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Chapter 11: A Flashback and a Fire:
Flashback:
Draco wondered why he even came to this stupid picnic. What was the point? His life would soon be over. He would marry Claire, and then he would spend the rest of his days unhappy. He knew he would. He doubted she was even pregnant. Stupid bint. He turned to look at Hermione Granger. She was sitting on the ground, on a blanket, and she was finally alone. He was waiting for her to be alone again. Someone was constantly around her.
He walked up to her, his loaded plate balanced in one hand, a glass of ale in the other, and he said, "May I share your blanket?"
She stood up and took his glass. She said, "Have a seat." He sat down and once situated, she handed his glass back to him before she sat down. She took a bite of chicken and said, "Why do you look so glum today? I've had a nagging feeling all day that you've seemed unhappy. The only time you looked remotely like the old Draco was when you stole my iced tea."
He laughed and said, "Stealing and the old Draco go hand in hand." He took a bite of his potatoes. "Are you seeing anyone, Granger?"
"No, I'm totally free," she said.
"Free?" he asked back. "You mean I could get you for no money down?"
"So droll," she said sarcastically. "How about you? Theo mentioned something to Ginny Weasley about you seeing someone."
Theo knew about Claire, but he was the only one. Even though he was set to marry her sooner than he would have wanted (since he didn't want to marry her at all), he should probably tell Granger that he was at least seeing someone. "No, I'm free, too." He felt slightly guilty lying to her, but only slightly.
She nodded. He thought she blushed a bit, but the sun was rather bright. Hermione dropped a piece of potatoes on her chest, above the heart-shaped neckline of her little white sundress with cherries. She looked down, picked up her napkin, but before she could wipe it away, he reached over and picked it up with his fingers.
Then they both just stared at each other for several long embarrassing moments. Then he smiled. Then she smiled. Then he laughed. Then she laughed. Then he popped the piece of potatoes in his mouth, and they laughed some more.
Lord, why couldn't he have gotten someone like Hermione Granger pregnant, instead of Claire? He wouldn't mind having to marry her.
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Draco woke up and realized he was in Hermione Granger's bed. They had really spent the night together. Well, the day, rather. The point being, they made love, many, many times and it was everything he had thought it might be.
In other words, it was glorious.
He remembered that blasted picnic again, and how they shared a blanket while they ate, and again at night during the fireworks. He had imagined those moments so many times, in so many ways over the years. He imagined rolling over on the blanket, pulling her down on top of him, and kissing her senseless.
Now it was no longer just a sick perverted dream. It was real. She was real. She was his. He opened his eyes and reach out for her. The room was dark. She wasn't there. He heard the back door screen slam shut, and he shut his eyes, so she would think he was asleep. As soon as she got back in bed, he would pounce.
"Wake up, please," Hermione said, shaking his shoulders.
Draco opened his eyes immediately, smiled at her, but then just as quickly he saw urgency in her eyes. He sat up and asked, "What's wrong?"
"There's a fire on the beach. I have a sick feeling it might be the letters. I don't know why I think that, but I do." Without waiting for a response from him, she pulled on shoes and ran out the door. He dressed as quickly as he could, and ran out to look for her. She had already apparated to the beach. He followed right behind.
When she reached the beach the fire was growing steadier, and she saw a wizard disapparate away. She ran up to the planks and boards, which were propped together to form a means for the fire, and she saw the larger painting, burning. She reached for it, with no regard to being burnt. Draco pulled her by the waist, but not before she singed her fingers.
She cried out in pain, and when Draco went to administer to her burn, she pointed toward the bonfire and said, "Save the painting."
"No, it's gone," he said.
"Draco!" she said harshly. She ran around him, holding her right hand in her left and saw what remained of the letters curling up in the glowing embers as well. "The letters are in there, too!"
Draco walked around the fire. He could easier put it out with a simple spell, yet he watched everything burn ,and when he came back around toward Hermione, who was standing too close to the fire in his opinion, he pulled her back. He cupped her burnt hand in both of his. It was red and had two blisters already formed. He drew his wand from his pocket, and without invitation, healed her hand.
"Who would do this?" she asked with her hand still in his.
"That's a good question," he said. "You do realize that a witch or wizard wouldn't have needed to burn these things in the middle of the night. They could have easily gotten rid of them with a flick of their wand."
She nodded in understanding. "But I'm fairly certain I saw a wizard or witch disapparate away when I arrived. Maybe it was a wizard, and they burned the items this way for effect. Maybe they wanted us to find them, and to know that they were destroyed, or maybe they wanted someone else to know that they were destroyed."
Draco wasn't as convinced. "I have to ask you again," Draco said, "did you lock the cottage the other night with magic or a key?"
"Neither."
"I thought so," he said back.
"I just went for a walk. I thought I would be back." She bent her head to rest on his shoulder. He rubbed her back and he felt apprehension for her, and he wasn't completely sure why.
"You should come back and stay at Carrington House," he said. Then his eyes grew wide and he said, "DAMN!" He pulled away from her. "My parents are still there! I left this morning telling them I had business in London. They probably saw the bonfire from the house." He put her hand up to his mouth and said, "I have to go. I'll apparate you back to the cottage."
"To pack?" she asked.
He looked confused and then said, "I forgot about my parents. I can't have you stay there while my parents are there. Just make sure you put up protection wards all around the cottage."
"Wait a minute," she said, pulling away from him. "You're ashamed to let your parents know about me!"
"I just haven't told them yet," he answered. She thought that sounded like a feeble excuse.
"Go tell them and then I'll pack a bag and be there by morning," she said. She was bluffing. She didn't want to go there even if his parents weren't there.
"I can't do that," he said. He deplored her to understand with his gaze, and a brush of his hand down her face.
"Get out of my sight," she said, pointing in the direction of the estate.
He frowned and said, "This is my property."
"Stupid, lying, idiot!" she shouted.
"Oh you are so eloquent at times," he harked.
She stormed off in the direction of the cottage. He watched her go. He had to let her go, even though he loved her. There were some things more important in his life right now, and one of those things was his son.
His son and his son's mother were invited to stay at the estate by his parents. They were set to arrive in the morning. Draco walked back to Carrington House to clear his thoughts. He loved Hermione, but she would still be there later. His son may not be. In an effort to settle this thing out of the courts, especially the Muggle courts, his mother and father contacted the mother of his son and invited her here this weekend. They wanted to bribe her, but of course. They wanted to show her what would be her son's someday. They wanted her to see that she would never want for anything the rest of her life. Yes, they wanted to bribe her, and Draco couldn't be happier for the help.
Well, he could be happier. He could tell them about Hermione, and she could be there to support him, but he was afraid to add anything else to the fray right now.
He hated that he hurt her, but it couldn't be helped. He would go back to the cottage later and try to explain.
Hermione set about putting up wards, very powerful protection wards, ones that would even ward off Draco Malfoy! She wasn't sure why she was surprised by the turn of events. It should have been suspected.
Stupid liar! She was at the point in her life where she hated liars almost as much as she hated letter-stealing, painting-burning thieves!
She spent most of the next day inside. It was a grey, chilly day, with a slight drizzle. In other words, it was the perfect day to write, so she did.
She wrote five more chapters. She was almost caught up with what was lost. She even added on some more intrigue and mystery. In her story, someone broke into Miranda's cottage and stole some letters she found written to her aunt. They also stole a locket.
She wrote that Miranda's world was shattered, because even though she knew she was falling in love with Waring, he had shunned her. His parents had arrived at his cousin's estate, and being the poorer, untitled relations, they convinced him to marry Lord Westlake's choice of a bride for him.
If Hermione was going to be unhappy, she saw no reason for Miranda to throw her happiness in her face. Hermione thought it was fitting her to have some melodrama in her love life, right along with Hermione.
As the late afternoon approached, Hermione heard a knock on the door. She ran down the stairs and peered out the window in the main room. She could make out that there was a man at her front door, but she couldn't tell who it was.
She walked up to the door and asked, "Who is it?"
"Harry," came the answer. She opened the door. She merely stared at him. She didn't say anything.
"How's Hermione?" Harry asked from over the threshold. She had yet to invite him in, and she had yet to greet him in return. He said, "Am I meant to stay out here forever, or are you going to invite me inside?"
The last time they had spoken, it wasn't pleasant. He had been one of the ones who assumed she had lied about Mark. That hurt her. She looked down at the floor and asked, "What are you doing here?"
"Okay, I'm not invited in," he said. He sighed and said, "I was worried about you. I heard from Ginny that Malfoy was staying near here, and she seemed to think you were seeing him. I wanted to find out if that's true."
"Why does that matter?"
"Have you seen the papers lately?" he asked.
"I've been here for a week, so no, I haven't," she said. She still hadn't invited him inside.
He said, "He's in the middle of a custody dispute, did you know that?"
"He told me," she said.
"What else have you two discussed?" he inquired.
"What's this about?" she asked back. "For goodness sakes, I came here to forget men, not to enter into another relationship." She wasn't sure if she was trying to convince Harry or herself. "Why the concern all of the sudden?"
"It's not all of the sudden," he remarked. "I've been worried, that's all. I know we left things badly, and I just wanted to check on you."
"Come in, Harry," she finally relented.
Then over a cup of coffee and a bite of dinner, she told him almost everything. She told him about the tour of Carrington House that first day, her failed first date with Malfoy, the book, the letters, the painting, and finally about the break-in at the cottage. She ended with the one letter that wasn't burnt, and the fire on the beach. She left out the part about her and Malfoy having sex, because some things weren't Harry Potter's business.
Harry seemed amused at the first part of her tale, and then concerned. He said, "Do you mind if I ask Mr. Weasley some questions about his Aunt? Maybe an illegitimate heir out there wants to prove their legitimacy. Maybe they're behind the break in and behind stealing the letters. It also seems likely that someone like Malfoy might want to make sure there AREN'T any other heirs. It might lose him a fortune, and it might hurt his custody battle."
Hermione hadn't thought of that once. "I doubt that he's involved."
"I'm just thinking aloud. If his great-uncle was married to this Miriam, and if they had a child and the child lived, then it and its descendents would be rightful heirs to not only Carrington House, but maybe to all of the Malfoy fortune, since Otto was the eldest son. It bears looking into. I'll see what I can find out. I think we need to find out how Miriam died, and see if anyone is still around in the village that might have remembered her, or might have remembered stories about her."
She smiled and said, "I'm sort of glad you came now." She asked him if he wanted to spend the night at the cottage, but he declined. He wanted to start investigating things right away. He kissed her cheek and headed toward the door. He said, "Be careful. Start with the hall of records. See what you can find there. Also, go to the graveyard, and see what you can dig up, no pun intended."
She winced and said, "I hope so."
After he left she thought about what he said. Surely, Draco wasn't behind any of this. Nevertheless, he did say that he would do anything to secure his rights to his son. If he felt that those letters and portraits might deny his heritage, he might destroy them. She thought about the letter that she had that she hadn't yet showed him. She felt that it proved that Otto and Miriam weren't married, but again, she wasn't sure.
Tomorrow she would set about to unraveling this mystery. Tonight, she was going to do some more writing. Her book just turned into a mystery.
Coming up: No Word and Digging for Information
