a/n: Hope everyone had a great holiday (if you celebrate)! Here's hoping for a better year for all in 2021! As always, a huge thank you and much love to my alpha, Helene, and my beta, Noodar!
Chapter Nine: Talk
Hermione awoke to an odd crick in her neck. As she opened her eyes and reached her hand up to the source of the pain, she took in her surroundings. She was in the same spot as the morning before. Her head was slightly slumped against the headboard, but she had slept soundly, regardless. A tiny snore and the weight of the mattress beside her told her that Draco had apparently slept well throughout the night, too, after she had come in.
She carefully slid off the bed so as not to wake him and slipped out of the room. Her mind spun for seemingly the hundredth time in a matter of days. She had actually slept - and well - next to Draco Malfoy for the second night in a row. And he had slept well next to her. That was confusing, and some part of her felt a pang of guilt. She shouldn't like any part of this; shouldn't have any positives, especially not with him.
The thoughts snaked their way through her head for the next half hour. She rushed through the motions of the morning, preparing herself for the day and ordering the same food and drink as the day before. The sound of the bathroom door closing and the start of the shower echoed throughout the suite.
She stood near the window, gazing out at the morning view and allowing her thoughts to drift off until the lift door opened and the cart rolled out into the sitting room. She gathered her food and coffee, then flipped through the meaningless papers before taking her breakfast back to the table by the window. When a whoosh of black passed in her peripheral, she whipped her head to Draco, who was at the cart facing the other way.
"Good morning," she said, taking a leap she hadn't expected of herself.
He turned to her with his coffee in one hand and a few papers in the other. "Morning," he said. His face was unreadable. He didn't move for a second as he sipped his drink. He walked over to her and sat in the same spot he had the day before, flicking his wand behind him to summon his food.
They sat in silence.
She tried to keep her eyes focused on what was in front of her and the view beyond the windowpane; tried to look anywhere but at him. She should have known that her efforts would be futile with the enigma who sat beside her. Her gaze drifted to his fingers, watching them as they moved from soundlessly tapping the table to gripping his mug. She followed them up as he drew the mug to his lips. Her eyes kept trailing upward until they landed on his. He had been watching her, and the heat grew to her cheeks. She tore her eyes away, fiddling with the banana in front of her.
They stayed quiet until their food was gone and their drinks were empty. Draco stood and cleared their dishes away with his magic; she followed as he headed towards the lift. As they left the hotel, they narrowly avoided the wizarazzi by leaving through the back door again. They managed to avoid eye contact the whole way. It was Sunday - time to head back to the château - and she was thankful that there were no outings or meetings for the day.
They arrived back at the château at a quarter to noon and walked together quietly down the path and through the double glass doors. As Hermione passed the sitting room, she kept her eyes trained to the stairs. She wasn't scared of the room, but she was reminded of the day she first arrived at the Manor and had to pass by the drawing room. She knew full well that this was a normal reaction to trauma, yet she was irked at how it affected her the way it did. She took one last glance at Draco as he turned the corner, vanishing out of sight, and she thought about how well he seemed to manage everything. She wished she could talk to him about how he did so; find out how he kept himself alive in Voldemort's world when she could easily see the good within him after such a short time together.
She had seen him with his guard down in little flashes over the past week; each one was gone as quickly as it had come. He masked himself well. He was skilled at concealing his pain, but she had seen him falter here and there, ever so briefly, and wondered what else was within him yearning to be discovered.
She stood there before the stairs, teetering back and forth between whether or not to face the sitting room until she finally turned around and marched back to the door. Pushing it open, she stared into the space. It looked perfect. It looked nothing like it had when Lucius had first pulled her in to face Voldemort. No upturned tables. No shredded curtains. No broken chandelier. She just stood in the doorway staring at the perfectly fine room.
For a few days, she had been able to forget about what had happened in there. But now it was right in front of her, and all the feelings associated with the sight were brought to the forefront of her mind, along with the countless other terrible thoughts that she had tried to push down within her.
She couldn't help the streams of tears that fell from her eyes, though she didn't succumb to the desire to crumble to the floor and bury her head in her hands. Instead, she focused all her energy on calming the storm inside her. She chose a spot on the wall and concentrated.
A pop behind her had her gasping, slapping a hand to her chest. When she whipped around, she caught sight of Lottie in the hallway.
"Hermione! Lottie didn't know you were there!" the elf squeaked.
"That's alright, Lottie," Hermione said, though it suddenly made sense to her why Draco had snapped at the elf for her appearance during their practice session the previous week. She quickly wiped her hands across her cheeks.
Lottie scurried over, passing Hermione and closing the sitting room door. "This room is not to be used anymore. Mast- Draco had Lottie clean it up after he carried Hermione to her bed."
Hermione stilled. He did what?
"Lottie must be getting to the kitchen now!" the elf said, failing to notice Hermione's clear pause as she scurried off.
She stood there imagining him holding her close to his chest, carrying her up the stairs and to her room. Surprising. Or maybe it wasn't? Before their first night in Paris, she wouldn't have believed it, but she had learned that this was characteristic of Draco, and she wanted to know more.
Turning around with furrowed brows, she let her legs carry her out the front door and across the grounds as her mind ran amuck. She found herself walking towards the dense woods on the left side of the château. She walked and walked until she was well under the cover of the tall ancient trees, out of view from the windows. The hint of moss and decay only found in wooded areas filled her nose, and she was reminded of the Forest of Dean and her time spent there with not just her parents, but Harry and Ron.
She tried to clear her head, listening to the sounds of the birds and insects all around. The wind blew through the towering trees above her, and though the sounds were present, there was a muted quality to the atmosphere.
She ventured off the main path, allowing herself to meander. But as quickly as her thoughts had left Draco, they landed back on him as she wondered if he had ever just wandered through woods like this. Then again, she didn't think he was much of the wandering type.
She stopped. Something about the spot she had stumbled upon felt peaceful. Maybe it was the way the light was filtering through the trees; the way all the sounds just fell off to the side, but she felt oddly calm. She sat down, leaning her back against an ancient tree. Looking up, she admired the way the branches twisted with each other, and saw something shiny that didn't belong there. It was a snitch tangled in the branches.
So much for clearing her head.
As she sat there, she gave in and let Draco take over her thoughts. The image of him flying through the air in the late hours of the night and early hours of the morning ran through her mind. She let go and let herself think about him in a way she hadn't consciously done before. Her mind wandered to the night of his birthday; to his hands running over her body, to his lips connecting to hers, to waking up next to him.
After the draining days that somehow made a week feel like a month, her time in the woods was cathartic. When the daylight faded, Hermione picked herself up and started off the way she had come. But before she got too far, the silver snitch flashed through her mind. She turned back and headed towards the tree it was stuck in.
Using a few notches in the tree trunk and a sturdy branch, she lifted herself up and stretched her arm just high enough to push the little item. She hopped to the ground. As the snitch fell, its wings fluttered until it hovered directly in front of her, displaying a beautifully etched M in its center.
Hermione buried it in her pocket and ran back to the château just before the sun had completely set.
The next morning couldn't come any sooner. Hermione stared at the clock as it hit ten past three. She was lying in bed, fiddling with the snitch she had found, waiting for her day to start. She wanted to have some kind of social interaction; the last four hours had been riddled with bouts of reading, pacing, staring at the wall, and miserable attempts at sleeping.
She couldn't take it any longer. With a swish, she flung the covers aside, hid the snitch under her pillow, and headed out the door in the argyle sweats and t-shirt she'd slept in for too many nights. In a matter of minutes, she had made her way down to the foyer. Down the hall and past a second set of stairs, Hermione found a long hallway. This part of the house wasn't as lavish as the rest; it was the elves' hall. The old faded floorboards creaked under her feet as she walked. At the end of the corridor was an archway leading to a spiral staircase. She descended into the basement and emerged into a spacious kitchen with a large range cooker. Perfect.
There were exactly two things she thought to look for. Red wine. And chocolate.
In the third cabinet she searched, there was an old bottle of petit verdot. She found a stemmed glass in a nearby pantry and a tub of vanilla ice cream with chocolate chunks. It would have to do. She set everything up on the center island. Popping the cork out of the bottle took longer than she would have liked, but with a few twists of a knife, she got it. For a quarter of an hour, Hermione sipped the smooth drink and picked at the ice cream, eating all the chocolate bits she could find.
"Helping ourselves now, are we?"
The deep voice was recognizable in an instant. She didn't even turn around.
"Oh, yes," she cooed, savouring another bite of the cold dessert.
"Care to share?" Draco said as he rounded the corner of the table and leaned against the counter across from her.
Hermione saw him staring at the pajamas she was wearing, then he met her eyes. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't frowning or scowling, either. She slid the tub across the stainless steel, but his eyes flickered to the bottle by her elbow. He moved swiftly as he pulled his wand from his pocket and flicked it, summoning another glass. She switched the tub with the wine and pushed the bottle across to him, her arm jerking with pain at the strained movement.
He lifted his chin, gesturing to her shoulder. "Still feeling the Crucio?"
"A bit," she said.
For several moments, they were quiet, sipping away at the wine.
"You said you've built up a high tolerance…" She took a sip of her drink and risked a glance at him over the rim. Her statement was more of an invitation. Tell me more.
He shrugged. "I did say that. And I have."
Hermione lowered her glass to the table, openly staring at him. "How?" she asked, her voice small.
He shrugged again, refusing to meet her gaze. "Learned to focus on something else."
"On what?" She couldn't stop herself.
He glanced at her then, and her cheeks felt warm. It was too personal of a question.
"Sorry, I shouldn't have-"
"My mother," he said.
She swallowed and nodded. "Anything else?"
"Flying," he said. "Something that's…"
"Happy," Hermione finished for him. She picked up her glass, took a sip, and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter. "Can you cast a Patronus?" she asked. If he had memories strong enough to block out a Crucio, it stood to reason those same memories could be used to create a Patronus.
"A Death Eater can't produce a Patronus."
The sound of him admitting aloud what he was sent a shiver up her spine. She quickly shoved it aside.
"But have you tried? I think you could, if you wanted to," she said, trying to take casual bites of the ice cream. "Mine's an otter."
"An otter? Really?" He snorted.
"Well, I assume yours would be a ferret, so you can't talk," she said playfully.
He scoffed, feigning offense. "You and I both know it would be a dragon. A big one." He smiled, and Hermione couldn't miss the little bite of his lip.
They stayed silent for several long minutes, both working on their drinks. Hermione's thoughts were a jumbled mess as she kept glancing at the man across from her. He was being civil, and with everything she had learned from him in just a short amount of time, she was struck with the possibilities ahead of her. If they could have a decent relationship, she could manage everything better; maybe even learn Occlumency from him in time. Maybe she could figure out how to find Hagrid or get in contact with the Order. She could strategize how to get to Nagini; how to kill Nagini. Voldemort would be mortal then. And it occurred to her just how important this interaction was; how significant it was that they had this time alone again. Completely alone together.
She hadn't used her time with him in Paris wisely. She hadn't realized then that maybe the situation in which she was meant to be imprisoned was the exact situation she could weaponize in her favour. In the Order's favour. Hell, even in Draco's favour.
She considered her next words carefully. "You carried me," she said, meeting his gaze.
"What?" He was clearly taken aback, though a moment later he tore his eyes away to look down into his glass.
"You carried me. After what Voldemort did. Lottie told me. You carried me from the sitting room-"
"And?" he said.
"And…well, I was just a bit surprised to hear that," she said, smiling at him.
He scoffed.
"What?" she said.
"Surprised." He shook his head. "Do you really think I would have just left you there on the floor?"
She summoned her best Draco smirk. "I suppose not. But just so you know, I would have had to leave you on the floor. I'm not strong enough to carry you."
"That's obvious," he said. "Would you have at least thrown a blanket over me?" He was smirking at her over his glass.
She heaved a big sigh. "Oh, I don't know, all the blankets look so expensive, I'm sure your father would have my head if I let them touch the floor."
Draco laughed through his sip of wine; the corners of Hermione's mouth lifting into a smile at the sight.
"I have to say," she started. "This hasn't been that bad."
His face fell into a stoney expression.
Shit. Maybe that wasn't the right direction to go in.
"We're in the middle of a war," he said.
"I know that. I'm just saying…well…it could be worse."
"How so?" he murmured, examining his glass.
"This," she gestured between the two of them. "It isn't as bad as I thought it would be. You aren't who you used to be."
"Yeah, well…" his voice trailed off. "You're right, Hermione," he finally said. "I'm not who I used to be." He shrugged casually and continued to drink.
The energy was tense between them, though it wasn't unpleasant. He had used her first name, which, by the flicker of something in his expression, he seemed to realize after the fact.
After a few minutes, he reached out, stealing her spoon, and took a large bite of ice cream.
She tried to take the spoon back, but he was too quick for her. In seconds, he had his wine glass in one hand, and the tub with the spoon inside in the other. He stepped away from the island and leaned back on the edge of the counter, grinning.
Hermione rolled her eyes, heaved a big sigh, and climbed up and across the counter.
Draco looked startled. "And just what are you doing?" he demanded.
"What does it look like? Going over to your side so I can have more ice cream before it melts." She swung her legs over the edge closest to him, reaching out to grab the tub. He held it high above his head.
"Hold on, hold on, stop being greedy." He put his wine glass down, pulled out his wand, and tapped the container. "Glacius. There. Now it won't melt." He passed the ice cream back to Hermione.
She ate a large spoonful and passed it back to Draco before she turned to get her glass. It was almost empty.
Draco must have noticed. "There's got to be another one of these around here," he said. He flicked his wand and muttered a summoning charm. A second bottle flew from the depths of a cabinet straight into his hand. He reached up to grab a corkscrew that was hanging on the wall beside him. He opened the bottle, then stepped forward to pour more into her glass.
She hadn't really had a chance to look at his face up close before. There were tiny little silver lines that went across his forehead, down his cheek, and disappeared lower down into the collar of his shirt.
"Are those scars?" she asked.
"Are what scars?" He raised his eyebrows at her. With her sitting on the counter, she was at almost his exact height. She hesitated, but either the wine or the Gryffindor in her made her reach up and trace the scars with her finger. He froze under her touch, only stepping back after she dropped her hand.
"That would be from a lovely little curse I was hit with back in sixth year." He took a long pull from his glass, refilling it after he was done.
It took a second for Hermione to realize he was being careful not to say the inflictor's name. Harry's name.
"Sectusempra," she said quietly.
Draco nodded.
"I was livid with him for doing that, you know," she said.
He raised an eyebrow at her.
"I know you were about to use Crucio, so don't think I'm on your side," she said, pointing her finger at him. "But Harry used a curse he had never heard of before. He had no idea what the effects of it were. All we knew was that it was 'for enemies.' He never should have used it on you."
"I was a bit of an enemy to Potter," he said.
She was trying not to let the thought of Harry affect her. She could tell that he was trying to keep his voice light and playful, but he clearly knew that this was hard for her. He was watching her closely when she grimaced back.
He was quiet; didn't say a word for many long moments. "You lost your best friend," he finally said, looking down into his glass.
Her breath hitched at his words. It was just so odd hearing anything that resembled empathy from this man.
"I can't imagine," he said.
"Can't you?" she asked. "I was there when you lost Crabbe."
"Crabbe was a good childhood friend." He downed the rest of this drink. "But he and Goyle…two lunks who wouldn't know one end of a broomstick from another." He slid down the counter to sit on the floor and filled his glass even more. "You - the three of you - you shone, you know? You liked each other. You had fun. I envied the friendship you three had."
"You envied us? No way," she said in disbelief, hopping off the counter and sliding down to the floor across from him. He filled her drink again, too.
A smile cracked on his features, and she matched it. They were quiet for a long time, both lost in their thoughts.
"You want to know something?" she asked, breaking the silence.
"Do I have a choice?"
"No." She smirked. "Do you know what happened to Umbitch when Harry and I led her out of the castle?"
He sat up straighter, looking intrigued. "Do tell."
"I led her into the Forbidden Forest. The centaurs showed up and dragged her away when she insulted them." She held her smirk and sipped her wine.
He shook his head slowly and slid the tub of ice cream across the floor to her. "Alright, you deserve to eat the rest of the chocolate bits."
She laughed as she picked up the tub and started searching through for the bits with the spoon.
"Umbitch was awful. But I'll tell you, the Carrows were worse," Draco said. "So much worse."
"Tell me." Open up to me. Tell me about Occlumency. Teach me Occlumency. Tell me everything. Teach me everything. The thoughts came of their own accord. She swallowed. The wine was getting to her.
Draco shifted a bit on the floor. "You know they made us use Crucio on the younger students?"
Hermione nodded.
"Crabbe and Goyle loved it. They were finally good at something." He got quiet and looked as though he was in great thought. "After my…mission…in sixth year, I just couldn't do it. I actually…I made sure all the younger students knew to fake it when I pointed my wand at them."
Hermione's jaw slackened.
"They knew what it felt like by then. They were rather good. No one suspected I wasn't doing it. Only Blaise knew. He couldn't do it either." He shifted on the floor again, looking over at her.
She was speechless. She never before would have thought that Draco Malfoy wouldn't jump at the chance to use an Unforgivable. Especially on helpless first years. When had he changed? "Draco, that's-"
"Your turn," he interrupted. "Tell me more about whatever it was The Golden Trio was up to last year."
"Okay. Well…" She had to think carefully about what to say. She assumed he didn't know about the Horcruxes, and she thought it was best to keep it that way. For now, at least. "We were…researching," she said. "About how to…win the war."
Silence.
"Didn't find what you needed, then," he said.
"Well, we did." She watched him closely. "But there was still a…missing piece."
"I'm assuming this has something to do with that diadem Potter found in the Room of Hidden Things."
She hesitated with a response, but found nothing to say. Something in her expression must have told him to change the subject.
"How did you end up at the Manor?"
"Snatchers," she said.
"Well, I know that." He set his glass on the floor beside him and scooted closer. "It's not hard to imagine how your friends got caught, but how did Hermione Granger - the Brightest Witch of Our Age - get caught by snatchers?"
Her stomach knotted and she held her breath at the way he minimized the space between them; at how he referred to her. "Harry accidentally triggered the Taboo on Voldemort's name. I told him several times not to say it." She shook her head, moving past the memories of Harry again. "I want to thank you, for what you did at the Manor."
He stared at her incredulously. "Thank- thank me? For what? I did absolutely nothing while you were being tortured. Why would you thank me?"
"You didn't give us away. They asked you, point-blank, if you knew us, and you said you couldn't be sure. That counts. We needed every second that omission gave us. I don't think we would have made it out alive if you hadn't stalled for us." She took a sip of her wine. "Why did you do that?"
Draco took a slow bite of the ice cream, then handed it back to her. "I couldn't be the one to send you to your deaths. I knew what it would mean to say that yes, you were you, and that he was Potter. I just…" He sighed. "I don't want you thinking it was a deliberate choice that I made. It wasn't. It was a gut reaction. I didn't want to watch you die. I didn't want to be the one to kill you." He took a long pull of his wine. "I think he would have made me do it," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. He looked at her then. "I think he would have told me to point my wand at you and…and kill you."
His face looked just as it had when she saw him break down on the balcony back at the Manor.
Up until that point, she had felt pleasantly buzzed, but she now felt stone-cold sober. Without any hesitation, she scooted closer to be beside him on his left, closing the distance even more. She placed her hand on his thigh.
"You can't know that, Draco. Maybe he wouldn't have." They were spilling so much to each other, as if they had each downed a full bottle of Veritaserum before finding each other there in the kitchen in the middle of the night.
He covered her hand with his, wrapping his fingers around hers. He squeezed and shook his head slightly. "No, he would have been delighted in having me do it," he said.
Hermione reached up to his face and took it in her hands, forcing him to look at her. "No. I don't believe that you would have. You didn't do it to Dumbledore."
He gave her a weak smile and she dropped her hands. She looked down as they both went quiet. They sat there breathing for a few moments until she reached her hand out to his left forearm. He flinched, and she could tell it was instinctual. His Dark Mark was covered by the long sleeves of his jumper.
"Sorry," she said.
He shook his head. "If anyone should be sorry, it's me."
"Don't say that. You didn't really have a choice, did you?"
He scooted back against the cabinets and she followed suit. There was distance between them again.
"There's always a choice," he said. "It's just…sometimes it's not so black and white. Sometimes you have to do things you don't want to do to get what you want. I'd say I'm pretty good at that."
She understood that.
There was a long silence. They kept drinking until they had finished two and a half bottles of wine. She watched him look around the room.
He reached across the floor and picked up a mangled cork, holding it up for her to see the damage she'd done. "And what happened here?"
"I didn't know there was a corkscrew!" she said indignantly. She rolled her eyes when she saw the playful judgment in his expression and mumbled a whatever into her glass as she downed the rest of her drink.
The minutes ticked on, and Hermione's thoughts stumbled to the nights they had spent together in Paris when in the early hours of the morning, they had somehow crossed boundaries she had never expected she would cross with Draco Malfoy. Yet, she never expected to get drunk on a kitchen floor and connect with him, either, and there they were.
Hermione was in the middle of a bite of ice cream when Draco leaned over and grabbed her spoon out of her hand.
"Hey!" she said.
He shoved as much as he could in his mouth. "Mmm."
She scowled back at him, but froze when he started licking the drips down the side of the spoon.
"This is so good," he cooed.
All she could do was swallow as she watched the scene in front of her unfold. She was reminded of the club on his birthday; brought back to the moments under the effects of the Lovebomb. Heat rose to her cheeks.
Draco's dramatic show subdued when he noticed her silent reaction to what he was doing. He was still leaning in close to her.
Hermione's heart raced. He didn't move for a beat; just looked at her in her embarrassment, and a concerning thought occurred to her that he could have been reading her mind. She tore her eyes away, calculating the possible skill level he could have in Legilimency.
She stared down until her view of her lap was obstructed by the spoon covered in a giant heap of ice cream. She looked up again and saw Draco's face. His expression was serious, but his eyes were full of anticipation. He was holding the scoop to her, offering it; waiting for her to take it, and the tension was there, undeniable.
Holding his gaze, she bent down and wrapped her lips around the head of the spoon. Draco's eyes flashed as she swallowed the dessert and sucked the spoon nearly clean, slowly pulling away until he was left holding it in the air. He held it up, turned it towards him, and put it in his mouth.
What was happening.
A warm pulse jolted through her body, starting at a low spot within her. She shifted where she sat, leaning a little closer to him. He slid the spoon between his lips, and hers parted unconsciously. They gravitated closer together again. The spoon turning towards her, she opened more, allowing him to slide it back into her mouth. She pressed her lips closed, then reached up with her hand. Grabbing for the end of it, her fingers wrapped over his.
At the connection, there was a commotion outside the door and down the hall. They jolted apart and jumped up as quickly as they could.
She glanced at the clock. It was half past six.
Draco whipped his wand out and vanished all evidence that they were there. He moved faster than she could keep track. He summoned a vial and downed whatever was in it, then vanished the glass and grasped her arm.
She was spun away with him in an instant and landed in her room, stumbling on the spot. She immediately felt nauseous; like she wanted to throw up.
He held onto her, but moved her to the bed a little too fast.
"I'm sorry- I have to-" he got out.
"Go," she said.
He was gone a second later.
The world still felt like it was spinning around her. She laid back and heaved a big sigh, closing her eyes. There was a knock at her door a moment later, and Lottie entered.
"Draco sent Lottie to give this to you." Lottie ran to her and held out a vial.
"What is it?"
"Dreamless Sleep Potion."
Thank God.
Hermione was thankful to have finally slept for more than an hour. By the time she got up, it was a quarter past noon.
When she arrived downstairs, Lottie was waiting for her. "Did you sleep alright, Hermione?" the elf asked.
"Yes, thank you, Lottie. Is Draco up?"
Lottie's expression fell. "Oh, he was called away."
"Called away? Do you know where? How long will he be gone?" Why would he be called away while on this honeymoon?
Lottie's eyes grew wide. "Lottie is not knowing!" she said.
"That's alright, Lottie. It's not your fault," Hermione said, smiling down at her. "Are the afternoon meetings canceled for today then?"
"Yes," the elf squeaked. "Hermione is to stay at the château."
Lottie scurried off after Hermione thanked her.
Hermione couldn't think of anything other than her time with Draco in the early hours of the morning. She couldn't believe that he hadn't actually used the Cruciatus Curse on the first years; that he had been jealous of her friendship with Harry and Ron, and that he didn't want to see them die at the Manor. All those years at Hogwarts, he had seemed to live up to his father's expectations. She had easily projected her idea of who he was onto him even as he had changed into a better man. She could see that side of him now; the man who had failed to kill Dumbledore. The man she was forced to marry wasn't so bad after all.
She ventured to the kitchen when her stomach rumbled later that evening. As she descended the spiral staircase leading to the kitchen at the end of the hall on the first floor, five elves came into view.
At the sight of her, the little elves' eyes grew wide, and they bustled over to her. "Mistress Hermione!" they cooed in near unison.
"Oh! Hello," she said, startled to find so many elves there.
Her eyes flickered around the room, but there was no evidence of her time with Draco in there.
Lottie pushed her way to the front of the group. "Hermione! What can Lottie get for you?"
"I was just looking for something to eat, but I can get it, really," she said. She was internally conflicted, as usual, when interacting with elves. While she knew they were more than happy - even excited - to wait on her, she was still so uncomfortable with them doing so.
The expression on Lottie's face was clear at her response: she was offended.
"Or-" Hermione quickly started again, "well…now that I see you're all here, I would love to have something you put together!"
A grin spread across Lottie's face, and the other elves started scurrying around, eager to prepare something for her. Lottie took Hermione's hand and spun, landing with her in a long dining room, a space she hadn't yet seen.
"Sit, sit," the elf said, gesturing to a chair at the head of the table.
Hermione took the seat and thanked Lottie before she popped away. She examined the room around her. The elegance of the decor matched the rest of the château. Behind her, a cloak hung on the back of the chair. She twisted, picking it up to look at it properly. It was Draco's. There was no doubt about it; she just knew by the smell of it: cedarwood, cinnamon, and honey. As she took it in her hands, there was a crinkle of parchment in one of the pockets. Her hand whipped straight to the sound, hoping whatever it was would provide her with some kind of information; anything.
The parchment was wrinkled and had been folded multiple times. When she opened it, the words flowed in a tight, hasty scroll she didn't recognize.
You know that would not have been possible and it isn't an option anymore. You must forget about it and do as you are told. Eyes are on you now more than ever. As I have said before, you cannot come looking for me. I am safe, and that is all I want for you.
Hermione's heart dropped in her chest. The note was from Draco's mother. He was in contact with her? The anger immediately hit her. Why hadn't he said anything about this? How could they have talked about so much, yet he failed to mention that he was in contact with his captive mother? She wanted to hear from Hagrid. She wanted to be able to communicate with him; wanted to know that he was still alive. That she wasn't doing all of this for nothing.
She replaced the note in its pocket and carefully positioned the cloak back on the chair so it looked as close to untouched as possible. She faced forward and sat there seething until Lottie and another elf appeared holding a tray filled with impeccably set food and drink.
"Thank you, Lottie, and…" she gave the other elf an inquiring look.
"Sinsey," the elf said, eyes impossibly wider than usual.
"Sinsey," Hermione repeated with a smile. "Hey, Lottie," she started hesitantly. The other elf popped away, leaving the two alone. "Do you happen to know where Narcissa is?"
Lottie looked visibly ill. "Lottie is not to say where Mistress is staying. Mistress was hit with a nerve-stiffening spell and needs more time to recover."
Either the elves were being lied to or were meant to lie about Narcissa's whereabouts. Either way, Hermione wasn't going to press the poor elf on the matter. She would have to get it out of Draco. She nodded at Lottie and thanked her before the elf Disapparated.
Hermione looked at the tray in front of her and felt as though she had lost her appetite. Taking it with her, she returned to her room and relished in the silence that overtook the space throughout the rest of the evening and into the night.
The following day was much of the same for Hermione, though she had decided to venture out into the forest further than before. In the late afternoon, she went on a run. Lottie had brought her some trainers, a sleeveless top, and shorts she could use, so she set off into the trees.
The exercise was exactly what she needed. She worked up a good sweat, which was something she hadn't been able to do in weeks. The sun beamed down on her through the slots between the branches above her. The tree canopies provided the perfect amount of shade to cool her off, even as the sun began to set. By the time she returned back to the forest entrance, she was calmer than she had been the night before.
Emerging into the acres of perfectly manicured grass, Hermione wiped her forehead and slowed to a walk. Standing at the side entrance to the château was a tall man in black robes, his nearly white hair glowing yellow in the light of the sunset. He stood there, leaning against the doorframe and watching her as she made her way to him.
"I thought you had run off," he called out.
She scoffed to herself. "If anyone ran off, it was you," she yelled back.
"Fair point. But mine wasn't voluntary," he said, lowering his voice as she approached.
"Ah, so you were summoned?"
"Didn't Lottie tell you?"
"She said you had found your people. Something about you joining a magical circus?" Hermione said, smirking. She contemplated whether or not to bring up the letter, but she wanted to wait until the right time.
"Come on, Granger, with that hair of yours, the only one joining a circus is you," he said, entering the château as she followed him inside.
She laughed aloud.
Draco stopped in the center of the foyer. For a long minute, they stood there, each declining to speak, though Hermione noticed the flick of his eyes over her body. She was showing a bit more skin than usual, but that didn't make her wish she was covered up more in the moment.
"So…what happened? Where were you sent?" she asked.
Draco's throat bobbed at her question. She knew he probably wouldn't tell her, but she wanted to know.
"The Canadian reporter won't be a problem anymore," he said seriously. His voice was quiet and refined.
Hermione's breath caught as she realised what he was saying. "Did you-" She couldn't finish asking, and she thought she likely wouldn't want to know the answer.
"No. But I was there," he said.
Hermione tore her eyes away from his and nodded her head. "I'm going to go shower," she said, and rushed away up the stairs, leaving him behind.
For the rest of the night, she stayed in her room thinking. Too much thinking. Always too much thinking. About Draco. And motivations. And communication. And as usual, she barely slept.
Hermione reluctantly made her way to the foyer at 7:01 a.m. They stood on opposite sides of the area with their backs against the walls. She decidedly fixed her eyes anywhere but on Draco, determined to drown him out as he spoke.
"Hermione, I need you to be with me on this," he said.
At the sound of her first name, she snapped her eyes to his, keeping her expression blank.
"The French ambassador will be here in a few hours, so we need to be on the same page. She had to change her whole schedule around to visit today instead of yesterday. This needs to go well," he said, the urgency strong in his voice.
"I know. It will." Hermione looked back down at the new schedule in front of her outlining the day's events through the end of the week. She scanned the words, keeping her eyes busy, though she wasn't truly reading anything.
Less than a minute later, a hand wrapped around her forearm, tugging on her, urging her to move closer. She obliged, closing the space between them, and her mind swirled through everything she had thought and felt over the last few days. The look in his eyes told her he was doing the same, which she hadn't expected at all.
In that moment, the energy felt too real. It was undeniable. He slipped his hand around her waist and pulled her close, running the fingers of his other hand through her hair. Lowering his head, he met his temple with hers and held her there for a moment. A moment that felt longer than a moment; that felt like a thousand moments wrapped into one confusing, comfortable, butterfly-inducing moment. Then, it was gone, as fleeting as it had come.
"Good," he said, pulling away. "You were right before. Practice helps." He turned around and walked to the nearest wall, crossing his ankles and leaning against the brick.
She stared at him as he examined the papers before him as if nothing had just happened. Nothing did happen, she supposed. It was practice. She let her legs carry her to the opposite wall from him. She mirrored his movements, casually leaning against the wall and looking down at her papers as if nothing had just happened.
Next Update: January 13th, 2020.
Check out the Pinterest board for the chapter here: QuellerKay/ch-9-talk-quelling-the-quill/