a/n: Sorry for the huge delay again, but I'm done with the school year (yayyy) and am now just looking for a permanent job 😬 Hope you all enjoy this chapter. We're getting closer and closer to the home stretch. Lots more to com, but we're getting there! All my love to Helene and Noodar as usual ❤️
Draco didn't want to think about the moment he heard the snap of Hermione's bone any longer. By now, he had witnessed many horrific things in his life that would never leave the depths of his mind, no matter how many layers of snow and ice he'd conjured to permanently cover them. Murder. Torture. Destruction. He couldn't escape any of it. But the one that burned at the forefront of his mind as he tried to fall asleep was the instance of fear and agony that replaced the usual tenderness of Hermione's features.
He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep, but it was useless. How had it been so easy on the balcony to drift into a blissful slumber, even with her being several metres away and separated by a thick bit of warded glass? Yet the moment he'd been in his dark, silent room again, he was wide awake, his mind refusing to quiet.
"How dare you?" his father hissed when he'd returned to the Quidditch Pitch. "You stupid, foolish, boy."
He had fallen to the ground; his knees dug into the dry grass.
"Get up!" Lucius stormed over to him and yanked him up by the shoulder of his robes. "I have given you everything you have ever wanted, Draco. This is how you repay me?" His father spat the words in his face, little particles of saliva hitting him.
All he could do was sneer back at the man he once looked up to; the person he'd tried his whole life to please. Lucius's eyes were sunken, his hair thinning and his face covered in stubble he didn't care to shave. There was nothing noble or redeemable about him. He was blinded by self preservation. Draco remained silent.
"Well?" his father said through gritted teeth.
"Well, what?" he said with an innocence embedded in his tone.
Lucius seethed, yanking Draco's jumper impossibly closer. "Do not take me for a fool. I know what's going on. I let it slide before because I thought you were simply taking advantage of the situation, but after that little display, I can see you're getting too close and I must take action." His voice became softer, unlike anything Draco had heard from the man in quite some time. "I cannot protect you if you are so careless," he said, exasperated.
Draco kept his jaw clamped shut. He bit back any anger or defensive retorts that roiled within him. In a time long ago, he would have felt something at the emotion his father let show. But now, nothing.
"You hold enough power and privilege in your surname to send armies into war and millions of galleons into the pockets of noblemen," Lucius continued, his wild gaze flashing. "With that kind of power comes responsibility." His lips were carved into that familiar crisp snarl.
"And what if I don't want any of that?" Draco said.
His father bore his eyes into his. "It doesn't matter what you want. You have a duty to this family and you will not jeopardize that for some thing with a Mudblood," Lucius sneered. He straightened and peered down his nose at Draco. "I'll fix this."
Draco sat up and flung his legs over the side of the bed as he tried to steady his breathing. He let his body slide to the floor with his back against the bed frame, his hand clutching his wand.
His mouth opened as he sucked in and fought a burning sensation behind his squeezed-shut eyes. With a flick of his wand, he summoned his favourite smashing glass and flung it against the wall. He hadn't shattered it in weeks, but he obliged his instinctual desire to break it into smithereens. Before, it had admittedly given him a sense of control. But now, as the pieces scattered across the floor, he was only reminded of brokenness. He dropped his wand beside him and shoved the heels of his palms against his eyes, his hands growing wet. The room was silent - so silent - save for his hilted breathing.
Draco clasped the final hook of his trousers and shuffled on his black shirt. He stared at himself in the full-length mirror before doing up the buttons. Looking back at him was a man he barely recognized; sunken eyes from a lack of sleep, puffy from the especially rough night he'd had. His skin was marred with long scars. He glanced at the balcony door windows despite the barely opaque curtains that covered any view he could have into Hermione's room. Was she just as scarred as him? Just as broken and changed? He smoothed a few strands of hair against the side of his head, his cut shorter there than on top. He didn't look exactly like his father, but he resembled him. The past few months had taken years off both their lives, and it showed.
He crossed his room and strode out the very doors he'd wanted to open all morning. The breeze was light and refreshing; sunbeams reflected off the metal railing. At the edge of the balcony, he could see into Hermione's room properly. The left side of her body was visible through the window, and she was standing in front of where the dresser was against the wall, pulling her nightshirt over her head.
His breath hitched. He summoned a quill and parchment from his room and hastily flung his button-up off his shoulders, tossing it back into his room. Lovely view this morning, wouldn't you agree? he wrote. The note flew through his room, under the closet doors, and over to her at his command.
When it tapped against her shoulder, she jolted and instinctively covered herself with her arms before taking the note. She met his gaze and rolled her eyes.
He feigned innocence in his expression.
Hermione stepped out of view, returning a minute later in a low-cut blue dress. She scribbled on the parchment and held it up for him to summon.
Careful or you'll lose your window privileges.
He raised his eyebrows as he wrote his response. You wouldn't dare. You benefit just as much as I do.
After reading, her eyes scanned his chest and abdomen as if considering his claim. I suppose I do.
Oh, I'm sorry, do you want me to cover up? He Accio'd his shirt and acted as if he was putting it back on when she read.
She laughed and shook her head. Once again, Draco Malfoy, you're so cocky.
You like it.
Case and point.
Swot.
She feigned offence, lifting a hand to her chest and mouthing me?
He just nodded back, relishing the way she bit her lip.
Her eyes flickered to the wall and she gestured with a tapping finger to her wrist that it was nearly time to go.
The smile didn't fall from Draco's lips until he left his room fifteen minutes later, his shirt back on and buttoned up.
Draco stood in the foyer steeling his expression and whirling an extra layer of snow over the woods in his mind as he waited for his father and Hermione. The last thing he wanted to do was attend a book signing with the man and Rita Skeeter, but he was glad he wouldn't be alone. He would finally be able to hear Hermione's voice again; touch her after days apart.
Lucius's straggly, muted blonde hair showed at the top of the grand staircase to the right. Draco's gaze flickered to Hermione as the flash of her smoothed brunette updo came into view. She caught his look and pressed her lips together to hide a smile.
"Draco," his father said in a cold greeting.
As Hermione walked to his side, the hint of apples in the air threatened to melt his Occluded mind.
"There will be a party at the château this Saturday," Lucius said. "You two are meant to host. The elves will take care of everything, but everything must go smoothly to secure a few new key partners. I'll have Lottie send the schedule after the book signing."
Draco gave his father a curt nod.
Lucius stepped closer to the both of them. "I expect I have made myself clear about how you two are to handle yourselves," he said in a low voice. He looked straight at Hermione, sneering down at her over his nose. "You are here to serve the Dark Lord and nothing more. Do you understand me?"
Draco ground his teeth together, willing himself to stay calm. He could feel the anger and embarrassment radiating from the witch beside him.
"Good," Lucius said, shoving past her and leading the way to the Apparition point beyond the gates of the Manor.
Draco almost forgot how drastically their dynamic had to change when they landed in Diagon Alley and a swarm of reporters and ordinary people tried to push their way to them. He wrapped an arm around her waist and gently grasped the hand of her recently broken wrist. He drew her hand up to his lips and kissed the top of it, checking to see if there were any scars from the break before letting go.
As his father made a path through the crowd ahead of them, Draco searched Hermione's eyes. They were completely void of despair and worry, and if he didn't know better, he would've thought she was a skilled Occlumens. She looked up at him with warmth despite the hordes of people surrounding them.
"Over here!"
"Mrs. Malfoy, when will we be expecting news of a mandrake in the pot?"
"Guarda qui-"
"In your book, you detail your fallout with Mr. Ronald Weasley. When was the last time you spoke to him? Do you know where he is?"
"What are-"
The leeches were shouting at Hermione from all directions. He tightened his grip on her and lifted an arm above their faces to shield them from the flashes and the bombardment of questions.
"Out of the way," Lucius hissed at the last people in front of them as they approached the door to Flourish and Blotts.
Draco nearly blanched at the sight inside the bookstore. It was almost unrecognizable. Covering the stacks and stacks of books throughout the store were hangings featuring the photoshoot he and Hermione had done in his father's office. Some posters were just of Hermione while others were of the both of them. Bold green letters read The Real Hermione Malfoy across each one. Phrases like Get yours today! and Meet the Malfoys at 11:00 a.m. on July 2nd! were on various spots of each hanging.
Draco had been in Flourish and Blotts many times before to get his school supplies. His family had one of the longest standing accounts with the business. But being back in the familiar space - despite how different it looked - he was brought back to the time he had been there the summer before his second year. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Harry Potter stood there, almost right where he stood now, basking in the glory of fame alongside the whole lot of Weaslebees and, of course, Hermione.
"There you are. Good. We open in thirty," Travers said. He walked briskly to Hermione - barely acknowledging Draco - and took hold of her elbow. Draco noticed how perfectly Travers toed the line between treating her like a prisoner and a princess. He followed a step behind them, ignoring the discrete sneer his father gave him as he passed, and imagined the sneer Hermione had given him in that very shop all those years ago. Her hair was wiry and wild, and even though he didn't realize it then, he knew now that he had always been fascinated by her authenticity.
Even now, as Rita Skeeter stood by with a smirk and Travers introduced Hermione to the shop owner - the workers all wanting her to sign their copies of the new book - she emulated effortlessness. She did so in spite of all the pain she had experienced. He supposed he had always been the same way, but he'd had to; there was no other option. She could easily succumb to it all, but she carried on through sheer perseverance.
She was perfectly polite as she obliged the workers' requests and thanked each person when they sang her praises. He listened to her as she chatted with them about how much she had dreamt of such a beautiful shop in her childhood and how being there for the first time seven years prior was a moment she would cherish forever.
Eventually, Draco stepped forward and placed a hand on her lower back as he, too, greeted the group. He didn't miss the nearly imperceptible fall of their expressions. These people were just trying to make it through, faking it as much as he was, though they didn't know how he truly felt. Regardless, he smiled and dipped his head slightly before asking about business.
When the shop finally opened, Draco sat beside Hermione at the perfectly staged table. Hundreds of copies of the so-called biography were waiting in neat piles for customers. One by one, they filed in, beaming at them. He smiled back as he was meant to and tried to keep from staring at Hermione the whole while.
He watched her smile and engage in kind conversation with each person before signing her beautifully scripted name. The first few times, he caught her hesitation in penning Malfoy, but she fixed each near-mistake seamlessly every time until she wrote it as naturally as she breathed. He watched her lips move when she talked, and he was almost jolted out of the trance each time a customer addressed him. He barely spoke any words; just nodded and offered a thank you and pleasure when necessary.
"And what's your name?" Hermione asked a tiny witch with long, curly blonde locks and hazel eyes.
"I'm Sasha," the girl's little voice sang.
He allowed himself to fully look at Hermione then. There was a brightness behind her eyes he didn't usually see.
"Hi, Sasha. I'm Hermione." She stuck her hand out to the girl, who had stood at the side of the table to be closer to her.
"I know who you are!" the girl said, giggling. "I see you in the papers and mum says you are the Brightest Bitch of Our Age!"
"Witch, Sasha, Brightest Witch," the mother said, her face turning a bright shade of red. "She didn't mean that-" the mother tried.
Draco leaned forward ready to say something, maybe ask them to leave, but the sound of Hermione laughing stopped him.
She got up and knelt in front of the girl so she was eye level with her. "How old are you?" she asked, her voice light.
"Five," the girl said, holding up her hand with fingers spread out to emphasize her age.
Hermione held her sweet smile. "You are a very bright young witch." She took the copy of the book about her from the girl's hands and opened it. "Sasha," she said as she wrote her words. "Never let anyone else define who you are. Love, Hermione."
"Thanks!" The girl beamed up at her, a similar brightness in her eyes.
The mother's face was red as she pulled her daughter away without another look up.
If his father hadn't been standing somewhere behind him, he would have reached under the table and grasped her hand.
The rest of the book signing went smoothly, though Draco had found it increasingly more difficult to smile and greet people as time passed.
They were just walking through the foyer of the Manor when the doors to the drawing room opened. Draco sucked in the slightest of breaths; Hermione did the same next to him.
In his usual long, dark robes, Voldemort emerged. A wicked, airy grin was spread across his face.
Lucius bowed, and Draco mirrored his action. He could sense Hermione's rigid form standing straight up, of course. She was brilliant, but she was also a bloody idiot at times.
"Malfoys," Voldemort hissed. His eyes slowly roved over each of them and stopped on Hermione. "Mrs. Malfoy," he said sickeningly. "Have you any respect for the man who brought you the fame you enjoyed today?"
Hermione scoffed - actually scoffed - and Draco had to restrain himself from wincing. He wanted to take back all his thoughts from earlier about how well she was doing.
Voldemort didn't react to her insubordination.
Draco fixed his gaze on a spot in the drawing room behind Voldemort, ignoring the sight of Nagini as she slithered across the table within. A long wand with an unadorned shaft and a handle formed from two conjoined spheres was lifted in Voldemort's ghostly grey fingers and pointed right at Hermione. Draco could see it all in his peripheral vision. He braced himself for her screams and summoned the biggest flurry he could manage in his mind to Occlude from the moment entirely. But even in the distance of his consciousness, he couldn't hear the faintest of yells. Instead, a head of brunette hair set in a smooth updo lowered into a bow.
"That's it," Voldemort's slithery voice cooed.
For the love of Salazar himself, Hermione was silent.
"Tell me, Lucius. How did our famous couple do today?" Voldemort said. He took a few small, commanding steps towards the grand staircase, examining something.
Lucius stood with a proud demeanor. "Everything went smoothly today, my Lord. Travers had anticipated over one thousand attendees, but we had at least double that."
"I see," Voldemort said. "It appears Travers may not be the most reliable man for his position."
Lucius was quiet for a moment. "Either way, we could only see a fraction of them-"
"And have they prepared for this Saturday?" Voldemort interjected.
"I was about to send my head elf to them to explain-"
"Good." The bald, snakelike man turned back to face Draco and Hermione squarely.
Draco knew how to hold himself when he spoke with the Dark Lord. His mind was blank of anything, his thoughts and memories hidden behind layers upon layers of snow.
Voldemort took a gliding step closer to Hermione. A long-nailed finger lifted her chin up. "Pity," was all he said after looking her up and down for several agonizing moments.
Draco willed himself to stay still; to play along. They had both come too far for him to fuck anything up. He reminded himself of that, and that she could handle herself.
Voldemort retreated into the drawing room, and his father spoke as if nothing had happened, stating that Lottie would send them each the upcoming weekend's itinerary.
The two arrived at the château in France Saturday morning accompanied by Lottie and another elf, Sinsey. Lucius had sent them along with instructions to keep watch over Draco and Hermione, no doubt ordering them to report back a detailed list of their behavior.
Regardless, the elves scurried ahead in front of them, leaving Hermione and Draco behind a bit as they walked through the gates and down the gravel pathway. He felt a pang of guilt for all the times he'd snapped at Lottie for her sudden Apparition into his space. This moment made up for all of it.
"Hi," she said.
He looked at her and smiled. "Hi."
Draco pointedly watched the elves ahead of them to see if they would turn around before entering the château, but they didn't. He closed the distance between him and Hermione and pulled her into an embrace. He held her, burying his face in her hair, arms wrapped around her shoulders. Their quiet breathing was the only sound around save for the whisper of the wind.
"I'm okay," she said against his chest. "Are you?"
Draco had closed his eyes, breathing in her sweet smell. "This is the first time in days that I'm actually okay," he said, voice muffled by her hair. "It's just not the same with that glass between us."
Her arms tightened around his body. "I know."
When they pulled apart, he took her wrist and examined it again.
"It's fully healed now," she said.
"No pain at all?" He carefully turned her hand over, sweeping his fingertips over her palm. "I can have Lottie get you something for it."
"I'm fine. Really. I just want to forget that it ever happened," she said, her voice quiet.
He swallowed and nodded, dropping her hand.
"Who will be here tonight?" she asked.
"Mostly influential people in France who have yet to meet with Voldemort."
"He'll be here?" She pressed her lips together and moved her jaw around unconsciously. She was so easy to read now that he'd seen her in moments of fear, happiness, pain, and worry.
"Yes. As will the other Death Eaters on this 'International Advancement Decree Tour.' And Ambassador Moreau, the Minister, my father…"
"What about Odette?"
Draco raised his eyebrows. "Jealous, are we?" he said, lifting a playful smirk. "I don't know, should I request confirmation that she will be in attendance?"
Hermione huffed a laugh, rolled her eyes, and mumbled a whatever under her breath.
He connected their hands again and closed the small distance between them, dropping his forehead to hers. "I'm glad we're in this together now." His voice was soft; the words nearly blew away with the wind before reaching her.
"Me, too," she breathed. "Hey, I meant to ask before, but I saw you talking with someone in your room a few nights ago. What was that all about?"
"Theo came over. He's going to try to find my mother and Hagrid for us." He barely let his voice go above a whisper.
Hermione went still. Her brow furrowed as she looked up at him. "Draco, did you ask him to do that for us? If he were caught, he would be killed. And that's putting us at risk, too. You said it yourself, you have no idea where your mother's being kept, and if we start digging now, especially with your father onto us, there's no-"
"Hermione," he said, lifting his hand to brush a thumb over her lips. They parted at his touch, just as they'd parted over and over again when she was reading the other night. "Theo volunteered. And he's not an idiot. He won't get himself caught." His gaze didn't leave the soft spot he'd caressed, a pulse of blood rushing below his belt.
"I hope you're right," she said. "Come on." She turned and walked the rest of the way into the château. Draco hooked his fingers with hers, reluctant to break the connection.
Countless elves were rushing around, just as they had the night of his and Hermione's reception. As they ascended the stairs to their respective towers of the château, they shared one more look.
Draco contended on taking a long, cold shower. By the time he was under the flow of the water, however, he'd succumbed to the desire for heat and steam.
His mind conjured the perfect image of Hermione: on the armchair with her legs pulled up to her chest, strands of her curly hair falling loosely around her face. She was so peacefully beautiful as she stared at the book, mouthing the words unconsciously as her eyes roved over the book's pages. He let his head fall back and his eyes close, the streams of hot water kissing his face. Behind his eyelids, he could see Hermione's fingers lift and brush the rogue pieces of her hair behind her ear. Lips parting and closing…the soft feel of them against his thumb… He could envision it as if it were happening all over again. Every movement of hers made heat rise within him.
A twitch and a pulse in the exact right spot below his hips… He could almost hear the caress of her voice; the smirk in her tone as she quipped with him. He gripped a marble ledge carved into the wall of the shower. His left hand moved purposefully to oblige the need that continued to build within him. Every stroke was in time with the memory of the movement of her lips as she read. Each breath he drew was faster and harsher. His length grew in his hand, pulsing and tugging at the need for release. In his vision, Hermione's gaze flicked to his to signal for him to turn the page. Her eyes were amber, as deep and warm as Firewhiskey.
He saw those eyes staring at him in the darkness of the château kitchen…rolling back as he held her, pinning her to the wall…crinkling in laughter on the Quidditch pitch… His mouth fell open and his head dropped, his stomach recoiling as his hips jutted forward and he was finally sent over the edge. A quick, low, strangled groan escaped him. He couldn't move for several beats. When his whole body relaxed, he leaned back against the shower wall. The streams still flowed, slowly washing away the evidence of his desire. He breathed in the steam, savouring the moments he came down from his high.
Draco laid on the bed staring at the clock across the room. The distant noise of clanging dishes, rushed footsteps, and tiny voices carried into the space. There was only twenty minutes left until the guests started to arrive.
He picked himself off the bed and went through the same motions he had become so accustomed to: pulling on layers of heavy black clothing, summoning a mind flurry to cover his forest, and masking his features into stone.
In the entrance hall of the château, he waited for Hermione, already hearing the pops of Apparition beyond the gates. It was evening and everything was calm; the elves were nowhere to be seen, music played in the background, and the lights were dimmed to a warm hue. His eyes kept flickering from the entrance door to the staircase leading to the tower where Hermione was staying until he finally spotted her descending the stairs.
Fuck. He didn't register that the word had actually escaped his lips. The Golden Girl was bathed in a metallic silver dress that clung to her body. She was stunning, but what caught his eye most was the single strand of curly hair that fell along the side of her face, free from the tight, straightened updo she was always made to don. She grinned at him as she walked his way. When she reached him, he tucked the hair behind her ear and held the side of her face, leaning down to kiss her deeply just before he could hear the first guests' voices outside the doors.
She pulled away quickly. "Draco," she admonished with raised eyebrows, hiding a smile and bite of her lip.
He smiled back and glanced at the door. "You know what to do?" he asked quietly.
She pursed her lips together. "Yes."
"I'm sorry," he breathed.
There was a flash of surprise in her expression. "At least holding hors d'oeuvres two feet behind you and a guest is only for tours of the grounds. I'll be fine tonight."
He nodded, and she touched his chest before opening the door.