Shadows
Hermione collapsed into an armchair, breathing heavy. Sweat streamed from her armpits like an exhaust vent. She smelled the sticky sweet scent of her deodorant. The very heat that radiated from her body was unseemly, and despite the discomfort, she adjusted herself to a more proper position in the home of a lord.
Blaise ran a tight ship from what she could see. He took his meals at the same day, top of the hour, with or without anyone else. Each time he walked through his rooms, he set about fixing things just so to his liking. It was a habit. She doubted, by the depth of his ability to continue a conversation, that he realized how obsessive he was.
Flowerpots were turned in undistinguishable transition. He adjusted coasted also, to undetermined lines, as if the grid was within his mind only.
A home like Blaise's was fully staffed with housekeepers. They swept through the home like a plague in the mornings and again in the late afternoon before they were sent home. It was impossible for the quiet home to dirty so much that it required the master's direct attention.
It was deeper than that. The issue stemmed from some underlying problem. Hermione was unable to discern whether it was control or obsessive compulsive, or just a mere particular taste for certain arrangements. She'd studied him during their three-day visit but had yet to understand him completely.
Part of the blame rested with Draco, whom she noticed being more and more controlling of her experience. He tended to her every need. She wasn't sure if he was a part-time butler to Blaise or if Draco was trying too hard. Either way, she was given a forced peaceful environment.
Even now, he scooped up her shopping bags (mostly books and new quills that she tried to pay for but was swept into a Malfoy expense) and brought them to their room.
She sighed. If she wasn't so knackered, she'd call him out on his behavior. But the mornings were rough, being progressively worse as the days went by. It was only a matter of time before her secret was exposed to Draco.
Her bottom lip fell torture to her teeth as she chewed incessantly. Pain sparked up from the defeated flesh. It wanted release from her constant anxiety.
After the mess the Christmas holiday caused for Draco, Hermione knew that an announcement of such importance required grace. Something she was short of. It took everything within her not to blurt it out. The night before was perfect, too, when she unexpectedly teared up at a portrait of a goose with a line of ugly goslings behind.
They were just fluffy and small. It warmed her heart to see a mother love babies, no matter how ugly and helpless.
She stood there with tears streaming down her cheeks until Ernie found her there. Of course, he forgot of Hermine's special illness and rushed in for a comforting embrace, which resulted in a mouthful of bile to sour her sadness. Draco surrounded her, as if a beacon called him to her aid, and convinced Ernie to beat a hasty retreat back to his girlfriend so that Hermione might be assessed privately.
It was a wild overreaction. Still. Bavmorda Blatt's words echoed in her head.
The effective impregnation of said witch will invoke uncontrolled bouts of protectiveness from the mate, which can turn violent should the magic be strong enough. The closer the bond, the more the pair will fight to protect their progeny. No intervention should be taken by outsiders in an emergency with a pregnant couple under the Drawn experience. Ramifications of such interference could be significant.
As father, Draco Malfoy would be unstoppable. Should anything threaten her life or his unborn child there was no telling what the outcome might be. He was already impossible when it came to her. What would he do if she carried his heir?
All those reasons flashed in her mind when she thought of the words to announce it. She couldn't believe she'd waited so long. It felt a crime now. Guilty. She withheld information that he was entitled to.
His reaction warranted her patience. A riddle to be solved before posed.
It was Draco's reputation and freedom at risk. Should be do a thing that was considered against his parole, the Ministry was within the right to imprison him for the safety of the public. A cell in Azkaban with his name permanently etched in magic, forever contained.
The father of her child. Caged. Like an animal.
The thought of a gaunt wizard that resembled her love, abused, long neglected of human interaction, forced to remain a burden of the world brought up rage within her. Fiery swirls of her magic surrounded her. It burned with a delight hotter than hell. She would demand blood. If it came to it, she'd personally free him herself.
Draco was no monster. He was her mate, her partner, her beloved. Hers.
That was all that mattered. No mate of hers was to be bound and gagged by another's authority.
Her palms flowed with the thick smoke of her power. Beneath her gasp was an ability beyond comprehension. It was the very fluid of her soul against her palm, ready, poised for attack against Draco. She knew that delighted tingle at the base of her spine. The werewolves of the Dark Forest knew it, too, when it ended them for risking his life.
Hermione was overcome with sensation when a shuffling sounded through the foyer. She looked over from her seat lazily and watched as a small child of nine bounded through the threshold with a skip in her step as thick auburn plaits jumped against her shoulders. Her skirt was plaid, down to her knees. White tights covered her legs, finished with cute black ballet shoes complete with tiny bows.
All breath sucked from her lungs at the sight of the little girl. Her smile brightened once she entered, as if she'd come home to a beloved place. It reminded Hermione of herself in so many ways. Innocence shined in her green eyes. Their sheen widened with glee when she was granted pass upward to the next level of the home.
Her body was overtaken by a drive to follow the girl. Something told her to find out. She climbed the stairs in hot pursuit, but the girl was quicker. By the third floor, she was out of sight and Hermione was out of breath.
The third floor was a dark part of the house. It was quiet, desolate, cool. Hermione shivered as she walked through. Doors on each side were closed tight in their frames. Some knobs were coated in a layer of dust. The wallpaper was of navy blue with long faded ivory flowers, a current yellow gold of age. Parts of the corners near the crown molding peeled slightly. A maroon flower pattern was beneath.
She bent over to inspect when a sudden creak spiked her heart rate.
A small hand rested on a knob at the very end of the hall in a dark corner. It slipped behind the wood in an instant, leaving Hermione to question whether it had been there.
Hermione raced to the door and slipped inside. She expected a dank dungeon of a room up in a forgotten part of the house but was surprised to find an oversized home library filled with young children who roamed through aisles with upward gazes in search of titles that captured their fancy. Some of their cute faces were buried behind books bigger than their head. She sighed, overcome with emotion, when thoughts of herself came to mind.
It was just like Hogwarts's library. Children found sanctuary inside the allure of a brilliant fire and old books.
The girl who she followed bee-lined toward a hidden corner of the room back behind it all. Her backpack jiggled with beaded charms from the zippers. Each step was a melody of clear joy as the young girl walked with confidence through a space of safety. Hermione followed desperately though the maze, then astounded with what she saw next.
Blaise. He was bent over a desk, small rim-less glasses against his face as he poked a quill at parts of the parchment within his hand. Two young boys watched his quill. They nodded along as Blaise spoke quietly. Little lights of understanding ignited in their expressions.
She leaned against a bookshelf in total awe as Blaise smiled at the girl with the plaits as she greeted him with excitement. Her words mumbled the delight of a book. Hermione knew it well. It was an interesting read. She agreed wholeheartedly with the comments the young girl made. Blaise smiled and waved her back to the fray of his library when his eyes locked with Hermione's.
He rose from his chair, instructed the boys of his corrections to their assignment and walked in her direction. A single mocha hand slipped to his pocket.
"I see you finally found your way to a library," he said. It almost sounded pleasant.
She blushed. "I didn't mean to snoop."
He waved dismissively. "Three days is a bit slow for you, isn't it, Granger? I'd have bet money you would find it the first night. Instead it was Draco who knocked on my door first. You must have lost your touch."
"My mind has been distracted of late," she answered softly, careful not to pull attention away from the children's studies. It was clear that many of them were engrossed in the tasks at hand.
"I understand that congratulations are in order." He bowed his head slightly. "The future Mistress Malfoy. An esteemed title for a mudblood. You must be very proud."
She hadn't cringed at the curse word. It was the 'Mistress Malfoy'.
Hermione hadn't considered herself that way, but it was true that it was her future position. Mistress of an ancient bloodline.
Her bottom lip was attacked from her teeth once more. "It is an honor."
"And I'll just bet that the previous owner of the title does not share such beliefs."
Narcissa. Another thing she hadn't thought of in a long time. The awful mother of her fiancé.
Monster-in-law. Both were. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, the worst in-laws for a modern, muggleborn witch. Her existence insulted the ground they walked on.
"I'll do my best to carry the name," Hermione stated resolutely. "I won't abuse the title, but I don't believe any actions of mine could sway her to believe my worth. No matter how important I am to her only son."
"Only time will tell." Blaise ran his finger down the spine of a nearby novel. "A serpent bites. It is in its nature to impair the ones who'd save it."
He walked down the aisle between two looming bookshelves. She followed. Her arms crossed her chest in a warm hug.
She scoffed. "The Malfoy's are not serpents. They are dragons."
A genuine laugh echoed from Blaise's throat. "Oh yes! The fearsome dragons, more focused on their hoard than the world's destruction. I happen to agree. Their natures resemble that of dragons rather than the usual Slytherin." A jutted spine of a book was dusted and slid back into its slot in line with its neighbors. Blaise ran his hand across the shelf to ensure it was in line. "Do you know why the Malfoy's flipped during the war?"
It hadn't been information she cared to know. For what it mattered was lost to her. Their flip saved Harry's life. Narcissa risked her entire family's life by declaring Harry dead. Whatever their reason, Hermione didn't care.
Harry Potter was alive because of them.
"For their vaults," Hermione answered. "Voldemort was draining their resources."
"By the end of the war, they would have been less wealthy than most pureblood families, but not depleted." He glanced back at her with raised brows.
She licked her lips. "What does this have to do with me?"
"There has not been a master, or mistress for that matter, of the Malfoy family that has been unscathed from such corruption." His pace slowed. She was suddenly aligned with him in two steps. They were able to look each other in the eye. "Now I may be behind in the morals of Gryffindors, but I know that it is not a position fitting for a proclaimed Gryffindor Princess."
"I don't support that nickname."
Their eye contact remained unbroken. "It does not matter. It is your name to the entire world. Gryffindor's princess, the embodiment of the great Godric Gryffindor. There is not a single witch to be alive from this day forward who will not know you as such. That is a true position."
She narrowed her eyes. "So that is your warning, Buyer beware."
"In a sense." He shrugged. "I don't care one way or the other. I've washed my hands of nonsense of England a long time ago. Perhaps I shouldn't have said a thing. I do owe you an extension of gratitude for your alignment with the position."
"Gratitude?"
He nodded. "Our Tori wouldn't have faired as a Malfoy Mistress. Her temperament is not in par with Narcissa's. She would have been overtaken by the witch's overwhelmed personality."
Astoria was Daphne's sister. She'd almost forgotten Draco's previous commitment.
"I am sorry for what I did to the Greengrass family. It was not my intent to push another witch aside," Hermione said. "Were Draco and Tori close?"
A nearby child waved to the wizard. He assisted them in their dilemma. Italian flowed from his lips with ease as he taught the girl on the riddling of ancient runes.
It took many minutes, but Hermione waited patiently until he finished to resume their stroll through the library.
They wove through in circles as he checked on the studying children, answered their questions and assisted them on their search for answers. A great many questions leapt to mind as she observed him. The light of the Slytherin wizard was very different from the one that Draco painted.
"You've not asked Draco?"
"I'm not that mad." Hermione snorted. "We don't discuss his family much, or their business. It makes him uncomfortable."
"Doesn't he trust you?"
Their trust was not to be called into question. Hermione knew that he did. He told her things that were unspoken to anyone outside the Malfoy family. She knew some secrets.
It was just not a topic she liked to breech when concerned with other witches.
"I think you know he does," she answered in curt tone.
A knowing smirk twisted his face. She wanted to knock it right off of him. Still, her wand stayed at her side.
Blaise turned back to his desk and shuffled papers around, brushed their edges together in the conformity he loved so much and finally raised his eye back to her. "So, it is Draco's promiscuity that haunts him."
She made no attempt to answer. It was an exchange of which she had no control over her emotion. One mention of Draco with another witch might spark a fire to consume the entire townhome.
"Draco and Astoria were paired together during the war. Legally binding contracts. It was by a stroke of luck that Draco did not sign one, or else, they both would have been forced into the marriage by law. No matter whom they loved," Blaise said. "But it wouldn't have been difficult for Draco. He would've done what he liked, as he's always done. Married you despite everything. Dragged his family into lifelong lawsuits. It wouldn't have mattered. But Tori. It would have killed her. She loved Draco."
Hermione gasped. "Loved?"
"She was young," Blaise said as lightheartedly as possible. "She didn't know any better."
Merlin. The poor girl loved Draco. Draco Malfoy.
Blaise watched the moments of horror and disgust washed over her in a dirty rain. She held her breath for as long as possible to block it all out, but the levees broke. All of it flooded her system.
Shock. Heartache.
The wizard grew impatient with her. "Oh save the guilt, Granger. She moved on. It hurt. She suffered and overcame. He is not that great of a catch."
Hermione gasped out again. "So she's alright? Honestly."
"Astoria recovered," he confirmed.
"How could Draco not tell me how she felt for him?"
He spoke of her without emotion toward the witch. Their relationship was innocent, nonexistent based on Draco's recounts. How could he forgo the information of the feelings built between them?
Hermione felt a thief to Astoria's future. She stole what could have been in the witch's life as comfortable and safe as afforded in the world.
It was, after all, what Hermione was after. Safe. Comfort. Existence without threat.
Blaise snorted. "As if the man considers anyone else other than himself. I doubt he paid much attention to her at all. They only met a handful of times."
"Then how was she in love?"
The curl of his lip spoke of his assumption. "Tell me you've not been a fool in love. So hastily jumped into the waters without thought of the dark depths below the surface."
Something in the undertone of his voice haunted her. She felt the creeping sensation of paranoia perked up through the delighted ranks. What was it that encouraged him to say such a thing?
A child ruptured through their personal congress to ask a question. Blaise leaned down to hear the small voice of the boy and repeated aloud. The boy nodded. In his hands was the book in question, a hefty weight above his thin arms. Small, rimless glasses were produced from Blaise's pocket. The mocha flesh of his fingers ghosted the surface of the soft pages of the book as he scanned printed word for a riddle of an answer.
The atmosphere was filled with quiet, working minds. She felt the knowledge flow the pages of the books. It was the way she felt when she entered Hogwarts library, the perfume of wood fire and ancient knowledge a hefty weight on her breath.
Through the light of fire, she noticed a small congregation of children in a circle. She approached it. Her footsteps a soft tread. Their gazes fixed ahead. A soft hum of a voice flowed in through on steady waves. It was in Italian. A spicy mix of words as they moved through the course of a book.
Hermione peered from behind the bookshelf at the small group where a small woman sat with a large book between her pale arms. Her flowy, mint-colored robes rested against the footrests of chrome.
Daphne.
She taught a lesson to the children. Their little eyes listened as she read from the passages, sometimes she paused to address them. Hermione did not speak the language, but she figured from collection of discussion and lesson, it was a guided reading class. They read the book on their own time and in class while the topics were discussed. Muggle primary school did such activities.
The smile on Daphne's face was unmarked with strain or stress. Her eyes were bright, shiny as she regarded her students. Words danced through her mouth.
Blaise appeared at Hermione side in silent watch of his wife.
"The world has changed," he said in a long sigh.
"None of us are the same." She agreed.
"Perhaps that is the Dark Lord's legacy. Through battle wounds and blood, we shall rise stronger than before."
"Or we shall fall darker still," she said. Her arms were crossed as she watched Daphne teach. The witch moved without thought of the limitation of herself. One hand rested on the wheel to move her forward, or the subtle drag of her knee to propel her toward a raised hand. "Has she been to healers?"
He gave a sardonic chuckle. "Healers. Yes. We've been the just about every healer in the world to have her looked at. Nothing can be done. She is that way. Yes, it is always the monsters we know that do the most damage, not the ones we do not. Why is it we fear the unknown deeper than the ones beside us?"
A lump rose in her throat. She knew of demons.
"Theo, you mean."
"He is only one piece of the puzzle." Blaise sighed. "But yes."
"Is he truly the reason she's like that?"
The curiosity was a weight to carry around, unanswered questions. The riddle to their past. What happened between those Slytherins?
All their secrecy in Hogwarts was believed plotting against the other houses. Not once had Hermione imagined there were secrets within the house constituents itself. There were all a single shield while in the corridors. All of Slytherin united against their enemies of the school. That was how she remembered them.
She mistook their actions as loyalty. A trait most fitting of their Hufflepuff friends rather than the dreaded snakes. There was attitude that they banded together, in allegiance against half bloods and the rest they deemed unworthy of the gift, like there was not a shred of doubt amongst. But now. There was nothing but suspicion between their actions. Schoolyard nonsense ruptured their friendships. Theo and Pansy being the most notable of the two.
"He might not have held the wand, but he is the one who turned the attention toward her. So, yes. His treachery with her started long ago."
He bled into the shadows below the shelves. His dark eyes beckoned her to follow.
It was all one room. Voices carried. There was little privacy from that of little prying ears. His desk displayed in the open for easy access to those in need of help, yet it rendered it useless for private conversations.
Hermione felt rather put on the spot as he gestured her to sit. She did as she was told. It reminded her of the Headmasters office at Hogwarts with a giant noble desk boasted in pride as little chairs made the visitors feel small and insignificant. The divide between headmaster and student a source of superiority and insecurity.
Instead of taking his place behind the desk, he took the seat alongside her. His legs crossed at the knee. The fabric of his suit wrinkled in deep creases until they were smoothed out with the press of his palms.
"A snake sheds its skin. This we know. Always changing, adapting, surviving. As I said it is the nature of the serpent to strike those who come to its aid," Blaise said lowly. "Theo's mum died long ago. He's only grown with his old man, a pathetic excuse of a wizard. All they knew to do was torture one another. Their hearts, blackened, shriveled. Incapable of nothing but poison. Do you understand?"
She swallowed. "He bit Daphne."
"You've got a quick mind," he said.
"They were toxic together, weren't they?"
Blaise bobbed his head. "Incapable of escaping one another. She was pulled in to heal him, and he used it to his will."
"But how did that lead to this?" Hermione asked. "Hogwarts was childish nonsense. Not war."
"Was it?" His brow lifted. "Felt very much a war to me."
The war was darkness and distrust and fear and panic. Sure, aspects of those were present during term. Draco did terrorize them into panic at points. He, also, introduced darkness with his actions that led to the death of Albus Dumbledore.
Those were the acts of war. School was different. It was butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks…where they met with Rita Skeeter to fight the Ministry of Magic. There was the library she perused for hours on end…to find a recipe for Polyjuice potion for second year. The Quidditch was a place where outside influences never took place…except when the Dementors sucked Harry's soul as he flew.
She swallowed. The reality of Hogwarts was different than she remembered.
"Precisely," Blaise said. "It bled everywhere, the things that took place in that castle. And Theo's usage of Daphne as his own plaything to discard and pick up at his leisure gave his own father twisted ideas at what it meant to be a Death Eater. Nott senior lacked in morality just as his son did. He paid of visit to the Greengrass estate during the war for a piece of his own son's due."
Her lungs rattled out a breath. "I'd only heard rumors. But, that was wartime talk. You never knew what to believe then."
"There is a power in our associations. Use it with caution. Monsters seen are more deadly, than shadows."