Chapter 12

Winter 1998, New York City

After dinner, Alexander suggested they go an exclusive nightclub. Hermione wasn't sure what one did at a club, but she hoped there was dancing. The last time she had danced was at Bill and Fleur's wedding with Ron, who was a horrible dancer. Charlie had come over before all the fuss was made and had swept her out of Ron's arms and around the dancefloor. It was the best dancing Hermione had ever done, and she had wondered later while keeping watch over their tent while Horocrux hunting if Charlie had charmed her feet. Normally, Hermione was a terrible dancer, especially with someone else, because it was hard for her to relinquish control to someone else to take the lead. Krum had been an all right partner, his deftness on the broom seemed to dilute a little on the dance floor, but not as much as him just walking around with his duck feet.

Unlike the Leaky Cauldron and other wizarding establishments in England which hid themselves from the Muggle world, the club Alexander took them to had a queue of No-Majes out on the sidewalk.

"New Yorkers love their lines," Alexander said casually as they swept past the queue about twenty people deep and to a rather large woman at the door. Her shoulders were bigger than the frame of the door, her golden hair was plaited in a braid thicker than Hermione's arm, and her hands clutched a tiny clipboard which she consulted every minute or so. Her stature reminded Hermione of Hagrid. Above her, a neon sign flashed, "The Nightshade" in scrolly script.

"Good evening, Astrid."

"Alexander!" Astrid said gruffly. "Didn't know you'd be stoppin' by."

"One must be kept on their toes, now, right?"

Astrid smiled widely and brought her thick fingers up to her face to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. She looked dotingly down at Alexander. Hermione wondered if Alexander knew the effect he had on people—his charm and wit were quite alluring, no matter your inclinations.

"I have new friends," Alexander said with a flourishing gesture towards Draco and Hermione who were standing behind him.

"Any friend o' Alexander is a friend o' mine!" Astrid reached out her bulky hand towards Draco whose nimble fingers were suddenly engulfed in the sheer mass. Astrid nodded to Hermione with a smile.

Astrid stepped aside, and Alexander led the way through, pausing to casually place his hand gingerly on Astrid's forearm as he passed. Hermione saw a blush crawl up her cheek as her eyes turned bashful. Hermione and Draco followed Alexander through the door, down a long hallway flanked by heavy velvet curtains. The sounds from the street and the No-Majes gathered in their line died away and was replaced by a heavy musical beat which reverberated through the walls.

They reached the end of the narrow hallway, and Alexander turned his head around to glance at them beckoningly.

"Welcome to The Nightshade," he said and lifted the thick curtain with a flourish.

—xxx—

Draco had never seen anything like it before—there were all kinds of creatures and people dressed in costumes. There were tiny creatures which Draco thought looked a lot like house-elves but not as elfish or waifish who were darting between the legs of the larger creatures, dressed in matching shorts and suspenders carrying trays of drinks. In one corner booth, there was a gigantic man, as tall as Hagrid but skinnier, surrounded by some witches. His whole appearance was pale—pale hair, pale skin, paler than Draco—so pale he nearly appeared white as snow. The tops of his hands were tattooed with what Draco thought were tribal markings.

"That's Lenny," Alexander said in Draco's ear, following his gaze. "Here on vacation to enjoy some warmer weather. Always surrounded by snow bunnies—that's what they call themselves, the witches who like snowmen."

Performing on one of the small stages in the cavernous room was a delicate woman who was elaborately stripping off her brightly-colored clothes and dancing on the tiny stage. Her hair was all done up in tiny braids that must have taken forever to do without magic. And it was so long it brushed the floor behind her like a cape. Her bare legs were covered in delicate gold paint, or perhaps they were gilded tattoos, it was hard to tell what was real and fake in this place. Draco watched as with a flourish the woman tore off her top. The crowd watching took a sharp inhale, then clapped as she began gyrating her body so the tassels covering her nipples swung to the beat of the music.

It was loud from the music and the chatter. Draco wondered how anyone could hear anyone else. Hermione's arm was through his, and they were following Alexander who was maneuvering deftly through the crowd. Hermione clutched Draco's arm a little bit, and he looked over at her. Her eyes looked concerned. Draco knew she was worried about him in such a loud place. Regardless of it being the loudest place he had been since, well the Battle, it didn't seem to be triggering anything negative in him. If anything it was strangely delightful, like being submerged in a bath. He squeezed her hand reassuringly.

It felt like they had been walking for a while through the crowd following Alexander, but when Draco glanced around them, they had only meandered a couple of feet from the entryway. It was hard not to stare at the people and creatures in the club.

There were wizards dressed as witches, but with exaggerated features and heavy makeup and elaborate dresses gathered by one of the larger stages. One wobbled past Alexander on his unfathomably tall heels and said loudly, "Come to join the festivities, Alexander?"

Alexander smiled and purveyed, "I've brought some new friends."

The wizard assessed Draco and then Hermione intently. "Be sure to watch me later, sweetheart," he said leaning over to Hermione suggestively. Draco bristled at the intention. He was sure Hermione was used to being hit on, given how beautiful she was, but Draco certainly was not used to it. Maybe it was just Americans. Perhaps if a Brit hit on her, he wouldn't be so irked.

Nice try, Draco thought to himself. He knew he would definitely care if anyone hit on Hermione or wanted her. Because he wanted her, and Malfoys were not known for sharing. But Draco had to admit that it must be impossible not to hit on Hermione as she looked absolutely stunning in the dress Alexander had altered for her. He'd loved the knee-highs and skirts, but maybe Draco's taste for Hermione was maturing, aging like a nice wine, into something with a different taste. He looked forward to taking her dress off later.

"Apologies for my friend here," a kindly wizard said appearing behind the one in the dress. "He still gets stage-fright, so I've let him down several shots."

Hermione giggled. "Oh, don't be afraid! You look—"

"—Fierce!" Alexander finished. The wizard in the dress smiled and teetered on the heels he was wearing. "Come by later, Glen," Alexander said to the other wizard.

"Let's find a table," Alexander said to them as the wizards stalked away. Draco and Hermione followed Alexander to the side of the room where there was an intimate booth. "You two sit; I'll get us drinks."

Draco sat first so that Hermione wouldn't have to scoot into the middle of the booth. The booth was small, but it didn't seem to bother Hermione any being so close to Draco in public. She laced her hand in his under the table.

Leaning over, she whispered in his ear, "You look delicious."

Draco's eyes widened as she leaned back looking pleased with herself and his reaction. "Delicious?" he asked leaning into her.

"Absolutely."

"If I look 'delicious,' then you look scrumptious," Draco countered. He took his hand from hers and placed it high on her thigh. He could feel the warmth of her thigh through the thin fabric of her dress. "Delectable," he whispered into her ear and felt her shuddered from the feeling of his breath on her neck. "You make me ravenous."

Hermione flushed and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. The energy of the club seemed concentrated then and palpitated between them. Draco was very aware that while they were surrounded, no one was watching them. That was something he had never really considered about a crowd. Younger Draco's instinct would have been to stand out from a crowd. Since the Battle, Draco had avoided crowds at all costs—even asking Mistress Llyfr for odd hours so he could avoid rush hour in Diagon Alley.

But here, in this crowd, there was a nice balance of feeling like a part of things but also invisible. It was loud, but when Draco looked at her, the noise dissipated and there was just her. Her and him.

Before she could respond, a loud hissing started at the table next to them. A young woman rose from the booth. She was dressed very modestly in comparison to the other people in the club. Her plain appearance which would have made her almost invisible out on the street made her stand out here. The people with her at the table stared bewildered and excited. She was hissing in a very sensual way, and soon others beyond the booth were onlooking too. Then a spotlight found her, and the young woman climbed onto the tabletop to continue hissing and moving her body as if in slow motion.

Why is she hissing? Draco thought.

"A parseltongue," Hermione whispered into Draco's ear.

Suddenly, Draco was back in the Manor, sitting at the table in what used to be the Malfoy's dining room but had been commandeered by Voldemort. His father sat beside him and his mother stoically beside his father. Around the table were all of Voldemort's most trusted and devoted servants, his Death Eaters. Wormtail was sitting across from Draco; his beady eyes darting around the table, avoiding Voldemort's gaze at all costs. Voldemort was interrogating Dobrev about a recent blunder. Draco was very attentive but trying not to listen to the words. Since Dumbledore, Draco wanted nothing to do these people and this cause. Draco wanted plausible deniability, so he tried not to listen to the horrors often talked about at meetings like these. But then Dobrev must have said something wrong, because Voldemort started hissing.

Hermione's hand squeezed his on top of her thigh, and he was jolted back to The Nightshade. His eyes focused on the woman performing. The slow sensual nature of her performance heightened. Suddenly she was jerking around and pulled a leather-bound book from the pocket of her long cotton skirt. On the front of the book there was a gilded pentagon and an upside-down cross.

"American witchcraft," Hermione mumbled in a curious tone. She leaned closer to Draco to get a better glimpse of the act. With her body pressed against him, he was keenly aware of how thin the fabric of her dress was and how warm her body was.

The woman's hissing became more arduous, building into a crescendo. Her gyrations became hungrier and more agitated. Draco looked around at the crowd that had gathered around the table—every face illuminated with delight. Then the woman dropped the book and it fell open at her feet on the table, red light emanating from its pages. The spotlight from the ceiling dropped and the woman was illuminated only from the book's light, in which the woman's appearance transformed—gone were the plain clothes she had just been wearing and instead she was in strappy leather lingerie. She conjured a riding crop and began using it to slap her backside as she continued to hiss. The crowd gasped each time she cracked the crop against her pale skin.

The woman then put the crop in her mouth and dropped to all fours, offering the crop to an onlooker nearby, who eagerly took it and began whacking her leather-thonged backside. The red-light from the open book shined in odd angles off the patent leather of her lingerie. As she gyrated, several times the light bounced into Draco's eyes, blinding him momentarily. Her hissing grew to such a decibel that it was nearly impossible to comprehend. Then her eyes rolled into the back of her head and there was final crack from the crop. The red light snapped off, and there was a roar of applause and whistling.

Alexander had come back over to the table in the last minute of the woman's performance with drinks in hand. "Wow, I haven't seen her perform for ages."

"What is she?"

"A Pentacostal parseltongue," Alexander answered, then added in an animated tone gesturing to a gaggle of black-cladded witches fawning over the performer, "emphasis on the penta."

—xxx—

Hermione was feeling a little overwhelmed by the spectacle of the club—there were creatures here she had never even read about doing things she had never even dreamt about. And the performers were so shocking and unlike anything she'd seen before. She realized that most of what she'd been exposed to had been violence and manipulation, but somehow there was still a space within that was wholesome. Draco had been doing his best to chip away at it with their antics, but this place was threatening to be her undoing. Everything was hypersexualized. If that was just clubs in general, Hermione wasn't sure. Maybe it was just America.

"I know you darlings must be tired, but we simply must stay for—" Alexander was cut off by a shrill screech from a drag witch.

"This is bespoke, you ent!" the drag witch shouted at the creature. The drag witch stomped away from the perpetrator, leaving a clear visual for Hermione. The creature standing there looking quite unbothered was a rather squat cactus with spindly legs and large spikes poking out of its green flesh. Its squashy face beamed when a tiny waifish waitress offered it a drink from their tray. The cactus sprouted an appendage and scooped the drink up and sucked it down. Then the cactus meandered through the crowd away from them.

"Hermione?" Draco asked.

"Oh, what," Hermione fumbled, having ignored the conversation at the table while watching the cactus.

"Are you all right with staying out for the final act?"

"Darling, I was telling Draco," Alexander said, reaching across the table for her hand for emphasis, "we simply must stay for the final act. One never knows who it's going to be, which is of course part of the appeal. But I've heard grumblings of who we can suspect, and it's yummy."

Hermione, unable to properly think due to being so visually overstimulated by the club, simply nodded her head. It had been a long time since she had felt overwhelmed like this, and after he months of solitude on Bald Head Island, it seemed like she was out of practice from dealing with lots of things at once. She worried that perhaps the Battle and the year leading up to it had permanently scared her and inhibited her abilities which had been so dependable growing up. Alexander began talking again, but her attention drifted beyond their table.

The club was cavernous but their position in the booth proved to be decent vantage point for watching the various acts and their onlookers. Hermione watched as a brood of vampires put down their bloody sangrias and picked up with a group line dancing routine, tipping their cowboy hats to the crowd. On the stage farthest from them, a willowy woman was ushering a miniature palomino horse through its pony tricks. Hermione wondered if this was just an Americana act as it didn't seem very magical, but more like a standard circus routine, which didn't fit the vibe in the club. Regardless, the pony was adorable, and Hermione felt as if she was on the edge of her seat waiting to see what it was going to next. Then something glinted in the spotlight on the tiny horse's head, and Hermione realized it was a unicorn horn. She had no idea that unicorns could be trained. Hagrid has always spoken of them as shifty creatures that humans should never harm or even go near. But here was one doing tricks for a human…

A spotlight flooded the tiny stage closest to their booth and a sphinx jumped onto the stage and began prowling around. Her mane was dotted with various artifacts hanging in it. Hermione recognized a dream catcher and some crystals. On the sphinx's hindquarters were rudimentary ruddy symbols, and her ears were punctured with large turquoise studs. The sphinx prowled for a couple of moments before finally settling down in the middle of the stage and the smiled widely.

Of everything Hermione knew about sphinxes, they were not ones to smile or really show any emotion for that matter. They were logical beings who were often protective and secretive. Which made it all that more jarring, when the sphinx began to talk—her tone buoyant.

"What's the deal with the pyramids?" The sphinx paused while people around listened in. "They're pointy, made of stone, and you get buried alive in them? I don't get it!"

Hermione found herself incredulous but giggling all the same.

Draco and Alexander paused their conversation to listen to the sphinx's act. The crowd responded well to her, but Hermione couldn't get over the idea that she was seeing a sphinx do standup or say anything with inflection.

America is a weird place, she thought.

"She's actually very funny, if you are into standup," Alexander said a little stiffly as if standup was below him. Hermione was reminded of Draco in their first Care of Magical Creatures class with Hagrid. He used to wear the same narrowed eyes and scrunched nose as Alexander when he felt something was below him. Hermione cast a sideways glance at Draco, who was laughing freely at the sphinx. She adored watching him laugh and be jovial, his eyes lightened to this amazing silver color when he was delighted.

"What's the deal with xocolatl? It's hot; it's sweet; it's hot. It's hot twice!" The sphinx raised her eyebrows at her own joke. "That's for the Mayans out there."

—xxx—

Hermione, Draco, and Alexander found themselves watching various acts that came up and talking over the undulating music in-between. Hermione's fingers were lightly dancing across Draco's thigh under the table. Occasionally, Alexander would flag down one of the tiny creatures in suspenders to order them more drinks. But Alexander didn't mention what the creatures were. Draco wasn't sure how much time had passed in the club, but after about four drinks apiece, a hush fell over the entire club. The dim lights went out, and a spotlight illuminated the center of the room where a place had been cleared of tables and people.

"This is it," Alexander said in a hushed whisper. Hermione's fingers stopped their gentle caressing and settled on top of his thigh.

Gray smoke began to fill the clearing, and Draco tried to find something solid amidst the smoke. But instead of someone coming out of the smoke, the smoke swirled until it began to solidify. Draco recognized the arch of a wing at once—so giant that the top dusted the ceiling.

There was a gentle gasp around the club as others began to see what Draco saw. Hermione's fingers gripped his thigh. Draco stole a look at her to find her eyes bewitched. He glanced around to find everyone else staring at the smoke. Alexander met his eyes, which twinkled with delight. Draco wondered what was so special about this finale.

While the smoke slowly solidified, whispers of ominous music filled the hushed club. Draco was sure it was meant to be creepy, but having survived truly creepy events under Voldemort, Draco had to keep himself from laughing at how ensnared everyone else was by the shift in ambiance.

The spotlight went out and the music cut. Hermione jumped a little beside him; suddenly startled, her fingers still tight on his leg. Then there was a loud rustling of wings from various corners of the club. Some people let out little gasps, and someone chuckled nervously.

The rustling of wings grew, as if the wings were multiplying in the dark. Without any light in the club, Draco could barely see the drink in front of him, but he could feel Hermione pressing herself against him. It was hard to concentrate on the act when her warmth was flushing him through his suit. He found her hand on top of his thigh with his and wove his fingers between hers.

Then the club illuminated with hundreds of red circles above everyone's heads. Draco looked over in the direction where the Pentacostal parseltongue had performed to see two red orbs floating above where he imagined the table being. It was only when the two orbs turned towards him and one winked that Draco realized they were eyes. A chill washed over him as the round eyes began to transform into red slits. Then Draco heard incessant hissing, like an earworm it seemed to loop in his brain. Green flashes erupted out of the darkness in staccato; green like Voldemort's killing curse, his was always brighter than other's. The green stirred something uncomfortable in Draco. Before he could put his finger on it, he felt something move around his feet.

It was then that Draco realized he couldn't feel Hermione's heat beside him anymore or her fingers woven between with his. He didn't feel like he was sitting in a dark crowd of people anymore.

He felt like he was alone.

It was terrifying. The rustling came back, there was a sinking feeling in the pit of Draco's stomach. Then his stomach dropped, and his chest tightened—his heart contracting painfully. He could hear crying softly beyond the rustling. Draco was overwhelmed with needing to know who was crying, but he couldn't move. He couldn't be the hero; he was forever destined to be a pawn, and when he failed to be useful anymore, he would be discarded. The darkness threatened to devour him.

Draco realized this must be part of the performance—the heightened fright, illuminating your personal fears, paralyzing you. He seemed to come back to the room then, feeling Hermione's fingers in his first, then seeing the sea of red orbs. The rustling quieted, and Draco could hear some tables murmuring. Hermione's other hand clutched Draco's forearm, her short nails digging into the fabric of his jacket.

The spotlight came back, and the red orbs blinked shut, as the smoke was now a solid gray body with gigantic wings. The wings flapped open, and a gasp emanated from the crowd. On the back of the wings was a jarring design of red circles in pairs.

"What?" Draco heard Hermione say beside him as he watched the wings turn in the spotlight to reveal a tall humanoid figure with a gray body that was perhaps covered with fur or fuzz. There were four appendages, two arms and two legs, and a head that was topped with long matted gray hair. Draco imagined that the head had a face, but there weren't any tell-tale characteristics of face—no eyes, no nose, no ears, no definition at all, just more ominous gray fur. The creature's arms began to rise, and they flexed their wings again. Then the creature's face illuminated as its red eyes opened with a flourish and the entire crowed gasped and erupted with applause.

Draco was confused. How was that the finale? How did people enjoy a being that terrified them? Alexander was clapping quite enthusiastically which seemed out of character. Hermione had removed her hand to clap in a polite fashion, but her face was guarded and there was a grimace across her lips.

The creature took a deep bow, then turned on its feet and dissolved back into a column of smoke, the last beat of its wings dispersing the column out of the spotlight. Alexander turned towards Draco and Hermione excitedly.

"Well, well, well, my lovelies, you certainly picked a wonderful night to come to the greatest city and meet me and allow me to cajole you into coming here." Alexander's face was bright and open with delight. "I have only seen the Mothman once before when I was very young. Enchanting, no?"

Draco was still too rattled to respond. Hermione, as if sensing this, leaned over Draco to address Alexander.

"That was the Mothman? I thought that it had determined it was a crane or egret or something."

"Well you know, No-Majes. They always find a way to explain what they don't understand."

"I didn't realize that the Mothman had powers like that."

"Creepy, right?"

"Very," Hermione agreed.

"But intoxicating," Alexander said, almost to himself. "If only I could find a way to incapsulate that feeling in a dress."

They both took sips of their drinks. "It was personalized fear, right?"

"Oh yes, that's the Mothman's specialty."

"Almost like a haunted house, just built for you," Hermione said, but Alexander looked at her blankly. "It's a scary place No-Maj's create to frighten others. Usually, around Halloween." Draco glanced at her questioningly. "I read about it in An American Haunting: The Things the No-Maj Fears."

This seemed to shake the last of the ominous feeling from the Mothman's performance from his shoulders. Of course, Hermione had read a book about what No-Majes' feared. He smiled at her, which she returned, and Draco could feel warmth spread through his chest again. They reached for each other's hand at the same time under the table. There was a blank look to Hermione's gaze that suggested she was perhaps still being haunted by the Mothman. Draco wondered if the "performance" had taken her to the dark places Voldemort lurked in her memories as it had for Draco. What was Hermione most afraid of?

—xxx—

After the finale, people milled around the club freely—many approaching Alexander to gossip or gloat. Forever convivial, Alexander introduced Draco and Hermione to everyone who came over, but Draco found it hard to keep everyone straight. Many of the visitors found the pair of them being British very exciting. One person asked them to say various things in their accent, like "privacy," "tomato," or "vitamin."

During a particularly animated argument Alexander was having with a woman in a red dress, Draco leaned over to Hermione to whisper, "I'm off to the loo."

Hermione nodded at Draco and got up from the booth to let him out. He brushed her bare upper arm with the back of his and relished when he felt her shiver at his touch. Draco couldn't wait to get out of here with her and throw her down on the bed in their suite and drag the edge of her dress up her soft thighs. Meandering through the crowd, he quickly got lost in his thoughts about Hermione and found himself in a part of the club he hadn't seen from their booth.

He paused and did a turnabout to see if he could spot any signs for the toilets. Someone tapped his shoulder. Draco turned to see a tall and unbelievably attractive woman in a dark purple suit behind him. He couldn't help himself, but he found his eyes surveying her. Her pants were skin tight, accentuating her rather shapely legs, and she wasn't wearing a shirt under the suit jacket. It showed the soft brown swell of her breasts rather nicely.

"You look lost," the woman said once Draco's eyes had traveled from her ankles up to her face.

"Oh, uh, I was just looking for the loo," Draco replied.

The woman smiled wider. "Here on vacation?"

"Something like that."

"Well, why don't you buy me a drink and tell me about it."

This one's cocky, Draco thought. But then again, with those legs she had every right he figured.

She leaned forward aggressively, "I hope you haven't spent all your money on touristy things. I'm the main attraction." Her dark eyes pierced his when she leaned back from him. Draco realized she was propositioning him.

He quickly straightened and shook his head, "I'm with a party in the other room. Afraid I'll have to excuse myself."

The woman didn't look shaken at all from the rejection, almost as if she was practiced in it. "Your loss," she simply said and strode away. Draco's eyes lingered on her too long, but then he spotted an alcove which seemed promising for the toilets.

There weren't gender-separated toilets, but rather one room with twenty doors and a large sink in the middle. The cramped space was just as rambunctious as the club floor. People were laughing and carrying on loud conversations between stalls. Witches and other female creatures were taking turns primping in the large mirror which was enchanted to change its size to the person or people using it.

Draco wove his way through the crowd on his way back to the table, narrowly avoiding an argument between a squat cactus and the woman in the purple suit, which now had thick spikes stuck in the fabric of her pants by her knees. Her face was as purple as her suit as she yelled down at the cactus, who looked rather unbothered by the encounter.

In his absence, Alexander had attracted even more people to the table. It was swarmed, and for the moment when Draco couldn't spot Hermione, his stomach lurched. Someone shifted, and he spotted her in the booth where he had left her. Sitting next to Hermione was Glen and the drag witch from earlier. His exaggerated eyebrows were arched high on his forehead, and he was leaning over Glen to say something to Hermione. It seemed rather suggestive, and Draco could tell she was trying to be polite but imagined she was a little uncomfortable at his proximity. Was the look on her face the same one she'd had at the Embassy?

Draco strode quickly over to the table, shoulders squared, feeling a certain gumption he hadn't felt in a long time.

"Oh, Draco!" Hermione exclaimed when she saw him. Draco briefly envisioned himself as her knight in shining armor.

"Do you mind?" Draco said.

"Not at all, we're all family here," the drag witch replied. Alexander was deep in conversation with a group at the other end of the table. There was some shifting in the booth as if to make room for Draco, and Glen ended up putting his arm on the back of the booth over Hermione's shoulders.

Draco felt a protective charge spring from his chest. But it wasn't Glen who was leering at her, it was the drag witch whose name Draco hadn't caught yet. It was so evident from his unctuous smile and eyes which wandered over her body that he wanted Hermione. It was hard not to in that dress.

"Come sit next to me," the drag witch said to Draco, patting the space they had made in the booth.

"Darla, here—" Hermione started.

"Oh you peach! Darla is just my stage name. Call me Darrel."

"Darrel then," Hermione said with a nod. "He was just telling me about the community of drag witches in New York," Hermione said brightly.

Draco knew she couldn't be completely oblivious, since he felt she was trying to de-escalate whatever Draco was about to do. Draco wondered for a moment why she thought he was going to do anything at all. Maybe because that's something Young Draco would have done. Maybe Hermione thought he was the same insipid boy. But now, Draco wasn't sure what he should do, if anything. Still, Draco was threatened and wanted to stake his claim over Hermione.

The moment he thought about claiming her, Hermione caught his eye and frowned at him, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. All indignant feelings swept from Draco then, and he resigned to letting it go, although it seemed against his nature.

"Sit down, Draco," Hermione said while gesturing to the spot beside Darrel.

"Please do continue telling us about the drag witches in New York," Draco said in his practiced bored intonation. He made a lazy gesture towards the man.

Darrel smiled widely, which Draco took as him thinking that he had won. Draco wasn't worried about who was going to win. He already knew the score; Hermione was his. And he was hers. Draco half-listened to Darrel, who occasionally found opportunities to reach across Glen to touch Hermione's arm.

"It's such a shame you missed my act earlier," Darrel said. "I was the spectacle to see among those lanky wizitches."

"Wizitches?" Hermione asked.

"Witches who were born wizards," Glen interjected.

"You mean…?"

"Chicks with dicks," Darrel said, clearly enjoying the provocation. Even though the club was dark, the blush that dusted Hermione's cheeks was hard to miss.

"Darrel…" Glen chided with a slim smile pulled across his face. He turned towards Hermione. "There's a gender revolution happening here in America. Really, since the No-Majes' second wave feminism—you know about it?" Hermione nodded her head vigorously.

Of course she knew about it, Draco thought. He was lost in the conversation, but doing his best to pay attention to make sure Darrel didn't do anything truly unbecoming. Draco could only imagine all the questions running through Hermione's brain.

"The underbelly of the magical community here is more accepting of these different gender expressions than the mainstream here in America. Like anything else that is niche or different or fringe," Glen explained. "Witches who were born wizards are wizitches, wizards who were born witches are wizlocks, and those who don't have a gender are channelers."

"Some people don't have a gender?" Draco asked, his curiosity and perhaps ignorance getting the best of him.

"Remember, sex is different than gender," Darrel said. Draco could not remember something he had never learned. But he knew the loud club was not necessarily the best way to find out.

"But I'm just a drag witch. I'll never be a Darla, only a Darrel. I have no desire to never not have my extremely large dick," Darrel said loudly, drawing their attention back to him.

More like you just like being a dick, Draco thought. Then had to double check that he hadn't said it aloud. As if on cue, Hermione blushed again. For a witch who had been shagged all kinds of ways in the recent months by yours truly, Draco was baffled at how she could still be embarrassed about sex.

Darrel laughed gregariously at himself, while Glen shot Draco a bemused look from across the table. In an obvious attempt to break the tension she felt, Hermione said, "I've never been in a place like this before. It's truly fascinating." She shook her head, and a curl fell loose from her braided crown, bouncing around her face. It seemed like such an intimate thing to witness and Draco prickled that he was sharing it with these pricks. Well Darrel was the prick; Glen, he wasn't so sure of yet.

"Truly," Draco commented. "Who knew that sphinxes could be funny?"

"She's really got a strong set, that sphinx," Glen said. "You never know what kinds of things you'll stumble upon at The Nightshade."

Then something very unexpected happened all at once. Glen finally let his arm resting on the booth behind Hermione drop to her shoulders. And a hand crept into Draco's lap—Darrel's hand. How had he missed this one?

Hermione blinked for a moment, then said smoothly, "Oh yes, it was never something we imagined to see on our honeymoon." Hermione reached across the table with her right hand to grasp Draco's right hand, smiling widely at him. Draco suppressed the sigh of victory that rose in his throat and threatened to choke him from surprise at Hermione's lie.

"I didn't realize you two were so involved," Glen said politely. But his arm was still draped around Hermione's shoulders. And Darrel's hand was still in Draco's lap. Was something amiss here? Were their signals not strong enough?

"Oh yes," Hermione said, taking her eyes off Draco to glance at Darrel. "We met at school. Naturally, we started off despising each other." Was it just Draco or was Hermione laying claim to Draco? Had she seen Darrel's hand dip below the table and Draco's whole body tense as if he's just been hit with a Crucio.

"Naturally," Darrel said squeezing Draco's leg, high on his thigh now. Rattled but not wanting to cause a scene, Draco put his free hand in his jacket pocket to touch his wand instinctually. But then remembered his probation and removed it. Focusing everything he could into the way Hermione's hand felt in his, Draco whispered to himself while Hermione continued.

"But the tables turned when I rescued him from the giant squid in the lake in our seventh year," Hermione beamed, seemingly reminiscing in her fake memory. "He was doing laps in the lake—he's such a good swimmer, you know. He's totally got a swimmer's body from all the laps he's done."

"Totally," Glen chimed as if nothing delighted him more than hearing someone else's love story or imaging Draco's glistening swimmer's body. Draco watched as Glen's thumb brushed the top of Hermione's shoulder. Draco saw her eyes widen in disbelief or discomfort. Either way, the situation had definitely escalated into unfamiliar territory.

Hermione continued. She always did seem to talk too much when she was nervous. "And usually the giant squid is a gentle creature. But something about Draco set that squid off." Hermione paused here for dramatic effect. Draco made a show of running his free hand through his hair. Hermione's eyes caught on his hand for a moment, seeing the gold band on his left hand catch in the dim light of the club.

Hermione released Draco's hand and brought both of her hands together as she continued, "My theory is that it was his hair that set the squid off. See it was a particularly sunny day, and well—I mean, look at that hair. Set some light on that, and it just illuminates. Like a shiny galleon—I think the squid thought he was a brick of gold. Allegedly, it has a trove of treasure in its underwater cave." Hermione made a bold hand gesture, allowing the light to catch the large diamond ring on her finger. She faltered for a moment, perhaps caught off guard by the ring or stumped for the next part of their story. Draco took the opportunity to take charge of the narrative.

"Regardless, it began attacking me, and see I never try to swim with my wand. Sometimes the smallest wave could set it off. So, it's smarter to leave it on the shore. But this time, it would have been clever to have it on me. Thankfully, Hermione was reading on the shore, so she saw me duck under the water when the squid grabbed me by the ankle."

"He was my princess, and I was his knight," Hermione said gleefully. Draco knew she was delighted that in their fabrication Hermione was the hero, the one helping him—without him asking for it.

"We were inseparable after that."

"Decided to get married right after graduation."

"We know we're young."

"Our parents are beside themselves, of course."

"Of course," Darrel and Glen said in a chorus, looking at each other seemingly delighted.

"Young love is to beautiful," Darrel said.

"So pure and innocent," Glen added.

"I miss that feeling," Darrel said, obviously reminiscing about times passed.

"We used to be like you two," Glen said. Hermione's head whipped to him quickly trying to process what was developing.

"It's true! Oh the good old days!" Darrel said rather theatrically, gripping Draco's inner thigh way too close to his crotch for comfort any longer.

"So we've been looking for a couple just like you," Glen said.

"To rub off on us," Darrel said. "Or for us to rub off on." Draco couldn't miss the lewdness lacing his tone.

Ah!—so the pair of them were trying to pull Draco and Hermione both. Well, this was an unexpected development. The threat Draco had felt mounting vanished at the incredulity of the whole affair. He couldn't help but feel a little stunned at the turn of events and wondered if Hermione had caught on yet. She was the cleverest witch he knew, but sometimes when it came to sexual overtones things went over her head. And despite the gossip in his seventh year about the trio all going at it in a three-way, Draco knew that Hermione certainly didn't know anything about group sex.

"We're very flattered," Draco said, reaching across the table for Hermione's hand again. "But we're still caught in the throes of our 'young love' that we shan't be distracted by others."

Glen and Darrel shared a look of expected disappointment.

"At least not yet," Draco added just because he felt like it. Teasing had always been a turn on for him.

"Alas," Darrel said finally releasing Draco's thigh.

"Perhaps once you aren't so star-crossed you'll indulge us," Glen said. "And of course, we'll be more than elated to return the favor." There was a wicked smile on his lips, which he quickly planted on Darrel.

"Have these lovebirds ensnared you?" Alexander said loudly from across the table. His conversation partner having left him available. Glen pulled back from Darrel, lip stick smeared across his face.

"Absolutely," the pair of them cooed.

"They are so ch-charming," Alexander said, having spied the rings on their hands, a small smile crept on his face.

"It's been a pleasure," Darrel said mostly to Draco. "But we must be off as to not let the whole night be a wash." Glen nodded in agreement, and they both made moves to exit the booth. After much shifting about and bidding the wizards good-bye, Alexander sighed dramatically.

"Clever," Alexander said, a twinkle in his eye. "If not a little over-the-top."

"It worked, didn't it?" Draco replied.

"You both are so attractive that you're bound to attract all sorts of persuasions," Alexander said matter-of-factly and not in his usual doting tone. "You can always just say no."

He had him there, but Hermione had already set up quite a story that walking it all back when the truth about the situation had fully developed would have taken too much effort to explain. Besides, Hermione's choice in story that had stirred something deep in Draco's choice. The way her eyes had gleamed when she had caught sight of the ring on her finger was priceless. He wondered what it would be like to really offer her a ring for her finger.

"Does someone mind telling me what just happened?" Hermione asked impatiently befuddled. Draco and Alexander burst out laughing at the same time.