lucius looked at Hermione for a long time before nodding curtly and turning around. "I'm sure we'll be seeing each other soon," he said, more a threat than a promise. "Take care of yourself, please."
Though Hermione's eyes were hard and her chin was high, she did not meet Lucius' eyes directly. "Of course."
Draco took a deep breath through his nose. "Hermione, I'll be home around dinner time, if that doesn't bother you." He hadn't thought about what she would do all day. What did she like doing? Reading? "You can, er, help yourself to the library."
For some reason, annoyance flittered across her face, but she nodded. "I'll see you then."
He walked outside into the bright, streaming sunlight, and was glad to be away from the awkwardness. Then his father matched step with him, and he felt the tension snap back around them as quickly as it had gone.
"What did you do?" he hissed.
Lucius just raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "What did I do?"
He had the overwhelming urge to punch something. "What did you do to Granger, Father? She hates you."
His father had the nerve to smile. "I don't think Hermione hates me. We have a special arrangement. I didn't do anything to harm her. I just made sure that she was put into her place."
Draco growled wordlessly, not even sure why he was so angry. All he knew was that Hermione's muted, midnight sniffles were still ringing in his ears and that the bastard in front of them caused that.
"Relax, Draco. She's just the Mudblood."
His mother had been incredibly strong, he thought, to have dealt with his father for so long. Supposedly, she'd loved him, but that barely made things any better. Draco tried to keep his head up, like Narcissa, and look back at him coolly. Severus would have approved.
"I'm sure she would love hearing that, from you of all people?"
"From me?" Lucius said, with maddening innocence.
It's called emotional trauma, you bastard. You got her pregnant; you have a natural bond with her that no one else does, and she hates you. Draco resisted the childish urge to throw a temper tantrum, and satisfied himself with pulling his cloak straight and smiling thinly before they would have to part ways.
"I expect I'll be seeing you sooner or later."
He nodded tersely. Later would be better. "Until then." He turned into the blissful darkness, the squeezing, the pressure that held him together and pushed him back into form. He was gasping for breath when he rematerialized in the front hall of his office, but he felt reassuringly solid.
He swore when he recognized Severus' owl on the coat rack, looking at him sternly through eyes that were just as judgmental as those of his master. He held out his arm obligingly and Prince fluttered down to perch on his forearm. He closed them into his office before letting the bird flap across the room to the desk and drop his envelope self-righteously. You'd think that Severus Snape, the master of disguise and tact, would have more sense than to send a public owl to a traceable place. It must have been pretty damn important.
Draco sighed and picked up the envelope, frowning down at his name in Severus' clean, black lettering. It was looking already to be a long day.
***
Hermione stood dumbly in the hallway for a long moment after the door closed between the two Malfoy men. She fingered the neckline of her dressing gown and looked at the smooth oak wood blankly.
The silence was too loud. Lucius had, of course, left her behind at the Manor many times, but this was different. She was in a strange place. She didn't know the library, or the house elves, or the rules of Draco's home. And there was no Bellatrix, crooning into her ear and breathing her hot breath down her neck.
Irrational loneliness welled up and choked her. She wasn't actually pining over Bellatrix and Lucius, was she? Or Draco? No, that was wrong. It must have been Harry and Ron.
If she wasn't careful, she might lose it in Draco's – her – front hall. She took a deep breath and looked around her. He was a simple decorator. It was a nice change from the oppressive ornamentation, but in the bareness of the walls, there was an empty sort of melancholy. She wanted pictures on those walls, or maybe a new bookshelf.
A house elf she hadn't seen yet approached her timidly, his eyes on the bare wood floors and his head bent slightly. She pursed her lips and waited for him. Experiences with Lucius' elves had taught her not to reprimand them for their submissive behavior. It only made them more depressed.
"Mistress Hermione," he said, in a high, breathy voice. He bowed so low that his crooked nose brushed the floor. She sighed and pulled her hair back over her shoulder, waiting.
"The post owl is just coming, and Tumblers is wanting to know if Mistress Hermione is interested in The Daily Prophet. Usually it is Master Draco who is sitting down every morning with the paper, but he left us too early this morning even for Tumblers to see that he had a proper breakfast." Tumblers shook his head ruefully and looked up at Hermione with curious eyes. "Should I be sending the post away today, Mistress Hermione, or is you going to be reading it?"
The Daily Prophet. News. She closed her eyes and concentrating on breathing until she was sure that she would seem cool and collected when she looked back down at the elf. Trying to imagine herself in Draco's shoes, she smiled coldly. "Please send The Prophet up into Draco and my room. I will read it once I am cleaned up and dressed."
Their room? He hadn't pointed out a spare guest room on the tour last night. Her heart sank. If Draco expected every night to be like last…
Tumblers bowed low again, and the hurried back into the kitchen. Hermione stood in the hall for another half moment, pulling herself together, and then turned for the stairs.
The shower that she took that morning was longer and hotter than any she'd had the time to – or had cared to – take in a long time. She let the water beat down on her relentlessly, refreshingly forceful and cleansing, like she could wash away the memories of the Manor the way she washed off the sweat and exhaustion of the previous night. She scrubbed at her skin like she could scrub off the invisible marks of their fingers, Lucius' and Draco's, clinging to her too tightly and leaving the worst kinds of imprints behind.
When she stepped out into the fluffy white towel, she felt for once almost clean. This could be a fresh start. Maybe. She wasn't at the Manor anymore, and Draco seemed almost as reluctant about this whole ordeal as she was.
She dressed quickly and, when she turned back to the bed, her knees were weak and a mess of nerves was knotting itself in the pit of her stomach. The Prophet sat smartly on the neatly made bed, still folded and creased in tidy lines, its text fresh and unread. She sank down onto the bed beside it, the weight of her body wrinkling the pressed sheets.
The hand she stretched out was hesitant and trembling.
Lucius had, for obvious reasons, denied her any access to outside news. If he even received The Prophet, he hid it away from her as soon as he was done combing through it to make sure the censors he put into place were still strong. She knew that any news she would read would be horribly biased and less reliable than the articles Rita Skeeter had written that year. But it was news all the same.
Draco hadn't specifically forbidden her from reading the paper. If he didn't want her to, his house elves wouldn't be offering it to her. But maybe he'd forgotten. It had been rather sudden – he might not have thought of everything. But if he hadn't actually forbidden it… And he'd promised, last night, that he wouldn't hurt her.
So even if he did get angry…
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, reaching out blindly. She half-expected something horrible to happen as soon as her fingers came in contact with the paper, but all she heard was the quiet rustle of pages. Opening her eyes and feeling ridiculous, she crossed her legs and settled in to read.
***
Draco was surprised, upon coming home too late again, to find that there were lights in his bedroom window and in half the rooms downstairs. Somebody's dark silhouette moved behind the curtain of the sitting room, and he tried very hard not to bash his head on the tree across the sidewalk from the house. After the day he'd had, the last thing he wanted to do was come home to an occupied house – his house, for God's sake. He imagined coming home to dinner with Granger every night and groaned. God, no. It was going to be like that, wasn't it?
He climbed the steps warily and made too much noise fumbling with the key in the lock to alert her to his presence. He dropped his cloak and bag carelessly in the hall, knowing that one of the house elves would tend to them, and hesitated outside the sitting room. He heard the crackle of the fire again, and the gentle brush of turning pages. She wasn't coming to him, chattering incessantly, forcing him into her company. Sighing, he slipped inside and sat on the couch opposite her.
She set aside her book when he came in, and tucked her feet up under her on the chair.
It felt good just to sit down, though he could feel her eyes trained on him patiently and distractingly. Severus' latest letter was burning a hole in his pocket, and eating away guiltily at the tiny part of his heart that wanted him to have a conscience. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back into the chair.
"Long day?" she said eventually.
He cracked his eyes open very slightly. She still sat on her feet but she wasn't looking at him. She bit her lip and traced patterns on the cover of her book with the tip of her finger. She seemed bored. Distracted.
"You could say that."
She just nodded. Now that she'd started, he almost wished that she would keep talking, but she didn't seem to want to. She kept her eyes down, which bothered him.
"Erm." The fire was warm and soothing. It only made him more exhausted. "Have you eaten yet?"
She shrugged, not looking up from the patterns her fingers traced. He remembered the way those fingers had played across his body in the soft, dimmed light of his room, and had to force himself to pay attention to her words.
"Lunch, but that was a while ago."
He nodded and licked his lips, which were dry. "I'm going to go see if I can find something to eat – if you want to join me?"
She slid her feet to the floor and stood, looking at him expectantly. He stood too, and the coziness of the fire made him feel slightly off balance.
Blinkers had hot soup waiting for them on the table, and they sat quietly. She waited to eat until he sipped his first spoonful. That would have pleased him if he didn't know Luicus and Bellatrix had taught her that. It was in fact her place – pureblood respect – but it was so them.
"What did you do all day?" he asked finally, when his spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl.
She froze for a half second before shrugging. "Nothing much. I explored the library a bit."
"I hope you found it satisfactory."
A quick nod. Her eyes were tight on his face again.
"Did you get the paper from Tumblers?" he said conversationally. "I forgot to tell him to run it by you if it came when I was gone. I know The Prophet is a little inconsistent these days, but it's better than nothing. There was a dreadful article today about McGonagall's scandalous love life with Professor Flitwick. You'd think it was The Quibbler these days."
The look of absolute shock on her face confused him. "What?"
"You don't mind if I read the paper?" she asked haltingly.
"Why would I mind if you read the paper?"
There was still hesitancy and anxiety in the corners of her eyes and the little lines of tension around her mouth. "Your father…"
Getting angry right now would be counterproductive, Draco. "You're not with my father anymore," he snapped. "Stop acting like I'm him, will you please?"
If he didn't know better, he would say that she was fighting a smile. "I would love to, Draco, but it'll take a little adjustment, and…"
"I know." He ran a distressed hand through his hair. "Just try not to dwell on it, okay?"
She seemed a little taken aback. "You don't have to get snappy about it."
"I'm not snappy," he growled. "Just had a long day, okay? Go ahead. Read the fucking Prophet all you want. It's not like you'll hear anything worth knowing in that rag."
He could see it in the set of her shoulders, the widening of her eyes. His mother had taught him all about how to read body language when she was so concerned for him, so afraid to see him surrounded by Death Eaters and under the iron fist of his father. Hermione wanted to flinch away from him, but she stayed straight. He almost smiled. He probably would have, if he weren't so irritated.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
The only thing he could do, really, was sneer at her and push aside his bowl so that Blinkers could give him his meat.
Hermione watched Draco carefully through the rest of dinner, wanting to be forewarned when he snapped on her next. She tried to keep her mouth shut as much as possible. It would be too easy, she knew, to bring up Lucius on accident, and Draco clearly didn't like hearing about his father. She could handle not talking about him. It would just take a little practice. She hated having to watch everything she said. It put her constantly on edge.
Fortunately, Draco didn't seem in any particular mood to chat. That made everything a lot easier.
Finally, he pushed his chair away from the table and stood. "Look, Gr…" He closed his eyes and grimaced. "Hermione. I'm beat. I'm going to bed. Come up when you want to, okay? Just god help you if you wake me up when you come in."
She nodded haltingly, and he walked away without another word. She wondered if he knew his shoulders were set so defensively, or that his back was so rigid. There was no way he was actually that tired, if he was still so alert. He probably just wanted to get away from her.
She sighed and made to clear her plate, but Becky the house elf scolded her gently and shoed her out of the kitchen with a cup of hot tea and best wishes for a good night, Mistress Hermione. She frowned just the tiniest bit at that, but if Becky noticed, she didn't think it was her place to point it out. Stupid purebloods, brainwashing the house elves…
She went back to her book, but magical Parisian horticulture could only interest her for so long. Her mind kept floating back to her conversation with Draco, and to what she'd read in The Prophet earlier on.
It was the same load of waffle it had been before, and unlike last time she wasn't sure that there was anything hidden behind all the chatter. One would think there was a limit to the number of articles that one paper could publish about blood supremacy and the mudblood disease, but there was no escaping it. The whole paper had Lucius' guidance written all over it. She knew what his administration was spending their time doing. It made her wonder who, really, was in charge. If Lucius was concerning himself with such petty tasks as the local paper…
She'd almost had a heart attack when she came across Ron's name in the back of the paper, but it had barely been anything. Just a notification that he was a dangerous wizard still at large, and that any witches or wizards with knowledge of his whereabouts should contact the Ministry immediately. Nothing about Harry, which was irritating at the same time as it was comforting and nerve-wracking.
There had been a tiny blurb hidden on the commentary page about Order members in America, and how their efforts had been more concentrated but less impressive in the past few weeks. Neville, Luna, Ginny. She hoped they were doing okay.
Draco probably didn't realize it, but he'd given her both a blessing and a curse in granting her access to the news. At least she would be moderately informed now, for even in every rumor that Lucius made the paper print there was at least a small basis in truth. She could guess what was real and what was not more often than not. But there was always the off chance that the Ministry was leaking false information, that Harry and Ron had been captured, that… She didn't even want to think. And now, if she could see the paper every day, she'd have to unfold it every day, both longing for and fearing the moment that their names would show up.
She would worry about it every morning before the paper came. Her hands would tremble as she unfolded it, like they had today, both eager and terrified to read the names, the news. She would have to worry, every day, that she would wake up the news that the two people who mattered most were captured, or hurt, or… dead.
When the fire had died down to glowing embers and she sat alone in the dark, she had to admit even to herself that she'd been putting this moment off for as long as possible, not wanting at all to have to crawl into bed with Draco Malfoy for the second of a lifetime of nights. She hauled herself reluctantly up the stairs, and paused outside their room.
There were no noises coming from behind the closed door, so she creaked it open just wide enough for her to slip through. He was lying curled into a little knot on his side of the bed, as close to the edge as he could get without falling off. She understood.
She found real pajamas in the drawer where that day's clothes had been, and now she got them out and started unbuttoning her jeans. Her heart almost stopped when she heard Draco shift slightly in bed. His breathing hitched a knot, but she didn't dare turn around and look at him. She slid the jeans slowly down her hips, and the bed jostled again, almost unnoticeably. Now, the rhythms of his breathing were too fast, too irregular for her to believe that he was genuinely asleep.
She hurried into her pajamas, constantly terrified that he would try to say something to alert her to the fact that he was awake. He didn't say anything, so she pretended like she didn't notice. But as she stood in front of the mirror and looked at the reflection of the room, she saw the moonlight shining in his half-opened eyes.
She slid into bed as carefully as she could, and she, too, scooted to the most distant edge of her side. He scooted ever slightly closer to his own edge, and each of them was hyperaware of the other in the darkness. Hermione closed her eyes rather than staring up at the ceiling and did her very best to pretend that Draco wasn't there, his body almost three feet away, so stiff under the covers that she could practically feel him from where she lay.
They each tried to slow their breathing, but it was a very long time until either of them dropped all the way into sleep. They stayed as far apart as the bed would allow, and did not utter a single word between them.
Thanks to all the lovely people. Sorry that this is the unbetaed version. I'm notoriously impatient and this chapter took long enough to get out. If your weeks at school have been half as miserable as mine, you need some five thousand words of distraction, as slow and filler as this chapter may be. Who am I to deny you that? Any faults of spelling/grammar/consistency are my own. I also warn you that the next one or two chapters will be very much in the same line as this one, although they will grow quickly in interest. Hermione's not enjoying this - why make it any easier for you to read through? I'll tell you, it's not a treat to write, either. :)
Chapter dedicated to my darling Evans, and, of course, to Emily, the two people who help me keep going.
If anyone is interested in doing some in-depth plot dissection and has the time to write quick turn-around messages, could you please PM me? This story is struggling to get out of my hands right now, and a little help pinning it down would be lovely.
Again, roughly two week rule. Thanks for your patience/support/fabulousness.