Chapter Ten
They met in the library, but after a couple of hours, having found nothing, decided to concentrate on a different aspect of their plan instead.
The Malfoys might become suspicious if they didn't hear their son and his fiancée went on at least ONE date.
"The Louvre?" Draco prompted.
Hermione nodded. The Louvre might be just the thing to take her mind off of their predicament for a few hours.
The Floo'd to the secret entrance for wizards. Hermione pulled out her purse for a couple sickles to pay entry. Draco put a hand on the clasp of the purse to indicate she wouldn't need it. He brushed her hand by accident; It tingled for a few minutes afterward.
"Malfoy," he merely said to the man at the back entrance.
The man bowed deeply, "Welcome, Mr. Malfoy. Will you be staying past closing time again?"
"Not today," Draco answered.
"As you wish. Take as long as you fancy."
Without another word, Draco led Hermione into the museum. All the while, she was turning the encounter over in her head: Apparently, not only did the Malfoys get free access to the most renowned art museum in the world, but Draco also frequently stayed there past the time it was due to close. And nobody questioned this.
Interesting.
The two spent three and a quarter hours in the museum. It is said that it would take two months to see everything in the museum – Hermione had only been to the Louvre once before with her family when they went to France on vacation one summer.
Her family…
She peered up at an original Degas, remembering having stood in front of the same ballerinas with her mother and father, admiring the beautiful brush strokes. She could remember her father's voice commenting on the exact color of the pink dresses and the way the contours of the bodies were subtle yet refined.
Jeannie Granger had never been much of an art buff. But, Hermione wondered, Malfoy said he had been taught to paint when he was young. If most pureblood families did so, perhaps her mother only pretended to hate art because it reminded her of her past…
The skeletons her mother and father had been hiding in their closets…
After Hermione and Draco decided they'd had enough for the moment, they headed back toward the barrier into the Floo area.
"I always wondered why no one ever told the Muggles about making moving things. I mean, Monet would be so much more interesting if the water lilies under his bridge closed at night, or if the water rippled every so often." Draco wasn't really talking to her – more to himself than anyone.
Hermione still replied, "That's what real life is for, though. If paintings were like life, life wouldn't be nearly so interesting."
Draco considered this thought. He didn't say so aloud, but he agreed that she had a good point.
Once the two were back at the Manor, Hermione noticed a tiny ball of feathers whizzing around outside the window.
"Pigwidgeon!" she exclaimed, quickly opening the window.
The tiny owl flapped his way inside, clearly ecstatic at the idea of his being a messenger. Hermione had to grab him out of the air like a softball. He hooted happily as she took the letter from him.
Draco's eyebrows raised, "Who owns HIM?"
"Ron," Hermione answered monosyllabically.
Draco's eyes rolled. He would have loved to make a comment, but for the sake of keeping peace, he withheld.
.
Hermione-
My dad says that as soon as possible, you should come over to discuss your options. Literally as soon as you get this letter, if you can get away. He also wants to know if the contract was signed in Binding Ink if you can find out.
See you soon!
Ginny
.
"Well… what does it say?"
"It says there might be options," Hermione relayed, not sure if the last bit about the Binding Ink would matter. "Mr. Weasley has some ideas. I'm going to go and find out what they are."
"And, these options… do they apply to me, as well?" Draco felt awkward attempting to express himself.
"I think so."
They looked at each other for a long time. Draco found he could stand this best when he pretended to look at her eyes, but rather focused on her eyebrows. They were nice… beautifully arched.
"Would you like to come?"
The question came as a complete surprise and Draco responded with his answer before he gave himself time to think about it: "Why the hell would I go there?"
Hermione stiffened. "I was just trying to be polite, Malfoy. If you still don't think much of the Weasleys, even after they're attempting to help us out of this situation, maybe you can go discover your OWN way out."
That said, Hermione destroyed the letter with her wand and turned on her heel to leave. She got almost all the way to the fireplace to Floo before Draco realized he'd been an asshole.
He Disapparated to two different fireplaces before he found the one she was at.
"Malfoy, fancy meeting you here…"
"Listen Granger, because I'm apologizing for the last thing I said and a Malfoy never apologizes. My father, when he returned from Azkaban, became bent-set on making sure that his heir – me – would be properly married to a witch of pureblood ancestry. Somehow he found out that I'm the last Malfoy; He wanted to make sure our family line continued.
"A handful of pureblood families stopped caring after the Dark Lord fell," he continued. Hermione was listening with rapt attention, never having heard Draco talk so much at once. "So he found out about you, the granddaughter of Callidora Black, one of the most respected witches on this side of the world and also not directly related to us."
"That's good to know and all, but I don't see how it can…"
"Please don't interrupt me: I really hate explaining things: Such a waste of time. I think there's something more to this contract. Binding Ink is so old-fashioned and hasn't been used for years. Why would they use it now? Why was regular ink and the fear of being rude not good enough?"
"I don't know," Hermione answered honestly. "If I knew, I wouldn't still be looking for answers."
"Don't you find it a little bit…odd… that my father, even after knowing who you were and you being Potter's friend, still wanted us to get married? There's something behind all this. My mother and I might have seen the error of our ways, but my father… has not."
"Well whatever the reason, I'd like to find a way out before something ridiculous happens. Are you coming or not?"
He sighed, "Shit. Yes, I'm going. What's it called?"
They both grabbed handfuls of Floo Powder. "The Burrow," Hermione answered clearly.
"Typical," he muttered darkly.
"Um, maybe I should go first," she suggested lightly.
Draco only grunted and stepped back, setting down the jar containing the Floo Powder.
Hermione took a step up to the fireplace and threw in the powder. The fire roared with green flames, glinting off the stained glass windows on the opposite wall. She stepped into the flames and said in a strong, clear voice, "The Burrow."
It took less than a second to whisk her away. It was almost like she'd never been there, except Draco could still smell her there very faintly. It reminded him of autumn, her smell: Something like pumpkin spice. It suited her well; Pansy always wore rose perfume or some overpowering shit.
Draco waited a few seconds, wondering if someone would hex him as soon as his blond head appeared in the fireplace. He realized, however, hex or no hex, he was going to have to man it.
He cursed once more, feeling satisfied with his choice of words, and then resigned himself to the task at hand: "The Burrow."
.
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Author's Note: xxDrAcO'sBaby4EvErxx, AerintheWhiteKnight, brooklynsam3, Readerforlife, GoodCharlotte615, sureynot, and RIPJameSiriusLupinTrueMarauder... you guys are awesome! Thanks so much for the reviews!!
AerintheWhiteKnight - No, I really can't imagine Draco as a clown, though I bet it would be very humorous. Still... considering how much we all know and love Draco, I'm not sure I'd have the heart to do that to him... haha