Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Just writing for fun.

Heavy Lies the Crown

Chapter 29 - - Waiting

- - -

"Stop fidgeting," Cassie scolded.

Draco sent her a playful glare and continued pacing.

"If anything, I should be the one nervous," she explained. "You already know her. I'm the one meeting the Hermione Granger for the first time."

"I just hope you like each other," he grumbled, glancing every few seconds at the fireplace.

Cassie was seated on a comfy armchair in the large, main room of the Malfoy's Paris flat. Her ankles were crossed, and a serene smile rested on her lips.

Draco on the other hand had been darting around the flat for the last half an hour, checking, double checking, and rechecking everything he might possibly need to check. There were plenty of clean linens, a well-stocked pantry, and every inch of the place had been magically cleaned.

"I'm sure you have nothing to worry about," Cassie declared.

The fireplace roared to life then, and Draco whirled to face it. Hermione emerged from the green flames, and for an instant, there was nothing else in his world. He smiled unconsciously and went to her.

She brushed off the soot and then beamed at him. "Hi!"

"Hermione," he breathed, wanting to hug her but hesitating, self-conscious. He'd really only hugged her once, and that was when she'd returned from her confirmation mission in Paris the month before. He knew that couples embraced as a sign of affection, but it suddenly felt awkward. Besides, his sister was watching.

She looked at him questioningly before started removing her cloak.

"Let me take that," Draco said, accepting the garment when she'd finished. He stood tall and moved so the two could see each other. "Hermione, may I introduce my sister, Cassie. Malfoy." Their last name came out slightly strangled. "Cassie, Hermione Granger."

Cassie bounded off the chair and over to where Hermione stood. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you," she said, extending her hand.

Hermione smiled. "And you as well. Enchanté."

"Oh!" Cassie's eyes lit up. "Do you know French?"

"Un petite peu," she replied. "Very little. My parents and I vacationed in France a few times growing up."

"It's a marvelous country," Cassie remarked. "Though I can't wait to see England. Mum and Dad have told me so many stories, I almost feel as though I've been there."

For some reason, every time Cassie talked about their parents, it made Draco uneasy. It was a strange sensation to hear stories about people he'd known his entire life who sounded like complete strangers. It made him sad.

"It's beautiful," said Hermione.

"Well?" Cassie looked from Hermione to Draco, who was still holding Hermione's cloak. "Shall we be going?"

Draco tutted. "Let's give Hermione a few minutes to settle in a bit before rushing her off. She might want a tour of the flat."

"May I show her around?" Cassie asked.

He glanced at Hermione, who nodded, and he agreed. "I'll put up your cloak."

"No need," said Cassie, smirking. "We'll be leaving very soon anyway."

Draco watched his sister lead his girlfriend into the first room and sighed. He was extremely glad to see Hermione and even felt the tiniest bit resentful that Cassie would be with them all weekend. He suddenly wanted her all to himself.

When Cassie had finished with the grand tour, she returned to the great room with Hermione in tow.

"And then we'll come back here for dessert before you go back to Hogwarts," Cassie said matter-of-factly.

"Sounds like you've got the whole weekend scheduled." Hermione smiled at Draco.

"I'm very excited!" Cassie bounced on the balls of her feet, smiling widely. "I've never been to the southeast of France, and I've heard amazing things about it."

"Let's get started," said Draco, shrinking his own pack and tucking it into his robes. "Are you all right with that, Hermione? Would you like some tea before we go?"

"No, I'm ready to go now," she replied.

Cassie smiled widely. "Excellent!"

ooo

"So what do you think?"

Hermione smiled and sipped from her wine glass. "She's incredible."

Draco nodded. "She is. I can't believe she's my sister, that she … shares the same blood as me. Have you ever wanted a brother or sister?"

It was Saturday night, and they were sitting in a corner of their hotel room. Cassie was fast asleep in her bed, her body lightly rising and falling with her steady breathing. Draco and Hermione were sitting on the sofa, and he had his arm around her shoulders.

She shrugged. "Sure, at times, when it was lonely with just my parents or when visiting the Burrow. Seeing all of the Weasleys together, happy and content despite whatever circumstances …. Harry and I have talked about it."

"Yeah?" he asked.

"He grew up with a cousin, but Dudley hardly counted as a sibling," she explained. "He hated Harry. At least I had my parents, though."

Her comment reminded Draco of the things he had said in fifth year to land him in the hospital wing courtesy of Potter and Fred Weasley. He'd never been sorry about it; they were children, and kids said horrible things. Now, though, after meeting Cassie, knowing that she had essentially grown up without her parents, he felt a small twinge of regret for taunting Potter about his parents. A very tiny twinge.

"I went through periods when I wanted a sibling and others when I didn't," he said quietly. "When my parents made me upset or angry because they didn't behave exactly the way I wanted them to—I was quite spoiled, you see—I wished I had a brother to entertain me. But when things with them were good, I was happy I didn't have to share them with anyone. I never wished for a sister."

Hermione grinned. "Spoiled? You? Really?"

He sent her a bored, tolerating look.

"I know you're thrilled to have her now."

Draco chuckled. "Absolutely. Wouldn't change it for anything."

"I get the impression you've talked about me a bit," she said, a teasing glint in her eyes.

For some strange reason, Draco felt his cheeks pink; he couldn't imagine why that would embarrass him, but it did.

Hermione laughed at his discomfort and leaned over to kiss him softly on the lips. "It's nice to know."

"Cassie wouldn't stop asking questions," he said. "Though I had to answer many of them with 'I don't know'."

"Oh?" Hermione asked. "Like what?"

Draco swirled his wine glass and took a small sip. "Little things. Your favorite books, foods, pastimes. I told her to ask you those kinds of questions."

"Those are the kinds of things you'll learn over time," she said. Then she smiled. "Cassie does seem rather inquisitive."

"See what I mean?" he said. "She's nothing like me."

"She is," Hermione countered. "She's a lot like you. It's hard for you to see it, perhaps, because she doesn't have many of your learned traits. But there is no doubt that she's your sister."

That made Draco smile.

"I have a few things to report," Hermione said.

When he looked at her, she was spinning her empty glass between her hands. "Would you like more wine?" he asked, grabbing the bottle. She nodded, and he poured her another glass.

"First," she began, "is Samaya. I gave her your note, and when she read it, she nearly panicked."

"Why?" he asked, frowning.

"She seemed worried about her father attending the meeting," Hermione replied. "Very worried. It got me thinking …." She paused to look him in the eye. "I'm not sure why, but I get the feeling she's hiding something."

"What makes you suspect that?"

"I'm not sure, exactly. It's just a feeling." She threw up her hands. "I can't explain it. But … her reaction was almost too worried, too concerned, for it to be solely about her father."

Draco set his glass down and leaned back, thoughtful. "Children will go to unimaginable lengths for their parents," he said quietly. "Don't underestimate her fear."

"No, that's not it." She huffed lightly in frustration. "She was too afraid. I don't know how to explain it. Anyway, I checked up on her and got the address on file with the school. I haven't had time to go, however. I'm hoping I'll have some time next week."

"You're going to do what, exactly?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Make sure she has a father? I've just got this feeling. The letters are simply addressed to 'Black'. That could be her."

"I don't think Rabastan would be interested in recruiting children," Draco supplied bitterly. "I was a … special case."

"It's just a hunch. I hope to be proven wrong." Hermione finished her glass and set it down, tucking her legs under her as she snuggled closer to him.

Draco kissed the top of her head. "I hope so too."

"There's one more thing," she said, her tone nervous. "Your mother came to see me."

He stiffened immediately, and thoughts started firing in his mind. "What did she want?"

"She asked me to join her for lunch, but we ended up not eating anything. She only wanted to hear about you," Hermione replied, entwining her fingers with his. "She's concerned because you haven't responded to her letters."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I've received at least one a day since last weekend. I'm tired of them."

"Have you read any of them?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. I'm not ready for that. Besides, I'm sure I know what they say. 'Come home, let's talk.' I'll go home when I'm ready."

"That's what I told her," Hermione said, gently rubbing her thumb on the back of his hand.

"What else did you tell her?" he asked, not really worried but unable to relax until he'd heard the full story.

She relayed everything that happened from when Narcissa knocked on her door to when she hurried from the pub. "The one thing she seemed most concerned about was me telling you that she—that they—love you. That everything they've done is for you and Cassie."

Draco scoffed. "Right. They can't possibly know what that word even means."

Hermione sighed. "I hope you won't be angry with me for saying this, but … I believe her. At least, I believe that she loves you, and that she believes she's doing her best for you. You might not agree with their tactics, but in her mind, this … mess … was all done for you."

He shook his head. "I can't ever accept that keeping this from me is for my own good."

"At least hear her out when the time comes," Hermione pressed.

"Perhaps," he grumbled.

Hermione reached up and tilted his face toward hers, capturing his lips in a tender kiss that soon set his blood on fire. The warmth and glow of the fire, the way she teased and tantalized with every swipe and caress of her tongue, the soft, whispered sounds she made as he threaded his fingers through her hair and held her head in place were almost enough to make him forget that they were snogging not twenty feet from where his little sister was sleeping.

Almost. He glanced at Cassie's prone form, noting that she was still slumbering, and he kissed Hermione until he thought he would burst from want. He nearly pushed it too far, but managed to pull himself back. He gave her three short kisses and then exhaled sharply, resting his forehead against hers.

"Draco …." she said, her voice shaky and her desires apparent.

It did nothing to help his resolve. "Cassie," he whispered.

Hermione nodded and sighed. After a few seconds, she jerked her head up, an idea sparkling in her eyes. "What if we—" she began, turning toward the bathroom.

"—An alerting charm, if she wakes?" he added, catching her meaning immediately.

"And a Silencing charm," she finished, grinning.

"Let's go." Draco didn't waste a second; he jumped up from the sofa, grabbed her hand, and pulled her, sniggering, into the bathroom.

ooo

Monday morning, Draco went for a walk in the crisp, cold air of almost-winter. He wrapped himself in his warmest cloak and scarf and set out down the Champs Elysees. He walked slowly, watching the people around him going into shops with great expectations and coming out with bright packages.

On his way back to the flat, he bought a cup of coffee at a café and sat huddled under a heater, sipping slowly and enjoying the atmosphere.

The weekend had been a success. Cassie got to meet Hermione, and the two got along very well. He had even been able to spend a few hours alone with Hermione, thanks to an unexpected bit of perception on Cassie's part. On Sunday afternoon, Cassie had expressed a desire to return to school early in order to study for a test. When she'd parted with them at the gates of the school, she'd hugged Draco and whispered "have fun", then winked as she waved goodbye.

Draco smirked. Fun, indeed.

They hadn't spent the entire evening in the bedroom, however. Not even in the flat. Draco had even taken Hermione to a very nice restaurant, after which they'd walked to the Eiffel Tower and found a bench, where they'd sat and watched the Tower sparkle three times before Hermione finally said she had to get back to school.

After his morning walk, Draco planned to go to Beauxbatons and stay there for a few nights as a special guest of Madame Maxine. She'd warmed to him considerably after receiving a letter from Narcissa asking her to allow Draco to visit Cassie as often as he wished.

Draco finished his drink and Transfigured two knuts into two, two-euro coins, smirking proudly as he tossed them on the table. Hermione probably wouldn't approve, but he wouldn't do it … much.

His walk back to the building was brisk, and he relished the feel of the cold air on his face. As soon as he entered the flat, however, he knew something was wrong. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he pulled his wand and moved slowly, cautiously into the main room.

A fire was roaring, and Lucius Malfoy sat in a chair, his hands bridged, watching Draco enter the room.

"Hello, Son," he drawled.

Draco scowled and returned his wand. "Father." The speed and intensity of his animosity startled him. As he undid the clasp of his cloak, he couldn't help but wonder at how this could be the same man that Cassie could so easily call 'Dad'. "What brings you here?" he bit out.

"Surely you can surmise," said Lucius evenly.

Draco crossed his arms and neared the fire, keeping a safe distance from his father. "Mother?" he ventured.

"She's very concerned about you," Lucius affirmed.

"You may give her a favorable report then," said Draco with a false lightness. "As you can see, I'm quite well."

"Don't be insolent. It's not concern for your health that plagues her," Lucius snapped. "She's taken to worrying herself into a panic because you haven't responded to her letters."

"You can hardly blame me," Draco retorted.

"I fear she'll make herself sick," Lucius growled.

"It's not my problem!" Draco shouted. His anger had been bubbling just under the surface ever since he laid eyes on his father, who was now trying to make Draco feel guilty. "She's done this to herself—you both have."

Lucius stood, his eyes blazing, jaw clenched. "She is your mother, and she deserves your respect, concern, and consideration."

"What do you want from me?" Draco cried, exasperated.

"I want you to talk to her," Lucius replied, calmly now that he thought he might get his way. "Come home and speak with her. Put her mind at ease."

Draco scowled and moved closer to the fire, letting the warmth penetrate his clothes all the way to his skin. "I doubt my words right now would soothe her."

"Then tell me you'll return soon so that I can pass along the message," Lucius insisted. "Draco, this is your mother."

Some mother, he thought. A mother who'd lied to, deceived, and hurt him … who'd betrayed him and everything that a mother should stand for.

When he made no reply, Lucius spoke. "Is there … anything I can do, give, or say to convince you to speak with her?" he asked quietly, examining his nails as though he made such offers every day.

Draco knew better. This was a chance to get anything from his father, and since he was already planning on returning to the Manor before the initiation, he could go back Friday night instead of Saturday to speak with his mother.

This was his chance …. He could ask for anything, no strings attached; he could demand up to half the business. He could even ask for the full truth; Lucius just might divulge it. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. A chance to gain whatever he wanted from his father.

Although several possibilities flashed through his mind, there was one thing Draco was sure he'd never get if he didn't ask for it now. The truth would out eventually; he would make sure of it. This other item could only be acquired while Lucius was vulnerable.

"If I agree to speak with her … you must do something for me," he said firmly.

Lucius nodded stiffly.

"I want you to … to accept Hermione. As my choice."

At this, Lucius bristled. "Your choice?" he repeated, disgustedly. "You've … decided then?"

"Not entirely," Draco admitted. "But I want no obstacles, just in case."

During his conversation with Hermione the previous weekend, Draco had realized a few things. First, the thought of her in that house she was buying with anyone but him had made his blood boil.

Then when they'd talked about marriage, he'd realized that he wasn't afraid of marrying her, as he'd previously concluded based on his adverse reactions to the thought. No, he'd realized he wanted her, but was scared to bring her into his family, to expose her to their poisonous brand of morality and judgment, to put her in the position of Malfoy matriarch.

None of those things would mesh with Hermione's goals, hopes, and dreams. She deserved so much more. Perhaps he could figure out a way to give it to her.

"Then why—" Lucius began.

Draco cut him off. "Because! She is important to me!"

Lucius quirked his lips in a snarl. "She is one of many, Draco."

"No, she isn't," he argued vehemently. "She's entirely unique."

"Do you love her?" Lucius asked, his eyes narrowed.

"I … I do." Inadvertently, Draco smiled. Saying the words aloud set something free inside him, and he suddenly felt … happy.

The admission had quite the opposite effect on Lucius, however. His entire expression went sour. He opened his mouth to speak, but Draco beat him to it.

"Father," he said calmly. "I am not asking you to like her, nor am I asking you to completely change your opinions of Muggle-borns. I'm asking …." He huffed, running a hand through his hair. "I am asking you to accept that she is with me. I don't want you sending other witches my way or interfering in our relationship."

Their eyes met. Lucius lifted his chin defiantly, as though daring Draco to call him out.

"I don't want you putting her down, not even when I'm not around," Draco continued. "I want you to be as polite as you possibly can whenever she's around. I want … I want you to respect my decision and accept her because of me. Because I choose her."

The hard lines disappeared, and Lucius seemed to deflate as he stared at Draco. "All right," he said quietly. "If you will agree to see your mother, I will meet your condition."

Draco fought against the rush of power that flowed through him, the rush of a much-desired and hard-fought win. Not that he'd been trying to get his father's acceptance, but it felt good to know that he had it now, unconditionally and irrevocably.

"I'll come home Friday evening," he said.

Lucius nodded, relief flitting across his features. "Thank you."

Draco blinked, surprised at his father's easy show of gratitude. "You're welcome."

Lucius retrieved his cloak from the chair and put it on. "Let's not tell your mother about our … agreement," he said snarkily, all traces of good humor gone. "I'd prefer she think you're coming to see her out of genuine concern."

A flare of anger blew through him, and Draco glared at his father. "Of course I care," he snapped. "I'm just not ready to see her. Or you, for that matter."

Lucius moved toward the fireplace and took a handful of Floo powder.

Draco shook his head, thoroughly annoyed, and turned his back to his father. He needed to collect his belongings before meeting Cassie.

"Draco," called Lucius.

He stopped and reluctantly faced his father.

Lucius' head was bowed, and he was fidgeting with something in his hand. "Your mother and I … want you to know that … we … we love you."

The man couldn't lift his head to meet Draco's bewildered stare as he said the words, but after a few lengthy moments of silence, he slowly raised his gazed. "And we're proud of you," he added, his voice strong.

A dozen emotions raged inside Draco, but he kept them in check in order to incline his head in acknowledgement. "I'll see you Friday," was all he could say.

Lucius nodded again and stepped into the fireplace, disappearing seconds later with a green flash.

Draco sat heavily in the chair opposite the one previously occupied by his father, thoughts of meeting Cassie completely gone. His parents, mostly his mother, had expressed their love for him in the past, but each occasion had been very expected: his birthdays, Christmas, on Platform 9 ¾, at greetings and goodbyes. Never before was it simply stated, and certainly not when there was any kind of tension between them.

More than the confession of love, however, was Lucius' statement of pride. It was a bittersweet feeling for Draco; for much of his life, he'd tried to make his father proud, only to fall short in almost every attempt. Quidditch, grades, even his sixth year task left his father shaking his head in disapproval. To hear it now, when he no longer deemed his father's approval as something desirable, made him sad. He loved his parents despite everything; they were his parents. But he'd long ago accepted that they'd never be close, never be friends.

Hearing Cassie talk about them only reopened that particular wound. They were close to her, it seemed, so why couldn't they be easy that way with him? Why now, when everyone knew that Draco knew about Cassie, couldn't Lucius share some of that fond regard with him? Was it simply that his relationship with Draco was fixed, unmovable, unchangeable?

Draco shook his head and pushed himself up; there was no point in dwelling on the past. He was more interested in his future, which immediately included his sister. Smiling, Draco gathered his things and Apparated to Beauxbatons.

ooo

By Friday afternoon, Draco was more than ready to return home—if only to put an end to the waiting. His holiday was greatly enjoyed and well-spent, but it was time to return to life. He ignored the fact that he didn't have work to return to and focused on his mission of discovering what Lucius was up to. It wasn't that he missed running the company, it had just been his entire life for so long he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.

Draco had bade goodbye to his sister the night before, assuring her that he would do everything in his power to bring her home where she belonged. After she'd hugged him long and tight, she'd told him she loved him. It was a sentiment he'd easily returned.

It was all Draco could do to force himself to remain calm while he waited for his Portkey to activate. He'd chosen to travel via Portkey because the fireplace in the Paris flat was only connected to the Manor, and he didn't want to go straight there.

Breakfast had been tolerable, but he'd needed a brisk walk afterward to clear his head. He still didn't know what he would say to his mother, and he still wasn't quite ready to deal with her. The walk hadn't helped.

Lunch was somewhat more difficult, as he'd forced himself not to rush and swallow his food whole. The next two hours had seemed to creep by, but finally, three o'clock arrived. Draco was ready, standing with his shrunken bags, when the Portkey activated.

He arrived in the International Travel complex in London and was quickly ushered off his platform to allow for the next arrival. With time to kill, Draco then went to Diagon Alley and wasted a couple of hours on Christmas shopping for Cassie before heading to his next destination: the Potter's.

Ginny answered the door, astonishment on her face.

"Draco?" she asked, as though unable to believe he was really there.

He gave her a strained smile. "Mrs. Potter. I'm here to see your husband."

She blinked. "Is he expecting you?"

"No," he replied.

"Well, come in." Ginny opened the door to grant him entrance. "Harry's not home from school yet, but I expect him any minute. His last class ended at five."

"Thank you." Draco followed her through the house, stopping in the living room.

"You can wait here," she said. "Is there anything I can get you? Tea?"

"No, thank you," he said. The only thing he wanted was a stiff drink, but he didn't feel comfortable asking.

Ginny smirked. "Firewhisky?"

He stared at her, worried for a moment that she'd read his thoughts.

"Be right back," she said, before he had a chance to stop her. She returned moments later with a bottle and glass. "If you're here to see Harry," she began, filling the tumbler halfway, "I imagine you'd appreciate this."

Draco accepted the drink gratefully. "Thank you," he muttered, feeling ridiculous at saying nothing but those words since entering the home.

"No problem. Does Hermione know you're here?" Ginny asked, leaning on the door frame and glancing down the hall.

"Er, no," he replied. "I'll be seeing her later tonight."

Ginny smiled. "Good to hear."

The fireplace roared to lie, and Harry stepped out, a grin appearing on his face the instant he saw his wife.

"Ginny." He went to her and kissed her soundly.

Draco rolled his eyes and glanced away.

"Harry," she said quickly, before he could go much further. "You have a guest."

"Oh. Malfoy." Harry's tone was merely observant; he didn't seem the least bit surprised to see him standing in his living room on a Friday evening.

"Potter." Draco shook the wizard's hand.

"I'll be down the hall with James," Ginny said, leaving the two men alone.

"This is unexpected," said Harry, loosening his tie and undoing his cloak. "What brings you here?"

"I think you know," Draco quipped.

Their eyes met, and Harry didn't deny it. "What … exactly do you wish to discuss?"

Draco shoved his hands in his pockets. "The box."

"May I?" Harry didn't wait for an answer before taking the firewhisky, Conjuring another glass, and pouring himself a drink. After polishing it off, he sighed. "There's not much to say."

"Why did my father leave it with you?" Draco asked, annoyed. He'd come to Harry, hoping to learn as much as he could before facing his parents, just in case. If the box had anything to do with Cassie, he wanted to know. "What's inside? What do you know about it?"

"I feel for you, mate," said Harry. "I'll tell you what I can, but it's not much. Your father gave me the box in case something happened to him in prison. I don't know what's in it. All I do know is that if he'd died, I was to give it to you and tell you to drink the purple potion."

"But … you must know something more, I know you do," Draco argued. "Why else would you have offered your friendship a few months ago? You told me I would need friends—why?" he demanded. "Tell me, Potter. If you meant what you said about being friends, tell me."

Harry shook his head. "That's not how it works, Malfoy. You can't secure friendship with information."

Draco scowled. "Then what was your offer?"

"Friendship," Harry repeated. "To be … there … when it all goes down. To talk, share, commiserate. Not to break my oaths and tell you things you aren't supposed to know yet. Friendship—relationships—aren't a means to an end. They are the end."

"There's no need to lecture me," Draco snapped. He was livid, though at what, he didn't exactly know. There was no reason to be angry at Harry; after all, he was only keeping his oaths, as he'd said. The anger likely stemmed from the situation, from not knowing and feeling as though he was missing something extremely important. He hadn't really expected anything substantial from Harry.

Draco sat heavily, feeling suddenly hopeless. "What bothers me most is that you seem to think I'll need a friend. Soon."

Harry shifted slightly. "You've got Hermione."

Draco nodded once. "That's true … but the point remains you offered your friendship because you knew something about my future, something that would potentially make me feel alone. That's … unsettling, to say the least."

Harry said nothing for a few moments. Draco decided he should leave, though he still wasn't quite ready to go home. He wanted his parents to be completely through with their evening meal before he spoke with them.

"I shou—" he began, just as Harry spoke too.

"Want to stay for dinner?"

Draco started in surprise. "Dinner?"

"Sure." Harry brushed his unruly hair out of his face. "That offer of friendship still stands, even though you have Hermione."

"Er …." Draco paused, every fiber of his being screaming that he should refuse. The idea of sitting in a confined space with Potter for a prescribed length of time was daunting. He'd accepted Weasley's dinner invitation much more easily, and he supposed the reason was circumstances. Alone, in Paris, attempting to avoid thinking about the situation with the money, Draco had welcomed the distraction.

Now, back in England, with Hermione a mere firecall away, he wasn't nearly as interested.

Thinking about Hermione brought on another memory, however. Ron's comment that she'd be happy about the gesture and show her, um, appreciation in the most delicious ways. Ron had been spot on, too. Dinner with the Potters was certain to land him in his witch's bed—not that he really thought she needed incentive.

Regardless, it would go a long way to showing Hermione that she was important to him, and that was certainly worth the potential discomfort.

"Dinner," Draco repeated, tasting the idea of the word.

Harry grinned. "Ginny!" he called.

The red-head soon appeared, her son on her hip. Harry kept his eyes trained on his guest, waiting.

Draco sighed heavily and nodded slightly, and Harry clapped him on the back.

"Set an extra plate for dinner, my love."

ooo

At quarter to nine, Draco excused himself from the Potter's home. The meal had been delicious and the company … interesting. Despite not really wanting to find anything about Potter likeable, Draco had accidentally enjoyed himself.

He walked down the lane in front of the Potter's at a leisurely pace, in no hurry to deal with his parents. In the week since seeing his father, he hadn't been able to think of anything nice to say, anything productive. All his questions and answers were snarky, rude, and disrespectful.

True, he had given his word, but that didn't mean he had to look forward to fulfilling it.

Draco Apparated to the grounds in front of the Manor and sighed. Only a few lights shone from inside the house, and he couldn't shake the feeling of apprehension. All around him was still, the waning moon shedding a pale, silver light over the darkness.

He could imagine his parents, sitting at the dining table, talking. Narcissa was most likely anxious for his arrival, and Lucius calmly reassuring her that he would be there. After all, he'd given Draco a priceless gift in exchange for his presence. Had they already discussed Christmas plans? Would they be making a trip to Paris for the holiday? Would he be invited?

As Draco stared unfocusedly at the ornate front door, something drifted through his field of vision. It happened again. Draco blinked and looked up to see hundreds of tiny spots of light falling toward him: snow. It was beautiful in the silent, silver night, and somehow, its presence calmed him. Nature, people, the world—everything kept moving, whether he existed or not. It was oddly comforting, knowing he didn't have enough power to change that.

With unexpected resolve, Draco finally entered his childhood home, feeling almost a stranger as he stepped into the wide halls. Light shone from the end of the main hall, originating from a room a few feet from the grand staircase. It was the perfect room in which to sit and wait for one's son while enjoying a slice of pudding after dinner. He took a deep breath and started in that direction.

Upon nearing the room, Draco heard muffled, strained voices, and when he was close enough to see in, he saw his mother on a settee and his father standing by a roaring fire. Narcissa sat ramrod straight, her hands folded in her lap, a glass of wine and half-eaten dessert on the table beside her. Lucius was flipping through a small book, his movements agitated.

Draco stepped into the room and knocked on the frame.

Both Lucius and Narcissa whipped their heads around, slight annoyance on his father's face and relief on his mother's.

He gave them a saccharin grin and said, "Hello, Mother, Father. As you are not quite finished with your meal," he nodded at Narcissa's plate, "I'll be down in an hour. Oh, and Cassie sends her love."

Draco didn't wait for a response and turned on his heel toward the staircase. Emotions warred within him. Seeing his parents, together, brought back all of the feelings he'd been attempting to deal with over the past two weeks. Hurt, anger, and betrayal returned hot and sizzling to the surface.

"Draco!"

He froze and gritted his teeth before turning to face his mother. She stood just outside the door, clenching her hands and looking at him undecidedly.

He lifted an eyebrow in question, and she slowly walked to him, stiff and deliberate.

When she was but a foot from him, Narcissa stopped. She was shorter than him by a good six inches, and so she had to look up in order to meet his eyes. At first, she did nothing, just stared at him, tears filling her eyes.

Merlin help him, but he had only seen his mother cry on a few occasions, and each time he had been unable to maintain any kind of cold, aloof demeanor. Even now, despite everything, he felt his anger cracking. However, this only made him angrier, and he scowled.

"What do you—" he began.

She cut him off by throwing her arms around him, clinging to him, clutching at him as though he would run or disappear at any moment. "Draco, Draco," she repeated, constantly pulling him closer.

He tried to remain passive, but his heart wasn't made of lead, and he couldn't ignore his mother's weeping. Reluctantly, awkwardly, he returned her embrace, which only made her sob harder.

Draco held his mother, feeling increasingly confused at her display of emotion. He understood that she'd been concerned, but this seemed excessive. Perhaps he'd misjudged her.

"Mother," he said softly.

Narcissa's tears slowed, and after a few moments, she pulled away, looking up at him with a teary, hesitant smile. "I-I'm so glad to see you," she whispered. "I'm glad you're home in time for the holidays."

Stay focused, stay angry, he told himself. He needed to keep his feelings in line with his thoughts, with what he knew to be true. Emotions only made things messy, a lesson he had learned well from his father.

"The house is a bit … dreary," he said honestly.

"Yes," she agreed quickly, glancing around the hall. "I didn't want to decorate without you."

He sighed. "I'm here now; have at it." Draco started to walk away, but Narcissa grabbed him.

"May we talk?" she asked, her voice surprisingly strong.

"What about your pudding?"

"I'm finished," she replied. "Please?"

He nodded once and followed her through the house to a small, comfortable sitting room. Narcissa called for a cup of tea and offered Draco one.

"No, thank you," he replied. "I'll have something stronger." A quick perusal of the liquor produced his favorite brand of scotch, and he chuckled—nervous!—as he poured himself a drink. Merlin, he wasn't ready for this.

Narcissa sat across from him, sipping her tea, while Draco downed his drink. The burn was cathartic and he took a deep breath.

"Thank you for coming," she said quietly, not meeting his gaze.

He couldn't respond truthfully without giving away his agreement with Lucius, so he merely nodded.

"Do you have any questions?" she asked.

Draco sniffed and considered his words carefully. He had dozens of questions. "Most of my questions have either been answered by Cassie, or she's informed me that I'm not allowed to know the answer." Bitterness suffused every syllable.

Narcissa flinched as though wounded.

"On second thought …." Draco smirked wickedly. "Perhaps there is one thing you can answer."

"Anything," she said without hesitation, unfazed by his expression.

"What I don't understand," he said slowly, trailing his finger along the rim of his empty glass, "is why. Why didn't you raise her the way you raised me?"

Narcissa blinked, entirely taken off guard at his question. "I'm not sure what you mean, Draco."

"Cassie is a delightful, affectionate child, who couldn't hate an insect," he began, his voice rising in volume and intensity as he continued. "She doesn't comprehend prejudice against people different than her. She had no disdain for those you would have told me were my inferiors. She's been allowed to grow up unpoisoned—why?"

"You have to understand," Narcissa replied, "that our circumstances were very different with you and your sister. She grew up in France, away from us. It's only natural that she wouldn't be subject to the political atmosphere here."

"Political atmosphere?" he repeated, incredulously spiteful. "Is that what you call the Dark Lord's attempts at genocide?"

"What would you have me say?" she demanded. "That we messed up with you? That we should have allowed you to form your own opinions about the world? It's not so simple, son. We did the best we could with what we had, and though we weren't perfect, everything we did was for you."

Draco scoffed. "For me? Don't delude yourselves, Mother."

"We wanted the best possible world," she countered. "For you. The Dark Lord's ideals began in the political arena: gain control of the Ministry through traditional means, and we'd have our voice just like all the others. When he turned to violence …." She swallowed hard. "One cannot simply walk away, Draco. You know this."

"Fine, I'll grant you that," he conceded. "But that didn't mean you had to perpetuate his dogma at home."

Narcissa shook her head sadly. "Draco, your father and I have been through a great deal in our lives. I cannot apologize for our belief in blood purity; it was ingrained in us just as it was in you. Generations of witches and wizards have advocated it."

"That doesn't make it right," he growled.

"No," she agreed. "No it doesn't. People cannot change simply because they understand right from wrong. I have, and your father has done likewise, made a decision not to promote blood purity anymore. We didn't with Cassie. But the decision alone doesn't mean that we no longer struggle with it ourselves. Imagine an alcoholic. He knows the drink isn't good, but that doesn't always help him fight the urges."

He shook his head. "Then … why didn't I have a difficult time? I've long accepted that I'm not superior based solely on my blood."

Narcissa smiled, a hint of pride on the curve of her lips. "You do have my family's blood in you, Draco. My sister, Andromeda, refused to accept what she was told without seeing for herself. Your Hermione reminds me a lot of her. Meda completely rejected the notion of blood purity." She sighed forlornly. "Bella accepted what she was told because it allowed her to do what she wanted to do anyway: hate and hurt and kill."

Draco listened with rapt attention. His mother had never before shared so much at one time. He'd learned things about her a little bit at a time; now she was showing him all the puzzle pieces that formed who she was. Despite his feelings about the situation, this was a rare occurrence and something he wouldn't soon forget.

"And you?" he pressed.

Narcissa laughed daintily. "I … I made a choice. Because I was in love. I had the same information as Meda; we were once very close. But Lucius' beliefs were in line with everything I had been taught." She shrugged, almost apologetically. "It was easy."

"What about me?" Draco asked, curious what she thought about him. "How do you explain what happened with me? I … failed to absorb my parents' beliefs."

"I've given this a lot of thought, actually. For much of your childhood, you thrived on approval," she replied. "Especially from your father and me. But then he went to prison, and … you know what happened next. You joined the same cause that your parents did and were asked to grow up far too soon. The Dark Lord put you in a terrible position. Kill for the cause your parents chose, or else they would be killed by the cause they supported." She shook her head. "I can't even imagine what you went through."

He shrugged and looked away, unable to watch her staring intently at him. The conversation had taken a turn he didn't like, though by asking about himself, he was responsible for the shift.

"Draco, you are an exceptional young man, very intelligent, able to make decisions for yourself. I'm very proud of the person you've become." Narcissa's eyes were pleading with him for something, but he didn't know what she wanted.

"You're glad I turned my back on centuries of pureblood doctrine?" he asked, wanting to be precisely clear.

She nodded. "I am."

"And what about Father?" Draco sneered. "Has he accepted your new position as well? Or is he intent on throwing any eligible pure-blooded witch at my feet?"

Narcissa refolded her hands in her lap. "Lucius … only wants what's best for you. We both do."

"Ha!" Draco cried, unable to restrain himself. Despite the agreement with his father, he knew Lucius still wanted a 'proper' witch for him. "He wanted to rule beside Voldemort!" Even though seven years had passed and the man-beast was dead, Draco's scar twanged painfully at his use of the Dark Lord's name.

"No," said Narcissa firmly. "I've told you—you've heard stories. Once you join him, there's no leaving. We wanted the best life for you, and for a while, it seemed the Dark Lord could provide that. There was simply no possible way he could be defeated by a mere boy."

"Right up until the end, though, Father was trying to better his position in the Dark Lord's eyes," Draco argued vehemently. "When he wanted to turn in Potter, Weasley, Gr-Hermione when they were here, it was all for improved status!"

"Yes," she returned, just as heatedly. "Because we never imaged Harry could win! In that case, the Dark Lord would be victorious and instill his brand of government on the entire wizarding world! For you, Lucius wanted to ensure his place in that world."

Draco shook his head. The best thing a man could do for his son was protect him from the evils in the world, but Lucius hadn't done that. He'd introduced him to evil, encouraged it, and even worshipped it.

"Just as I can't imagine what you went through," she continued, calmly this time, "so too you cannot imagine what brought your father and me to the Dark Lord. Don't presume to understand, and please, don't judge us. We will extend the same courtesy to you."

Her statement was like a slap in the face, and he set his jaw and stared hard at the floor. For so long, he had harbored resentment toward his parents for their ideals that had landed them in the Dark Lord's service. He resented the way he'd been raised after realizing that the very people his father claimed to hate and wished to eradicate paid most of his bills and allowed for the very extravagant lifestyle he enjoyed. Hate, prejudice, superiority were king—second only to money.

However, just as he wouldn't want Hermione to judge him based on his past, when he had willingly and enthusiastically joined the group of witches and wizards who wanted to destroy her, he reluctantly acknowledged that his parents would like the same treatment. They were just two people, trying to make their way through the world, trying to make their corner of the world better than it was the day before. He could understand that, empathize even. Every day, the definition of 'better' changed, and so they had changed with it. Just like he had.

"He sent Isabella after me in Paris," Draco grumbled.

Narcissa laughed softly, the sound melodic and beautiful. He had always been enthralled by his mother's laugh, partly for its musical qualities, and partly because it was such a rare thing to hear.

"Lucius would prefer that you marry a pureblooded witch," she admitted. "He wants the best for you, and just because he can acknowledge that those of lesser blood can be tolerated, you are still his son. And the best is still pureblooded. However, he also knows exactly what to expect from such a witch. Your Hermione, for example, terrifies him."

Draco blinked, confused. "He's … afraid of her?"

"It's more that he's not sure what to do with her," Narcissa explained. "He feels … out of his element. Unsure of himself. You know how your father likes to be in control of a situation."

"I don't understand why. She's just like any other witch." He caught himself and laughed. "Well, no, she's unlike any other witch. But just because she's Muggle-born doesn't mean she's not the same as you and me."

"Give him time," Narcissa said with a smile. "The more time he spends with her, I'm sure he'll come around."

"He tried to kill her, Mother," Draco remarked wryly. "I can't imagine she'll want to spend loads of time getting acquainted with him. The fact that she even came here, to this house, where Bella tortured her, and had dinner with a man who actively attempted to end her life …. She's a better person than I am."

She frowned now, her expression troubled. "I hadn't thought of it that way. She was just your girlfriend. But you're right—how awful! Poor thing."

They were quiet for a few moments, Draco gazing anywhere but at his mother.

"My goodness, how did we get on this topic?" she asked eventually.

"Cassie," he replied listlessly, not taking his eyes off the window, through which he could see the snow swirling much thicker than it had been when he arrived.

"Of course." She sighed. "May I ask how you found her?"

Draco dragged his head to the side to look at his mother. "I'm going to keep that answer to myself for now. Just as you will keep yours."

"Do you hate me?" she asked quietly, hesitantly.

Draco wanted to roll his eyes. "No, Mother, of course I don't hate you. I'm simply angry with you. Very angry."

"I'm glad," she murmured. "Your anger I can abide, but not your hate."

At that moment, Draco felt suddenly very heavy, as though he was wearing a ton of bricks around his neck. "I'm knackered," he said, stretching his long legs in front of him. "May I say goodnight?"

"One more thing," she rushed. "Cassie. What do you think of her? Do you like her?"

An image of his sister on the merry-go-round beside the Eiffel Tower, laughing from her purple hippopotamus, flashed in his mind, and he smiled. "I love her." He stood and grabbed his bottle of scotch, anxious for a moment alone to down another glass—or two. "Night, Mother."

She stopped him as his hand grasped the doorknob. "Draco!"

He huffed and slowly turned around. "Yes?"

Narcissa gracefully rose from her chair and approached him. "Thank you for coming home. I'm glad we could talk."

"Even though we didn't talk about Cassie?" he asked, amused.

She nodded. "You will understand all of this soon. I promise."

"Just not now," he retorted bitterly. "Some day. Right. Fine. Until then, don't expect me to … well, don't expect anything from me. I'll see you tomorrow."

Draco didn't wait to give her the chance to say anything else. He swung open the door and practically ran up the stairs to his room. He loved his mother, despite everything she had done, however, and so he glanced back at the top of the stairs to find her watching him, staring at him, memorizing him. As though he might soon disappear.

ooo

At three in the morning, Draco still couldn't sleep. He'd abandoned the bed in favor of his sofa, but that hadn't done the job, so he'd pulled a chair in front of the large window in his room so he could watch the snow fall.

It was thick on the ground now and showed no signs of slowing. He was tired, he knew it, but sleep was eluding him, so he went into the closet room to pour himself something to drink. His eyes first grazed his bed and the two pillows at its head, and then the fireplace, where a few hot coals still glowed.

A possible solution occurred to him, and he wasted no time in implementing it. Four strides, a handful of powder, and a spoken phrase later, he stepped through the Floo into Hermione's suite at Hogwarts. All the lights were off, and he crept silently into her bedroom.

She was fast asleep on her side, facing him, her wild, beautiful hair splayed on the pillow and the sheet behind her back. Merlin, she was the most exquisite creature he had ever seen, and watching her now, after admitting his feelings for her to his father, felt different somehow. He knew what he wanted his future to hold, knew that he needed her in it, and his heart felt near to bursting in his chest.

As he watched her, Draco yawned, exhaustion creeping into his bones. He went to the other side of the bed and crawled in, careful not to disturb her slumber. He lay on his side as well, staring at her back and trying to resist the urge to touch her.

When the temptation became too much, Draco reached for her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her gently against him. Hermione made a few little noises but didn't wake and snuggled further into his embrace.

He smiled into her hair as he felt sleep fog the edges of his consciousness. As he drifted, he couldn't help but think that he was home.

ooo

End Notes: Thank you for reading! It is most appreciated. I apologize for the week-long delay. I probably won't be posting next Friday, August 14th, either, because I'll be out of town. Thanks to everyone who pointed out the full moon/new moon mistake. It's supposed to be new moon. I really appreciate the continued reviews! Thanks to my betas drcjsnider and pokeystar! Art for this chapter is by __vintagebomb of LJ. Music, as always, by inadaze22, and the music for chapter 28 is available as well.

*Note: The Eiffel Tower "sparkles" every hour on the hour for ten minutes at night.