Flashback chapter is up, you can find it in my profile, it's called "Misery is better together"
A lot of fluff, some angst and smut intertwined in this chapter.
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or other references to the original work of J.K Rowling. I only own my own mistakes
-o-o-o-
Perched in the dark on the window seat, Draco watched how the snowflakes swirled in the wind, coming to rest on the pavement beneath. He wondered if it would stick. Malfoy manor did look particularly beautiful covered in snow. His mind drifted to the time he'd made angels in the snow with his mother, only for his father to later scold him for making the floors dirty when he'd come back inside. Lucius had always hated Christmas, Draco never did find out why that was.
A gentle hand reached out and touched his hair, fingers running through his fringe, he looked up to meet two golden brown eyes looking tenderly at him. She placed a warm cup in his hands and kissed his forehead. He closed his eyes and tried to memorize the feel of her lips against his skin. He wasn't really awake yet, but when he'd opened one of his eyes to peek at his surroundings early this morning and spotted the flakes fluttering outside, he couldn't stay asleep.
The sky was a white grey and he used the warmth from the cup to heat up his soul. He loved Christmas almost as much as he hated it. When he returned to school after Christmas he'd always have plenty of new quidditch gear, toys or other things to brag about. It took him a long time to realise the gifts were empty, hollow even, a bribe to keep him happy. They never did. With one aunt in prison, another exiled for marrying a muggle, it left only him, his mother and father to celebrate. He's father usually drank too much and his mother tried to distract him from it.
His favourite part had always been Christmas mornings, when his mother would let him pick a fairy-tale for her to read him. He always picked the same, even as child he'd liked things to be predictable, to know what to expect. She'd cradle him in her lap and read with enthusiasm. When he'd gotten older his father had made it clear he was too old for fairy-tales, he'd been six at the time.
"It's really coming down isn't it," Hermione said, her voice like sunshine, bringing the light to his own darkness. But he knew there was darkness in her too, just not as much as there had been that night he'd met her at the Leaky Cauldron.
He hummed in response.
"Thanks for the tea," he said and held her gaze. She gave him a faint smile, and he wondered if she was reminiscing about Christmas with her parents, and what they had been like. Had they been filled with love? Had her parents let her believe in Santa until she found it all out on her own?
"You okay?" she asked as her fingertips grazed his cheek.
"I am now." Her brown eyes gave him hope that not all Christmases had to be hollow.
After dinner with the Potter's Hermione had told him something unbelievable. And he'd made her tell him several times since, still waiting to thoroughly believe it. He always said it back of course, and it made his heart swell each time.
"Tell me again," he said, like a needy child wanting to be held.
"I love you." Draco searched her eyes for hesitation. There was none, there never was, but he felt he had to make sure. She leaned closer, her lips lightly brushing against his. Their lips moved in sync, like they'd always been meant to move together in unison.
"I love you too," his voice came out raspy, like a broken whisper and he felt guilty for it. She was the one spending Christmas without her family.
If it wasn't for his mother he'd be happy to spend the holidays hidden away with her in that cabin in Wales. The snow outside had a feeling of melancholy spreading in his chest. The pavement was almost covered in a fluffy white blanket when he finally snapped out of it.
When he downed his lukewarm tea he grimaced. She had definitely put the milk in before the tea. He still drank it though and his lips curved into an involuntary smile.
He gathered some strength and decided to not regret the decision to invite Hermione to spend Christmas with him and his mother, he could only hope they would get along. He stood, stretching his body and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, making his way to the kitchen of Hermione's flat.
"What's that?" he asked. Hermione was stood by the kitchen counter in her lavender satin robe, gripping the magazine in her hands, her expression pure shock.
He went to stand behind her, looking over her onto the magazine. "Oh wow," he said, a smirk lurking at his features, tilting his head to the side to see it from another angle. He had to fight back the laughter bubbling inside.
"Don't you dare laugh, this is- it's not funny," she scowled as they both watched the moving image in the magazine.
"Didn't know you subscribed to that crap." Draco was trying hard to hide his amusement.
"I'm not, it came attached with a letter, asking for a statement. There's an entire article to go with it."
Draco read it over her shoulder, and rolled his eyes at the headline, From enemies to lovers, oh the stupidity these journalist's came up with.
Hermione snorted indignantly. "Does the man have a lover in every city," she read out loud and shook her head.
"Ah, yes, apparently I'm that good," he said and earned an elbow in his stomach. "Ouch!"
"Oh, just shut it you," she said and turned around. Draco sat his cup down and embraced her when she turned around.
"I only have the one," he kissed the freckles on her nose. "And whatever shithead wrote that can piss off, not the finest investigative article written, now is it?"
"Trash is what it is. I would love to know who all of these sources are though, and if they even exist at all."
"Twats all of them." He rubbed circles on her back.
"Do you think anyone would be able to tell just what is happening here?" Hermione nodded towards the magazine on the counter.
"Nah, don't think so," he said and winked.
-o-o-o-
Ronald Weasley spat his scolding hot morning coffee all over his hands and his sister's edition of Witches weekly in front of him. He was sat at the kitchen table in the Burrow this morning, the date on the paper read 24:th of December.
"Fuck, fuckery, fuck," he muttered angrily as he wiped the coffee away from his hands and used a cooling charm to calm the burned skin.
It was the picture in the magazine that had him startled this morning. It wasn't so much whom she was accompanied by at his little sister's quidditch game, he knew she was going there with the blonde ferret. No, it was the expression on the face of his ex lover, a look all too familiar to him. It was the way Hermione's brows slightly furrowed as, the way her pupils were dilated and how her lips parted bit before her teeth grazed her buttom lip, biting back a moan. Staring at the picture he could hear the sound escaping her lips as her knees weakened.
He pulled the paper closer to his eyes, looking at where Malfoy had his hands. He wasn't surprised to notice his hands were nowhere to be seen.
Muttering a series of profanities to himself while fighting the urge to tear the paper to shreds. The blonde git was making Hermione orgasm in the middle of the crowd, at his sister's quidditch game none the less. He abandoned his coffee and the morning sandwich he'd prepared.
"Stupid blonde haired git," he mumbled but still unable to take his eyes off the picture. He wanted to be sure he wasn't reading too much into it. The more he looked the surer and nauseous he felt. They were good though, he had to give them that, because it wouldn't be visible to an untrained eye. Unable to step away from the paper he read the entirety of the article. Gripping the paper hard with his hands.
From enemies to lovers
Redeemed death eater Draco Malfoy and golden girl Hermione Granger spotted at Friday's quidditch game, cheering on the Holyhead Harpies along with the rest of the crowd. Britain's most unlikely of alliances showed up to the quidditch match hand in hand, an act that sent shockwaves through the wizarding community.
"The two of them are inseparable," a source close the couple admits. "She's absolutely smitten with him. If you ask me, I find it appalling", another close source declared.
Our golden girl seems very into the game and almost as out of breath as the players themselves. What ever sparked the romance between these two lovebirds we have yet to find out. Some speak of the two of them coming together is nothing more than another attempt by Draco Malfoy to redeem his reputation after the war, not much unlike his work with his self started D.M Unity. We can't help but wonder if there is a love triangle happening too booth, seeing as it was only a short month ago the blonde wizard was spotted with his arm tenderly wrapped around Astoria Greengrass, a socialite living in Paris. Does the man have a lover in every city?
Another source reveals the two had secret affairs already during their time at Hogwarts, the school they both attended in their younger years. "The way they always bickered had me thinking there was more to it," an old classmate shared with us.
For more news regarding this improbable of romances be sure to check out the weekly editions.
We tried to reach Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy as well as Harry and Ginny Potter for comment.
And that was his Christmas ruined.
Fuck, fuckery, fuck. He'd lost her to a sick ferret with voyeurism tendencies.
He buried his face in his hands, trying to remove any thought of Hermione in his bed, trying to erase the way he loved how her hair fawned out on the pillow, or the way her eyes glowed when she managed a particularly complicated charm. But she wasn't that person anymore, he reminded himself. She hadn't been since after the war. That sparkle in her eye had been replaced with something he didn't recognize, and he'd tried to help her, he really had. It had been proven impossible to help someone who didn't want to be helped.
Shit, he missed her.
-o-o-o-
The Malfoy manor looked huge, and the iron gates in front of Hermione had knots forming in her stomach. She breathed deeply and watched as mist formed in the air from her breathing, her cheeks and nose flushing pink from the cold.
The gates opened with a creak, and the view in front of them was that of a Christmas card. The many trees and bushes were covered in fairy lights. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she'd ever step foot inside of those gates again- but there she was, gripping Draco's hand so tight she thought his bones might break. In her other hand she held a bag, containing a bottle of a particularly hard to find wine that she'd tracked down in order to start off on the right foot with the lady of the Manor. Apparently Draco had gotten his fine taste in wine from his mother. The bag also held Draco's Christmas gift, he was a terribly hard man to shop for since he seemed to have everything.
"See that tree over there?" Draco pointed at an apple tree, right by the gate they were walking through. "I used to climb up there and throw apples at father's friends when they walked through. It was unnervingly satisfying," he said and Hermione relaxed a little. Trying to envision Draco as child, tossing apples at Voldemort's death eaters.
"Ah, and how old were you then? Fifteen?" she teased trying not to show her dishevelled state. He nudged her shoulder and shook his head. Smiling widely.
She expected her heart to stop beating any time now, but it didn't. The snow covering the garden of Malfoy manor made it look less eerie, not like it had the last time she'd been there during the war. The Manor itself stood with pride, the garden stretched for acres. They walked so slow it might look like they were standing still, he didn't rush her and she appreciated that. The snow creaked beneath their feet and snowflakes fell on her hair, turning to moisture as it melted. It was one of those white Christmases you always hoped for, but never got.
"Right there, do you see it?" Draco asked and pointed to another tree.
Hermione squinted slightly to try and focus her gaze. "A tree house?"
"Mother had it built, Me, Blaise and Theo used to kill hours up there."
Hermione reflected on the fact it was Narcissa who had it built. Had his father ever done anything for him except for giving him a hard time? Lucius had quickly climbed to the top of her list of people she disliked, bumping a dead Voldemort to second place.
It took her some time to figure out, but as they reached the front door she realised what he was doing. He was trying to make her see the Manor in a different light, as his childhood home rather than the dark place she considered it to be. She knew him well enough to know he never did anything without intent. It was sweet of him, she thought as they stopped by the front door. It swung open immediately.
"Mr Draco sir, Miss Hermione." The houself curled into a deep bow.
Draco greeted the house elf with a small smile. "Wobsey."
"Mistress is to be right down Sir, she said to take you're coats, you is to wait in the living room."
Draco thanked Wobsey and helped Hermione remove her coat like the gentleman he was raised to be.
The opulence was unmistakeable. The walls were covered in gold frames, portraits of the previous residents of the Manor, the Malfoy bloodline. Hermione felt all their eyes on her as she walked, still gripping Draco's hand like a vice. "Are all of these people your ancestors?"
"Yes, don't mind them," he said and she realised she wasn't imagining the angry glares she was receiving. She used a charm to muffle the echoing sounds of her heels clicking against the marble floor, it did nothing to stop the subtle mumbles from the portraits. She could swear she heard the word mudblood more than once, and she felt her scar starting to ache.
Phantom pain, it's just phantom pain, she repeated in her head.
Hermione was sure the room was bigger than her entire apartment. Opposite of a large black sofa was a roaring hearth; she could feel the heat coming from the blazing ember as they sat down. Next to it stood one of the tallest Christmas trees she'd seen inside a home, decorated with ornaments that screamed wealth passed down through generations. It even had fairy glass hanging in it that cast sparkles that mirrored beautifully on the marble floor. It was magnificent.
Wobsy popped in and handed them each a flute of champagne. She thanked him and he looked up at her with big blue eyes. "Miss no need to thank, miss is guest," he said and bowed again before leaving the room. She really wasn't comfortable being served by a house elf. She tried to comfort herself with the thought of Wobsy receiving minimum wage, even though she was certain he probably wasn't paid at all.
The big windows to her right gave for an incredible view of the garden outside, it truly was magical how the white glistening snow turned the entire world into something else entirely.
"It'll be alright," Draco murmured and she was certain he said it as much to himself as he did her. "Did I tell you that you look amazing?"
Hermione looked down at her dress; deep red, A-line shaped with a bateau neckline, cinched in at the waist. She'd braided her bangs out of the way, and put her hair up in a low bun. She was sure Christmas at the Manor entailed a dress code, unlike the Christmas at the Weasley's. "Thank you, you do too." He did look mesmerizing in his maroon suit. Draco did spoil her in that way, he never failed to make her heart throb with the many suits he owned.
-o-o-o-
Narcissa had spent the morning pacing around the Manor, burning every calorie she had consumed in the process.
Today would be a first, the first time a mudblood had been invited to the Manor in company of a Malfoy. She loved her son, but she was worried he was making all the wrong choices. The situation reminded her too much of the time her sister Andromeda had confessed to falling in love with a muggle-born.
The values she'd been raised with as a child was that of blood purity, superiority, and she had passed those values on to her son with pride, as had her husband. She was still of the belief magic should be practised by those who earned it, and for her entire life she had believed the only ones deserving were the ones who had pure blood running through their veins.
She sipped the tea Wobsy had prepared for her, deep in thought. Thinking of all the ways she had failed to protect her son from the darkness of the war, and that it was her fault he'd lost his way to such an extent he would turn to a mudblood for comfort. She shook her head. When he'd told her about him and miss Granger she had to use every trick in her arsenal to not let her disappointment show. She'd since that talk summed the situation up to her son struggling after the war.
Many nights her mind had been occupied with how it had happened. How could her son put their family through this? How could Draco think it wise to be associated with a muggle-born? Sure, she had heard the talk, Hermione Granger, the next Minister of Magic, brightest witch of her age. It only made it worse in her opinion. Her son was not one to stand in side-lines of anyone.
Maybe he could still mend things with that Astoria girl. She grimaced, she honestly had never liked Astoria Greengrass, but she was a better choice than miss Granger any day of the week.
Her son had always been ambitious, curious of the world, but as she'd seen him grow up she'd seen that spark in his eyes grow weaker and weaker. When the war approached and he took the dark mark she'd seen that spark disappear completely.
She stirred her tea with a silver spoon, reading the article about her son and the mudblood she'd been sent. She worried about it for many reasons, first was Lucius' fury when he read it, second was the fact her son openly went against everything their family stood for, it wouldn't go unnoticed in her circles. She eyed the picture with contempt, finding herself in a dilemma; If she fought against this whim of his she might lose him all together, and if she didn't she had to accept it and that she simply could not do.
She was born into the Black family, a family that's prided themselves on blood purity for centuries, and her son was a blood traitor. The pounding in her head increased, she rubbed her temples with her fingers and wished for a different reality.
-o-o-o-
"Mother," Draco said and stood from the sofa, giving her a kiss on each cheek.
"Draco, dear, you look lovely," Narcissa said warmly.
"I know you've met before, but, under different circumstances," he gestured towards Hermione who had come to stand beside him, suddenly incapable to think of a good way to introduce the two.
"Miss Granger, it's a pleasure to meet you again," Narcissa said, and to Draco the shift in her voice was obvious, it was the tone she reserved for people she disliked, when she had to force politeness. He tensed, wondering how he ever thought this to be a good idea.
Hermione shook her hand and greeted her politely, trying hard to not show how uncomfortable she was. "You're home is lovely," Hermione said; only lying a little. Nothing about the Manor felt like a home at all. She extended the bottle of wine, it felt more like a peace offering than anything else. Narcissa thanked her, and if she was not mistaking, her smile reached her eyes this time.
The all sat down under the dim light of the sparkling chandelier above them, Draco and his mother talked about trivial things and Hermione spent the most time admiring and loathing the space they were in. Even though the crackling fire brought warmth, she still felt shivers running down her spine. The house felt cold even though it wasn't. They talked for a while about the wine Hermione had gifted Narcissa, the blonde woman was curious to now how she had acquired it.
Draco seemed to relax when the two of them were talking and Hermione admitted she'd been impressed by her son's knowledge of wine when he'd ordered a bottle of Brunello on their first date.
While Hermione spoke about her first date with her son, Narcissa's eyes darted between the two of them. When she saw the way her son looked at her, she knew she'd been wrong. It wasn't a whim; he had fallen deeply for this woman. When Hermione touched his arm absentmindedly, she detected a spark in his eyes, the spark she'd thought to be lost. Until today.
Narcissa suggested Draco take her on a tour of the Manor while she finished preparing their dinner. She needed time to revaluate and she did her best thinking when she cooked.
-o-o-o-
"So this is where you spent your days brooding when you weren't being a git at Hogwarts," Hermione mumbled while taking in Draco's childhood room. It was large, the size of her living room, the colour of the walls a moss green, a darker version of his current bedroom.
Draco huffed and rolled his eyes in reply as he stood by the closed door with his arms crossed. The room held more books than she'd expected, along with some wizarding trinkets, a desk a chair and a sofa. There was a big window overlooking the backyard, she could see a shed by the far end. A queen-sized bed with a canopy draped above it stood by the window, with mahogany bedside tables on either side. She could tell he was studying her reactions.
"It's a lot darker than your flat," she pointed out, "if I ever did imagine Draco Malfoy's room it would be something like this, maybe less books and more quidditch posters though, and supposedly some dark artefacts" she mocked and smiled at him.
"Right, well, if I did own any dark artefacts, which, the Malfoy family obviously does, it certainly wouldn't be placed in my bedroom," he said and uncrossed his arms.
"Is this the room we will be sleeping in tonight then?" she asked.
"Here, or any of the guest bedrooms, you can chose." He made it sound like it was normal to have several rooms to choose from.
"Here's fine," she said with her eyes glued to his bed. It was strange being there, even stranger to imagine the boy who once occupied this very room, doing his homework by the desk, tossing his school robes on the floor or taking a nap on the sofa.
She ran her fingertips over the soft bed linen.
"It's weird to have you in here," he admitted while frowning slightly, a smirk lurking on his features.
"Yeah? It's weird for me too."
There was something about being there that tempted her, maybe it was a twisted fantasy she never knew she had, but there was something about being in his room that made her want him even more. Maybe it was the idea of what could've happened if their past had been different, or maybe it was the sight of his old school robe she'd glimpsed in his closet, taking her back to that Hallows eve night.
She put one foot on the bed, sliding her dress up just enough to expose the lace hem of her stay ups, and the strap attached to the garter she was wearing underneath, pretending it needed adjustment. She could practically feel the burn of his stare on her thigh.
Draco cleared his throat. "What exactly are you doing?" there was a hint of surprise in his voice; mixed with something else she'd come to recognize as lust. She didn't look up, but she could hear him walking towards her.
"Adjusting the strap," she answered innocently, doing her best to sound indifferent while she grazed the exposed skin on her upper thigh with her fingertips. She was about to put her leg back down on the floor when she could feel him standing behind her.
"Did you think it to be wise to were such, slutty lingerie to visit my family?" he whispered venomously against her neck while his hands slid under her dress. She did her best to stay composed.
"Mm, well if I want the treatment for being one I have to dress the part, right?" That did it.
Oh he was predictable in some ways wasn't he? So easy to seduce, she thought when he pressed himself close to her backside.
"Well, you'll just have to pretend you got the full tour of the manor when mother asks, because I intend to fuck you instead." He kissed her pulse point, down to her collarbone and demanded she'd take her dress off. "You are good at pretending, but you'll have to do better if you're asked if you liked the library. See, I'm very sure you're straps needed no adjustments at all."
She never could hide what she wanted from him. The dress was off with one swift motion, Draco took a step back to enjoy the view. It never seized to make her uncomfortable when he did that.
"Been shopping without me?" he asked and raised a brow, his eyes devouring her body, wile he removed his jacket, pants and rolled up the sleeves of his black button down. She wasn't surprised he noticed that the emerald green balconette bra with matching underwear and garter were new. He always did take his time removing all the fabric form her body, giving himself a lot of time to, watch.
"It's new, yes," she said, not able to stop her cheeks from blushing pink under his gaze. He told her to remove her knickers and get on the bed. She sat down on the edge of it, and he parted her legs with his. "I left my wand downstairs, do you have yours?"
"No, mine's downstairs as well."
He parted her legs wider and she had to remind herself to breathe. "Then you will just have to be quiet then," he said darkly "Any noise at all, and I'll stop, got it?" He grabbed her chin, tilting her head back, so he could see into her eyes.
"But surely this house, Manor, is big enough, no one will hear anything."
"Are you questioning me?" his tone held a very serious threat. She saw no trace in his eyes that reminded her of the man that said he loved her, no sign of his gentleman behaviour or compassion. There was only darkness, danger and possibly anger. That look alone was enough to make her squirm, make her beg, make her forget her name because it held promises of him doing to her exactly what she craved. She was so wet now she was sure it had dripped down on the bed linen she was seated on. "Have you lost your speech already, love?"
"No." He was still waiting for a proper answer, "I mean, no I'm not questioning you."
"Good," he said short and grinned devilishly. In a matter of seconds he was on his knees, bending her knees over his shoulders, pulling her body forwards until his face was inches from her core.
She moaned and he stopped instantly. "Do I have to gag you?"
Hermione propped herself up with her elbows and shook her head, although, she wasn't that opposed to the idea.
She could feel his nose parting her slick folds, then his tongue moved from her arse up to her clit. She shuddered and fisted the covers, biting her lip to keep quiet.
Fuck, fuck, fuck that felt good.
He slid his tongue inside of her and she shuddered. His tongue never stopped moving and she never could predict his next moves. Her body was melting on the mattress and she fought back moan after moan to the point of insanity. Even though she couldn't moan in appreciation for his efforts, he was smug enough to know exactly what spots to hit to make her want to scream.
He moved her further onto the bed, positioning himself on top. When he kissed her she could taste herself on his tongue. Her cunt throbbed with the loss of touch, his hand grasped her throat, and when his lips found hers again she couldn't stop a moan from escaping her as he stretched her open with his cock. He pulled out of her completely, then thrust into her again harder, making her breath catch in her throat each time. He did that until he was finally able to bury himself fully inside of her. He kissed her again, this time most likely to muffle the sounds of his own pleasure. He got on his knees, placing her legs against his shoulders; wanting the full view of her body as he drove into her mercilessly.
Repositioning herself, she made sure he was hitting against her G-spot, the feeling had her ready to explode.
"Fuck," she cried, it wasn't loud, but he'd heard it. Still inside of her, he stopped moving and she imagined it had to take a lot of self-restraint, it looked to pain him greatly.
He let her legs fall to either side of his hips as he leaned forward. It was hard to think when he was still inside of her; the smallest movement had her aching for friction.
"I thought I told you to be quiet?" He eyed her with disappointment and it was incredible.
"I will be, promise" He tilted his head to the side, like he was contemplating a numerical chart and not if he should give them both what they wanted. She rocked her hips to convince him of the latter. It worked and she whimpered when he started to move again.
"Ssch", he mumbled next to her ear as he placed one of his hands over her mouth. The loss of control and the way he took charge had her mind turn into a puddle, she was digging her nails into his back as lust consumed her body.
So close.
She wanted to tell him, she wanted to moan as the pleasure became to much to handle, but she was sure he could feel it by the way her cunt squeezed him hard.
Was there any view better than the one she had on top of her right now?
His eyes were dark, with sparkles of icy grey, his hair mussed by the way she'd run her fingers through it. The broadness of his shoulders made her feel small, like he had the power to completely destroy her if he wanted to. He was looking into her eyes now, and she was certain they were silently pleading him to help her let go.
"Turn around."
She did, she laid flat on her stomach when he entered her again, her legs only parted enough for him to squeeze inside of her. His body was pressed against hers, pushing her into the mattress. He probably could tell she was right on the edge by the way she was panting, even though he was doing all the work. He quickly covered her mouth again when she shuddered around him, her walls clamping down on his cock, urging him to let go too.
She didn't think she'd come that quietly in her entire adult life.
The feeling of him releasing himself inside of her was one she never wanted to forget, it was the one moment when they fucked she was certain he was just as lost as she was. A low growl escaped him when she milked him dry.
He collapsed on top of her and she struggled to breathe, but she enjoyed the weight of his warm body on top of hers too much to complain.
She turned around so they were face to face, tracing her fingertips along the curve of his lips. The darkness in his eyes was gone, replaced with the grey, the glint she'd come to recognize as love. It was the same look she'd detected at the quidditch game that Friday afternoon, the look of innocence and something else then couldn't place; until that very same night he'd told her he loved her too.
He took her hand into his and gave her a soft kiss, the sweet kind that assured her what they'd just shared was precious to him.
"I believe the tour is done, we should get back," he said and stood, reaching out his hand to drag her up with him.
"I could use a wand right about now, to scourgify this," she said gesturing to the their combined juices running down the inside of her thighs.
Draco grinned mischievously. "Alright, I'll go get our wands," he said as he got dressed and exited the room with quick strides.
When she was alone, she realised she had just been fucked in the room where Draco had lived the majority of his life, the room where he'd lay thinking about the world, the war, his teenage crushes, his heartaches and troubles. Her heart ached, because she wished she'd known him then, wished she could've given him the love she now knew his father depraved him of. It had never occurred to her back then, that maybe he never really had a choice when he was young, born into his faith and part in the war.
-o-o-o-
The table was big enough to fit ten people, and the food that filled it was enough for ten people as well. Everything smelled amazing, and Hermione was almost sure Narcissa had a suspicion they hadn't actually toured the manor at all, but there was no way she knew exactly why that was, fortunately.
They talked about work, mostly Draco's, Hermione didn't think it to be a good idea to bring up anything of her reform, even though Narcissa already must know about it.
Narcissa shared some stories about how D.M Unity got started. Hermione was intrigued to hear she had lent a helping hand in the process, Draco had never mentioned that.
She asked if Draco had gotten his love of cooking from her, after complementing the food, to which Narcissa nodded her head and explained they used to cook together when he was younger. Hermione sensed pride in her voice. Maybe, just maybe, the love they both felt for Draco could be enough for them to bond.
They all stood abruptly when the flames of the roaring fire in the dining room turned from orange to green. Hermione gripped her wand promptly.
"Lucius," Narcissa said as the man with long white hair became visible.
Hermione knew it before it happened, she could see the fury in his eyes, the eyes that looked too much like the ones she loved. The magazine in his hands was evidence as to why he had come. The hex was directed at her and she thanked Merlin for the quick reflexes she'd learned from the war, deflecting the hex so it crashed into the crystal vase on the table instead. It broke with a loud crack and just as she was gearing up to duel, she felt a strong arm pushing past her, covering her body with his.
"Draco don't," was all she managed, still in combat position, ready to cast and deflect whatever else he might fire.
"Move!" Lucius yelled to Draco, his voice echoing across the walls.
"What the hell are you doing?" Draco yelled back, he sounded as startled as she was.
Lucius' wand was now pointed at Draco, he sneered. "Didn't think I'd find out you were disgracing our family name with your little mudblood crush? And to think I could've had a pure blood grandchild by now." He laughed darkly, flicking his hair to his back.
Hermione felt her body freeze, grandchild? Hermione stepped out from behind Draco. She looked up at him and Draco's eyes met hers for a brief second, and that's when she knew there was something he hadn't told her. Lucius seized the moment of weakness and hit his own son with a leg locking curse. The next one was directed at her, she ducked down to avoid it.
"Expelliarmus!" She caught Lucius wand in her hand. She'd always been good with that spell. Narcissa was quick to use a counter spell to unlock Draco's legs, but she didn't say anything to discourage her husband.
"You didn't tell her?" Lucius drawled and eyed his son through narrowed slits. He was pacing now, like a snake trying to decide from what angle to attack. "Oh well, you see miss Granger, before this," he waved his hands towards them, "obscene infatuation with the likes of you, Draco and miss Grengrass were expecting." Hermione could feel her heart beating so fast, the pulse was drumming in her ears, and it had nothing to do with the number of insults to her blood status.
She looked at Draco. "She was pregnant?". The air felt thick and she had to fight to keep breathing. Draco mumbled series of profanities to his father that only seemed to make Lucius more contented. When he eventually turned to Hermione her brain had already made up a hundred different scenarios, none of them good.
"She was, and I didn't find out about it until after she had an abortion," he confessed. Narcissa gasped, Hermione had forgotten she was even there.
She tried to piece together a timeline and failed miserably.
"An abortion? Why?" Her voice failed her too, she sounded wounded.
"Don't flatter yourself, it wasn't because of you, no," he spoke as if he had the inside scope of the juiciest of gossip, "from what I hear, she couldn't think of anything worse than having a child with a traitor to the cause," he eyed his son coldly, "I suppose I can't blame her."
Astoria had an abortion because Draco didn't believe in a pureblood society anymore? She caught Draco's eyes and she knew, everything Lucius was saying was true. She could tell by the pain in his eyes and the way the corner of his lips twitched.
It dawned on her he'd been going trough it alone, the abortion hadn't been his choice, yet Lucius was speaking of it like he'd had one.
The man was vile. She could feel her magic crackling at he fingertips, the magic the man before her didn't think her worthy of.
"Stupefy!" The spell hit him right in his chest and he fell to the floor with a loud thump. She tossed his wand in his direction and reached for Draco's hand, glaring at the man on the floor, fighting the urge to kick his head in.
He looked at his mother, exchanging words without actually speaking, in a way only a mother and son could.
Draco only knew needed to speak to Hermione alone, to sort out the whole Astoria business he should've told her about long ago. Waiting for his father to come to it would not do anyone good, he might even do something he'd regret if his father were to speak ill about Hermione again, like avada him or something.
He had a hunch his mother had started to warm up to the idea of him and Hermione. Had his father not interrupted them so rudely maybe tonight would have ended differently, in a direction he was hoping for.
He shouldn't have brought Hermione here. She deserved the god damn world and his father talked to her like she was dirt under his shoes. He took a calming breath, they needed to leave now or he'd commit patricide. He accio'd Hermione's bag that held the gifts they were supposed to exchange, and walked with her by his side until they reached the gates. He gripped her hand tight, as to convey how sorry he was.
They walked fast, in silence, and when they finally were outside of the gates, able to disapparate he thought at least now Christmas morning would be theirs alone.
-o-o-o-
Crossing my fingers that you liked this chapter. Please feel free to leave any thoughts you may have. I live for them.
I wish you all a belated merry Christmas.
Lots of love.