Thank you all for your lovely reviews last chapter. It's a pleasure to hear from all of you, more than I can say.
All my love to LightofEvolution, In Dreams, and Mcal forever and always
Draco has invited his mother to afternoon tea at three. A bit early compared to the strict schedule of four o'clock that Narcissa had always insisted is proper, but it's just one more in a list of small rebellions that Draco is enjoying. It's Monday, so Hermione will be home just after five. This will have to do. As Head of House (not officially, but soon enough), it is his prerogative to change schedules as needed.
He arrives early and claims a small table to the side of the restaurant. The establishment is quaint and traditional, offering scones and light sandwiches along with a wide variety of teas. He selects Darjeeling for himself and asks the staff to prepare Narcissa something they call 'Lady Grey', a Muggle variation on his mother's favoured Earl Grey.
When she enters, he's never seen his mother look more nervous, and it makes him feel a twinge of guilt. To the patrons, he is certain she appears completely at ease, but he knows her too well, can see the grip of her hand on her bag and her rigid, purposeful steps.
He stands and approaches, and her shoulders drop ever so slightly in relief.
"Mother." He takes her hands and brushes a kiss to her cheek. Her own grip is more firm than usual.
"Draco, darling. I was quite pleased to receive your owl."
An odd phrase for Muggles, he knows. Draco glances around, but no one seems to be paying them any attention. After guiding her to their seats and helping her into her chair, he also sits and subtly pulls out his wand. Swishing it beneath the table, he casts a light Silencing Charm.
Narcissa looks at him in question, raising a brow.
"Can't have you scaring the Muggles with talk of owls and blood rites, Mother." He chuckles as she screws up her face in distaste.
"I can't imagine why you would be more comfortable here. We could have had a lovely tea at the Manor… or that little shop in Diagon Alley we used to visit together."
He straightens, all amusement lost. "I did not wish to see Father today. As for Diagon, I prefer not to dine where they might be tempted to poison my scones."
She waves her hand around, dismissing his concerns. "No need for such dramatics. Wizarding society has long respected the Malfoy name."
"Not anymore," he grits out through his teeth. "I know you've only recently been released from your confinement, but my experiences have been less than civil." Not to mention, be barely refrains from adding, she was never a marked Death Eater.
"Let's not talk of such things," she says, ever uncomfortable with realities she doesn't like to face. "I have anticipated that this afternoon would confirm my hopes… that you are ready to accept your responsibilities to your family?" She eyes him with a strange mix of judgement and trepidation. Draco doesn't like the direction of the conversation, nor her attitude of entitlement.
My terms, he says to himself, a mantra for his future.
Still, he can't deny that was, indeed, the purpose of this meeting. So he takes a breath and makes his mother proud. "Yes. I have decided to acknowledge my role as Head of House."
Narcissa claps her hands together just as a cup of tea is set in front of her. "Oh, Draco, that's wonderful! Your father will be so pleased."
Draco nods at the server, silent gratitude for the tea, then waits for him to walk away before answering. "I hope I have made it clear that my decision has nothing to do with pleasing my father. He might not celebrate when he realizes I intend to take on the title fully. The Manor, properties, and what little wealth remains will be mine to do with as I will. I will not be looking to him for guidance nor permission in regards to my personal life or the family estate. Pipsy will transfer to me as master, any objects of Dark Magic will be stripped from the house, and I'm considering Malfoy Enterprises, shell that it is, will look to Muggle investments in the coming years."
She is staring at him with wide eyes, hands still clasped but looking frail, as if they are shielding her heart from his words. He hates to see her this way, but never again will Draco be forced into a life of subservience. His father might not have realized it, but through desperation, he has finally given Draco absolute freedom.
"And us? Your father and I? Are we to be forced from our home as you take your place? Will you find a way to have your father released only to turn him out?"
"Now who is indulging in dramatics?" he asks with a scoff. "Of course not. The Manor is the family home. Once I accept ownership, I assume it will be easy enough to repair, and you are both welcome to stay indefinitely. I hardly even care about the Manor if I'm honest. What I'm referring to is the life I almost had. Dark Lords and Sacred politics and betrothals to 'appropriate' witches…" He punctuates with two fingers and a sarcastic drawl on the description of his approved former love interests. "In particular, I am currently pursuing Hermione Granger with absolutely reckless abandon, and I won't listen to a single word about that choice. I would be so lucky for her to consider a deeper commitment."
Her hands have dropped and her expression cooled from panic to irritation. "And by this you are cautioning what? That we not make references to her barbaric upbringing at the dinner table?"
"I caution you to treat her every ounce as respectfully as you would a Greengrass, Selwyn, or Parkinson, or there will be no instances at a dinner table for you to trouble yourself. If you would like to enjoy a relationship with me and, potentially, any future heirs I might have-"
"That's getting quite ahead of yourself."
"-with Hermione or with any other witch, then I advise you to forget what you ever thought you knew about blood status."
He sits back in his chair, face stern and jaw clenched, as his mother sits tall and prim, looking at him with just as much strength of expression.
Finally, she nods. "As you say." There is a pause as she looks at her cup and lifts it to her nose. "Now, what is this dreadful concoction?"
"A Muggle tea," he takes great pleasure in telling her.
She wrinkles her nose but takes a sip. After a moment, she sets the cup down and makes herself busy adding jam to a scone. "It's acceptable," she says, and Draco knows it cost her a lot.
Over the next hour, Draco makes arrangements with his mother to visit the Manor in the coming days. A ritual to bind him to the physical earth of the ancestral home as well as take ownership of the magic that infuses his bloodline must be completed.
In addition, and this is a surprise to Draco, there are necessary parchments to file with the Ministry. Narcissa has taken it upon herself, she tells him, to put the steps into motion. One of 'those Weasleys,' she says, was 'surprisingly efficient,' and Draco need only make an appearance and provide a magic-imbued signature.
If he hurries, he can find Granger before she leaves for the day.
"I'll take care of it, Mother. This afternoon, if I leave now." They both rise, Draco moving quickly in order to help her with her chair.
At the door, they step onto the Muggle streets, Narcissa back to appearing nervous to Draco's trained eye. "Will you be alright to an Apparition point?"
She levels him with a severe look. "Please do not forget who is the parent and who is the child, Draco. I managed well enough to this hovel; I think I can make it home."
He chuckles, aware that the tea house he selected is as luxuriously decorated and politely staffed as any in Diagon, but recognizes Narcissa Malfoy's need to belittle in order to feel safe. Perhaps he can help break her of that habit in the coming years. "Alright then." He kisses her cheek and is surprised when she grabs his lapel, not releasing him immediately.
After a moment, her expression giving little away, she offers a soft, "Thank you, Draco."
He hesitates, but after no more than a beat wraps his arms around her in an embrace, the likes of which they've not shared since he was a boy. "Of course, Mother. I'll take care of you."
When they pull away, he would swear there is moisture at the corner of her eye, but she sounds strong, stoic even, as she argues, "Isn't it the parent who takes care of the child, my dragon?"
"Just this once, then," he returns with a lopsided grin. "I won't tell if you don't."
The moment Draco walks into the Ministry, he regrets the decision. He should have waited; could have asked Hermione to accompany him another day.
In the main lobby, a monument has been erected to replace Voldemort's grotesque 'Magic is Might.' A silhouette of a witch and wizard, wands at the ready as they stand defensively, back to back, is chiseled with names of the war's fallen.
Not the Death Eaters, of course.
He walks by it quickly, heart beating a little faster, breath coming shallow. The names are large enough to read from a distance. He sees 'Creev' before turning away. His eye catches 'Remus' as he makes for the lifts. All the while, faces sneer at him or gawk. A witch turns to watch him walk by, completely abandoning her task of scribbling something into a notebook. A wizard with a tired, weathered face hardens his expression and glares. Another double-takes, giving Draco a once over and focusing on his notable hair.
He slips into the lift, grateful to find it empty. His gaze focuses straight ahead, readying himself for the short but nauseating ride. With one last vision of the monument, he sees 'Diggory' and squeezes his eyes closed, breathing deep to calm his racing heart.
This was a mistake. He repeats it like the words will protect him; as if accepting responsibility will create a shield from the hatred and fear he sees on the faces of those around him. He's desperate to find Hermione and feels like a coward for knowing it, for feeling like she is his safe harbour.
Fuck, he might as well be a pine marten, the way he wants to cower behind her strength.
On the floor that he knows to house her office, he looks right then left before taking a breath and approaching the closest desk. A wizard he doesn't recognize, thank Merlin, looks up and gives him a smile. "Welcome to Muggle Relations. Do you have an appointment?"
Draco shakes his head, grateful all over again to not be known for once. "I don't, I'm afraid, but I was hoping to see Hermione Granger."
"Draco?"
The wizard hasn't even had time to respond when Draco hears her voice, a welcome relief.
She's approaching from the direction of the lifts that Draco only just exited, a small stack of parchment in her hand.
He turns back to the desk just long enough to give the wizard a nod (who then goes back to the work laid before him), then closes the distance to Hermione. If he were a marten, he would paw at her legs until she lifted him close so he could bury his face in her neck. Unfortunately, that is not in the cards, and Draco very much doubts she would appreciate any unprofessional behavior and stops at a polite distance.
"I apologize if I've intruded," he begins, contrite. "I had business at the Ministry and thought it a perfect excuse to see you."
The half smile on her face widens into a grin as she shakes her head in protest. "It's quite alright. Did you see your mother?" With his confirming nod, she gestures further down the corridor. "Would you like to come to my office for a moment? Tell me about how it went? Unless," she interrupts herself, considering, "You have business to attend to. We can talk more later."
"No, no," he says quickly, very uncomfortable with leaving her just yet, with heading back into the bowels of the Ministry and fighting his way past regrets and judgements. "I just need to make it to Magical Lineage before five. Shouldn't take a moment."
She eyes him curiously as she starts walking again. "What's in Lineage?"
"Documents to take ownership of the Manor and the family holdings," he tells her openly.
She looks at him with wider eyes. "You're moving on this quickly, then."
With a shrug, he steps ahead of her to push open the door that seems to be her destination and holds it open for her as she steps inside. He watches as she crosses to her desk, covered in various stacks of parchment, writing utensils, and at least three tea cups scattered about. "You look busy," he comments, slightly amused by the state of her desk.
She glances at it and blushes. "It's been a long week. A witch in Portsmouth revealed herself to a gathering of Muggles at some festival they have there. A very large number of witnesses...We're trying to spin it as a street performer to give the Obliviation team some relief."
He nods and moves toward the desk, taking a seat in the chair to which Hermione has directed him. Rather than taking the chair across the desk, she perches on the only clean corner just in front of him. It's divine torture how close she's sitting. He wants to pull her straight into his lap, wondering idly if she has any fantasies in regards to workplace liaisons.
"I take it things went well with your mother?"
"Well enough," he allows. "She seemed pretty sure I wanted to tell her I was staying, so she wasn't disappointed."
He recounts the finer points of the conversation, including his declaration that Hermione Granger will be a part of his life for as long as she will have him. His witch tilts her head at him with a soft smile and reaches for his hand, seeming to understand the gravity of the declaration. She doesn't let go until he reaches the end of his story.
"Would you like me to walk with you?" He gives her a questioning look, and she clarifies. "Down to Lineage. The Ministry can be such a maze, and-"
"Yes, please," he throws out quickly, more than grateful.
She laughs a little at his enthusiasm and rises from the desk. "Let me just grab my bag. It's nearly five, so I can just duck out early."
Draco glances at the clock and finds it is not even half past four. "They won't mind?" he asks, slightly nervous for future dealings.
"I'm usually here before eight, and I stay after a lot. I have a pretty flexible schedule, really; I just like to be a bit rigid with myself."
He tucks that away in the back of his mind, knowing he will have to be careful with his comings and goings as Benedick if her schedule is more self-imposed than mandated. Just one more way to be caught…
They make their way to the lifts, Granger speaking politely to a few people as they pass and wishing them a good evening. One witch in particular gives him a deathly glance, but no one lingers, and it is over in a flash.
"Sorry about Gretchen," she whispers low once they reach the lifts. "She doesn't care for… well, most people, I suppose."
Draco grimaces. "Are you sure it isn't just me?"
The looks she gives him is of honest confusion. "Quite sure. Harry popped by yesterday, and she nearly shoulder checked him when they passed at my office door."
A quick image of an off-kilter Potter, all disheveled and awkward, flashes through his mind, and Draco relaxes just a little. Hermione accused him, once, of always knowing what she needs. He thinks that perhaps he could say the same of her.
Lineage boasts an atmosphere of strict order with a minimalist decor. Draco discovers why that is when Hermione leads him straight to the department head. "Hey, Percy."
The redhead in question looks up, glasses perched at the tip of his nose. There are no photographs, portraits, or any other decor. Only grey walls and a desk that holds no more than neatly lined up quills, an ink pot, and the single piece of parchment on which Percy Weasley seems to be working. It's a dramatically far cry from Granger's haphazard space.
Weasley sets his quill into the one empty stand and removes his glasses with precision. They are laid down on the corner of his desk 'just so' before he looks up. "Miss Granger. Lovely to see you, as always."
She glances at Draco and gestures to him as she explains, "Draco has some paperwork to complete in regards to inheritance. Could you direct us where we need to go?"
"Ah, yes." He stands, and Draco notices his attire and general demeanor are as neat and strict as the office. Perfectly pressed robes and not a hair out of place, no wonder even Narcissa Malfoy had a kind word for this particular Weasley. "I met with your mother recently on this same topic. Very punctual lady."
Draco thinks maybe Percy Weasley is as miserly with compliments as his mother, and perhaps he was equally impressed by her.
Nodding, Draco answers, "I've just met with her as well. She explained the Ministry requires my signature to file the necessary records."
"Just so." Flicking his wand at a cabinet to Draco's back, a crisp parchment lays itself on the desk. Weasley gestures to the two chairs in front of him, and both Draco and Hermione take a seat. "This declaration applies physical and magical ownership of all Malfoy properties and lineage rights to the new Head of House. With Lucius Malfoy dishonored and his magic limited, he is no longer recognized in that role. Narcissa Malfoy née Black will not be acknowledged-"
"Why is that?"
Weasley stops and looks to Hermione; Draco follows suit.
She asks again, "Why didn't the Malfoy estate fall to Narcissa?" She looks inexplicably annoyed. Draco's eyes fall back to the Ministry official at the other end of her gaze.
"Narcissa Black is a Malfoy via marriage bond and so cannot inherit the properties in full. If Mister Malfoy," his eyes shifting to Draco in case there was a question as to who is in reference, "seeks to have his mother physically removed from the property, she may petition to remain based on spousal rights, but ownership will never transfer."
"I see," Hermione says primly. Draco looks at her in question and she stage whispers, "I just wanted to make sure it's not because she's a witch or some such antiquated nonsense."
She really will forgive anyone, champion anyone's rights, Draco thinks. Even someone who has treated her as poorly as Narcissa Malfoy... It gives him hope for a little lost marten.
"If I may?" At his prompt, Hermione invites with a hand gesture that Weasley may continue. "As I say, if you wish to have your mother removed from the property, you will need to file with my colleague in Property Protections."
"That's not necessary," he answers. "She will be welcome to stay at the Manor with my father."
Another clipped nod, and Percy presents a quill. "Be warned, this is a familial contract. As such, the quill will be utilizing your blood for the signature."
Draco hears Granger whisper, "Barbaric," but she says no more. Accepting the quill gingerly, he scrawls his name, wincing at the sting as it drains drops from his veins to write. He turns his hand over, but sees no blemishes left behind.
"It's not a Black Quill," Weasley explains. "Can hardly have the Ministry asking you to tattoo your own signature on your hand."
Belatedly, Draco realized this was meant to be a joke.
"Miss Granger, I do hope you would consider visiting Mother for Sunday roast. She has been quite distressed that you've not visited of late."
Draco watches her blush and glance back at him under her lashes. "I've been a bit busy on the weekends, but I'll try to make it this week."
"Most excellent. Perhaps Mister Malfoy might like to accompany you."
Draco is a little taken back by the inclusion and nods at the wizard politely. Hermione, he notices, doesn't really respond, just hums in thought, and they take their leave.
She is quiet as they make their way from the Ministry: contemplative. After awhile, Draco starts to feel uncomfortable, searching for something to say.
"I apologize if I've kept you from other obligations for our Sunday brunches, Granger."
That seems to snap her out of her thoughts, and she shakes her head in denial. "No, don't apologize. It was my choice. I've not been eager to see Ronald that often. Or Ginny, since she and Harry called it off."
A few more steps of silence, Draco exhibiting uncharacteristic patience when she asks, "If I did go, would you want to come with me?" She's chewing her lip and looking at him from the corner of her eye. Draco can't work out if she even wants him to say 'yes'.
Not that he's eager to attend, but he doesn't know how he feels about her hesitation. Is she uncomfortable with the thought of having him there? Perhaps she thinks he wouldn't behave civilly. "Whatever would make you comfortable," he finally says, a bit stiff and definitely guarded.
She seems to pick up on that. "You don't seem like you particularly want to come."
"You don't seem like you particularly want me to."
Quietly, she admits, "I just think maybe some wounds are still fresh. Molly is still sad a lot because of Fred. And George… he has a lot of anger. Not to mention, Ron…"
Draco gives a brisk nod, understanding perfectly. "Right. Like the rest of Britain, I'm not welcome in polite society."
"No! Draco, that's not… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say you wouldn't be welcome. Molly would never turn you away, and Arthur is incredibly forgiving. It just might… be awkward."
"Yes, I understand too well." His irritation is evolving, and Draco feels an anger build he's been allowing to simmer underneath the guilt and regret. "It was awkward in the Atrium, as well, every witch and wizard in the place stopping everything to glare at me. And the owl post when a wizard nearly knocked me over only to berate me for being there at all. It's quite awkward seeing your pet Weasley eye-fuck you at the pub, only to disappear with him around the corner. I get fucking 'awkward,' Hermione."
Draco picks up his pace, aware that the witch has slowed hers to a stop. What is he even thinking? It's so safe, alone in their little world at Grimmauld. Even a restaurant or two. But where it really matters? Her Muggle family is gone, and the Weasleys are her next best thing. If he isn't welcome there, what future does that leave them?
He tries to envision knocking on the door of their home, Molly Weasley greeting him, but the scene twists into the woman raging at him, screaming at him to get out, that he as good as killed her son. Anger evolves into panic,shame, and he walks faster, unsure where to go. Draco ducks between two buildings just as he hears Hermione call his name and start after him. The moment he's out of sight, he spins in place to Apparate away, seeing her stricken face just as she rounds the corner to stop him.