The Art of Deception
Rating: M
Summary: Hermione Granger – her true identity now revealed – must convince the Death Eaters that she is, and always will be, loyal to them. Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy devises a strategy to expand his empire by invading the British government. However, neither of them is prepared for what will threaten their desires… or who will threaten them, rather. M for violence, language. Darkish Dramione. 1920s Muggle AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, nor do I claim profit from this work. All credit is due to J.K. Rowling.
A/N – This story is the sequel of The Art of Betrayal. It is (loosely) influenced by Peaky Blinders as well as Great Gatsby but is not intended to be directly based on either and no previous knowledge or experience on either of them is necessary.
I will not be including any trigger warnings so, please continue to read at your own risk. However, feel free to message me privately (or review) with any specific questions or concerns pertaining to the dark themes if you have any. Language, violence, character death, near and/or implied sexual assault are all present in this fic.
I am thrilled to be starting another story with you, and hope you enjoy!
Chapter 1: Watch Her Conquer
7 May 1929
WEDDING OF THE DECADE:
THE LOVE STORY OF MISS GRANGER AND LORD MALFOY
By Rita Skeeter
Tomorrow morning, Lord Draco Malfoy DCM OBE VC MP will no longer be known as a beloved bachelor. Instead, he will be a devoted husband to the exquisite Miss Hermione Granger, whom he has been dating for just over four years. The few notable guests – including King George V himself! – lucky enough to be invited to their wedding ceremony in Westminster will witness the union of the destined couple. Meanwhile, the rest of Great Britain will have to make do with hearing the BBC broadcast of the ceremony from their sitting room radios.
It is my absolute delight to be granted permission from the effervescent couple themselves to cover their love story in the Daily Prophet. I believe we all remember the exact moment we fell in love with Miss Granger – when she stepped out on Lord Malfoy's arm, draped in a custom Greengrass gown, with a rock the size of New Zealand on her ring finger! However, what I'm sure we're all dying to know, is the precise moment Lord Malfoy fell in love with Miss Granger – and she with him.
The story of how Miss Hermione Granger, challenged by fate and economic circumstance, came to become the future wife of Britain's most eligible bachelor is awe-inspiring. It reveals how one woman, given the most prestigious opportunity by the utterly benevolent Malfoys, rose to encompass a timeless, poignant position as the future Lady Malfoy. Like most fairytales, the romance between Lord Malfoy and Miss Granger began with a dream.
What a load of fucking rubbish.
First of all, I have never heard Rita refer to me as 'exquisite'. Not once, and definitely not when the public so-called fell in love with me. Rita is the first person to condemn any action I make, and she made it known in her tabloid-style articles in the Daily Prophet that I am 'manipulating Lord Malfoy into believing that they love each other for the sole purpose of acquiring his wealth and status'. Yes, that was pulled from an old piece she wrote.
Verbatim.
Let's not even get into how she casually mentions how poor and undeserving I am of Draco, because I think if I have to go down that rabbit hole one more bloody time, I won't come out. At least, not with my sanity intact.
King George, Westminster, the BBC… it all makes me a bit nauseous if I'm being honest. It's not at all what I wanted (when I realized that marrying Draco was actually a very real possibility – and one that we both wanted). Their involvement in the wedding is partly why it drives me insane when people, including Rita, who don't actually know Draco and I, swore by my gold digger intentions not long ago. Now, of course, since I presume that they realized they aren't getting rid of me any time soon, their opinions are more civil.
Hence, the fucking use of 'timeless', 'poignant' and, my personal favorite, 'awe-inspiring'.
Sometimes, I do pity Rita because as far as she knows – and the rest of Great Britain – I simply sat behind a desk or followed Draco around like a lost puppy with a pen and notebook glued to my greedy hands. To them, only the past four and a half years of my relationship were significant; they don't know about the five before those.
For some of us, however, those five will never be forgotten.
31 July 1925
Hermione grimaced at the harsh sunlight as she stepped carefully across the stone pathway leading from the upper lawn down into Narcissa's garden. The gardenias and primroses planted last spring blossomed in this particularly wet and stifling summer. The white summer dress she wore clung to her body, nearly suffocating her beneath its expensive silk. Hermione ascended the tiny steps of the gazebo; she inhaled and exhaled two deep breaths before plastering a false smile across her rosy lips and striking up conversation.
"He hates me," she said to Theo. Her words were accusatory and icy, though anyone out of earshot would never know that. Hermione wore an expression so beautiful and content, she was sure even Narcissa standing on the other side of the gazebo would not sense how upset she truly was. "He hates me," she repeated.
Theo, lucky enough to have his back turned to most of the guests milling about, rolled his eyes at her. He towered over her, and the faint scent of smoked wood and pine needles seeped from his tailored beige suit.
"He doesn't hate you," replied Theo with a subtle shake of his head. He tipped his glass back, emptying its contents in a single gulp. "He's hurting."
"Did it ever occur to him that I'm hurting, too?" She replied, arching her eyebrow. "It's not as if the past few months have been easy for either of us. One minute he accepted my past, then the next he threw it back in my face. I'm getting whiplash. The least he could do is talk to me," she mumbled.
Theo tilted his head, questioning her. "We both know that talking is one of his least favorite past times." He sighed. "It's not just your past, and I don't mean to belittle any of your pain by any means, but it's also this new role he wants to take on. The lies and the false relationship are difficult for him; they open up old wounds."
"Old wounds," scoffed Hermione. "I'm beginning to wonder if he ever closed those wounds,"
Theo's face contorted into a condescending expression. "Five years is a long time, Granger. The trust built during that time was broken in the blink of an eye, and it won't easily be restored. If at all," remarked Theo. Hermione winced, unable to prevent the reflex from happening before she could school her expression. Theo, ever the attentive friend, noticed this and looped his arm in hers. "Come," he said. "I need another drink, and you can certainly use one. You haven't had any today yet, have you?"
"No," Hermione lied. She'd had three shots of vodka for breakfast, but she didn't feel like explaining why to Theo at the moment – or ever. It was best if he didn't realize how difficult this particular day was for her, and it would be better yet if she didn't tell him because of his big mouth.
"Wonderful," chirped Theo as he led her toward the bar. It had been specifically constructed for that day's festivities. "Two whiskeys, please. Neat." He paused, then added, "On second thought, make them both a double, will you?"
The barman nodded.
Theo ran a hand through his dark hair and produced a set of black mirrored sunglasses Hermione hadn't noticed were there; to be fair, he was much taller than her even with her heels on.
"I'll have mine on the rocks, actually," Hermione told the barman quickly. "Thank you,"
"No, no," Theo interrupted, throwing out his palm to stop the barman from adding ice to one of the crystal glasses. "Absolutely not. Not in this family. It's neat or nothing, Granger,"
Hermione sighed. "Theo," she groaned, crossing her arms over her chest.
He rolled his eyes again, then addressed the barman. "Add a drop of water to both of them and one ice cube to hers. Excellent, thank you," he said when the barman handed him the two drinks. Theo handed the one with a single cube of ice to Hermione and shook his head disapprovingly at her. "Happy now?"
"Very," she replied drily.
Hermione sipped idly at her whiskey. She glanced around at the guests, slowly relaxing in Theo's presence. His silence, and the added distraction of people watching, curbed her turbulent thoughts.
Most of the women, ordinarily dawned in designer ballroom gowns for this type of event, elected for Wimbledon-esque dresses instead. The men, confined to three-piece suits, opted for breathable fabrics. Still, it was obvious that there was a general discomfort from the Londoners, which could be seen by nearly everyone fanning themselves with the custom-made sensus. It was the Treasurer of the Board's bloody brilliant idea to host the Twenty-fifth Annual Charity Fundraiser for Children in Need outside on a sweltering summers day.
Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
"Blaise," smirked Theo as the elegant ebony man strode toward them. "What an ingenious idea it was for you to believe this lovely event should be hosted in the Manor." He feigned a gasp. "Oh, my apologies. Not in the Manor, outside the Manor."
"It would have been warm no matter where we held it, Theodore," Blaise chided, sparking a cigarette. He puffed out a cloud of smoke, then added, "In any case, it's not my fault a massive heat wave struck last night. I can't control the weather."
"Shame," tutted Theo with a petty pout. "You'd be twice more useful to us if you could."
"Fuck off."
Hermione chuckled at Blaise's poor attempt to hide his irritation with Theo. Their banter was one of her favorite things, and if she didn't know any better, she would presume they were putting themselves on a bit more for her benefit. Instead of commenting on her theory, however, Hermione simply raised her glass between the two men.
"Cheers, gentlemen," she said.
"Blaise isn't a gentleman." Theo muttered with a roguish grin he could have only learned from Harry.
"Fuck off," he snapped in response, subtly punching Theo in the stomach and causing some of his precious whiskey to spill on the manicured grass. He shook his head, taking another drag. "Cheers to what?" Blaise questioned.
Hermione shrugged, "To melting in this horrendous heat wave," – Blaise grimaced, but Hermione leaned into him and offered a small smile – "but looking good despite the fact."
"The fuck kind of soppy shit speech was that, Granger?" Theo remarked at the same time Blaise finished off his drink and said, "Fuck it, I'll drink to that."
The three of them talked about simple things such as how stressed Narcissa must be with all of these people wandering about her darling gardens, when Astoria might be returning from her trip to Scotland, and how many more times Gilderoy Lockhart would be appointed Most Charming Smile before someone dethroned him. Then, much to her dismay, the conversation shifted to a subject she wished she never brought up to Theo in the first place.
"So, Hermione," Blaise began in a cautious tone. "How have you and Draco been lately?"
She groaned inwardly. It was a fair enough question for Blaise to ask her. He had been away to Birmingham for the past six months on business, and, although there hasn't been any improvement between her and Draco, it was not as if Blaise would know. Then again, he could have talked to literally anyone in the household about it.
Hermione narrowed her eyes, "He hates me." She said curtly. "Why do you ask?"
Blaise balanced the half-lit cigarette between his lips and nodded over her shoulder, whispering in her ear, "Here he comes," before backing away to a respectable distance.
The familiar scent of Draco's aftershave, followed by the low timber of his voice, dizzied Hermione. She swayed slightly, instinctively leaning closer to Theo for support, then shifted to greet Draco. She opened her mouth to say hello – or plead for him to talk to her like a normal fucking person and not treat her like a prisoner of war – but before she could even get out one syllable, he spoke first.
Draco looked directly over her, nodding to both Theo and Blaise, then scoffed, "Fuck it's hot as hell out here." When Blaise frowned, Draco patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, mate, I'm not blaming you." He dug through his pale grey suit for a cigarette; the suit perfectly matched his eyes' idyllic shade of silver, and it made Hermione's heart plummet.
After exhaling a puff of smoke, Draco wrapped his arm around Hermione's waist and pulled her to his side without notice. Hermione stilled. Then, his lips were on her ear, murmuring, "Don't worry, I won't be staying."
As quickly as he appeared, he disappeared, and Hermione was left shivering under the late July sun and wondering what the bloody hell just happened. She blinked. In the corner of her eye, she caught Draco saunter off to greet Mr. Bagman and Mr. Carrow with a wicked grin on his face. The three of them put their arms around one another and walked off, laughing, toward a few unaccompanied women.
"Ignore him," whispered Theo. She tore her gaze from the dazzling ginger woman Draco walked up to and fixed it on her friend beside her. "He's doing this to wind you up."
"Why?" Hermione hissed under her breath. She reached for a sensu on the nearest cocktail table and began fanning herself with it. Now, with the added coverage of the fan to prevent others from seeing her distress, she went on. "He started this whole fucked up situation and put me in this bloody position. He supposed to be in love with me, and yet, there he goes, running to the nearest desirable woman he can find." Hermione pouted. "I'm genuinely surprised he didn't invite Fleur."
Blaise coughed to clear his throat, then muttered. "He did invite her, but she couldn't make it." He paused, regarding Hermione warily. "Her response card mentioned she sends her love to both of you."
"Oh, fuck that," she swore.
Fleur, by any and all means, was not the one to blame. Hermione was certainly not about to start shaming other women for men's wrongdoings either. If there was one thing that she learned from being close friends with Astoria Greengrass, it was that. Still, it stung to think that Draco could have very well invited Fleur to flaunt their interactions in Hermione's face. He knew how much their shoot bothered her still to this day.
"Who is he talking to anyway?" Hermione asked, clearly speaking to Blaise.
He glanced at Theo briefly before responding. "Ginny Weasley," he said. At Hermione's shocked expression, he went on. "Yes, that Weasley. She's the youngest, and only woman, among the siblings."
"What the bloody hell is she doing here?" Hermione asked, incapable of restraining her tongue.
"Honestly," admitted Blaise, raising his glass to his lips. "I'm not entirely sure why's she's here. She has ten times more class than her idiot brothers, to start, but I'm certain Narcissa isn't thrilled at all about hosting a Weasley. No matter the occasion."
Theo and Hermione exchanged grimaces, apparently, in agreeance with Narcissa.
"She's a member of the New Order," remarked Blaise with an exasperated sigh. "The member, if I recall correctly."
"Correct," supplied Theo, pursing his lips. "Which, I believe, makes her presence fucking Potter's doing. My apologies for his horrendous manners," added Theo in her ear as an afterthought. He shook his head, and Hermione followed his line of sight to where the disheveled raven-haired man stood. When the two men's eyes met, Potter shook hands with the people he was previously conversing with and began walking over to their trio.
"Hey," Harry said, tilting his head to the side. "Can I steal Hermione for a chat?"
"What?" Theo retorted, narrowing his pale blue eyes at Harry. "You didn't come over here to talk to me? The fuck,"
Hermione stood awkwardly between the couple; she wasn't sure if Theo's remarks were a side effect of an argument the two had recently, or if he was simply egging Harry on for the sake of it. One could never tell with Theodore Nott Jr. Evidently Harry didn't seem to mind one bit. His half-smile grew into a full one, and a flash of mischief sparked behind his emerald eyes.
"I'll steal you later, Nott, for more than just a chat," he winked.
"Gross," muttered Hermione at the same time Theo smirked and Blaise said, "Fucking hell, I need another drink." As the two men wandered off to where Pansy and Daphne stood in the shade of the gazebo, Harry took Hermione's arm and led her back towards the Manor.
"I didn't realize we'd be leaving the party," she commented, though she was especially glad they were leaving the dreadful gala and its glamorous guests behind. Harry slid her a sidelong glance, and Hermione couldn't help but feel reassured in his presence. Where there had once been misunderstanding and manipulation, now existed compassion and camaraderie. "Thank you," added Hermione as they sat on one of the benches at the top of the lawn, "and Happy Birthday, Harry."
"You remembered," he teased.
"Of course, I remembered. I'm fairly skilled at keeping track of dates and names."
Harry coughed, "I suppose you have to be, provided your previous work experience in covert operations." Hermione blanched, and he went on. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. It's commendable, actually, how you were able to dissociate yourself from your work."
"Was I though?" She questioned. Her gaze slid from his intruding emerald eyes to the glint of silver preparing to make his annual speech. This year, she hadn't helped write it, and that fact twisted like a knife in her windpipe. "Anyway," she said, blinking back tears. "How is work?"
"Well, Fudge is about as hard to please as you warned me he would be," Harry told her. "I think he likes me, though, because I barely spend longer than a tea break at my desk."
"He would like you," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. "You really are the Chosen One, aren't you?" She mocked.
"Hey," he spluttered, "His favor in me has absolutely nothing to do with that god forsaken nickname, and absolutely everything to do with the fact that Fudge is as massive a misogynist as you claimed him to be." He shook his head and laughed when he caught the smirk stretched across Hermione's face. "Bloody hell," he swore. "I swear you're the only person whose mockery genuinely upset me."
"Sorry," she replied half-heartedly between chuckles.
When their laughter died down, Harry propped one leg over the other, balancing his ankle over his opposite knee. He sighed, then said, "I still can't believe Fudge put you up to working for Shacklebolt and the Aurors. He doesn't seem like the most intelligent man to me," Harry remarked. "Much less one who could arrange an entire secret organization under Churchill's nose."
Hermione sighed.
"No, he doesn't." She glanced askance at him. "There's been no chatter among the officers about what happened over Christmas?"
Harry shook his head.
She didn't need any further explanation; Draco had done a remarkable job at falsifying a story to make it appear as though the Aurors were in lieu with the IRA, and Hermione knew how the London police functioned. According to what little information the press released, an explosion in a small terraced home destroyed what must have been a black market for arms dealers, killing several unidentified men while simultaneously recovering the stolen RSAF weaponry.
What Britain would never know is that Draco wrote to Slughorn and informed him of suspected IRA involvement in a particular black-market arms community. Slughorn then, predictably, pieced together the missing weapons had been taken by the IRA men fleeing London. Under direct order from Churchill himself most likely, Slughorn gave a brief public report that all weapons were accounted for. As for the unidentified men, the Aurors, it was no surprise to Hermione that Fudge nor Churchill (it was still unclear how high up the chain the creation or knowledge of the Ministry went) claimed to know them.
"Well," Hermione said. "I suppose I should be glad you're getting close with the higher-ups this quickly. Perhaps, sooner rather than later, we can get to the bottom of who created the Ministry and why." He nodded, and she went on. "Shacklebolt was forthcoming enough to you and me that his creation of the Order was meant for the destruction of the Death Eaters, but that doesn't necessarily mean the entire Ministry backed this plot."
Harry agreed, "Right." He met her eyes, and asked, "Does it bother you – not being part of the undercover investigation?"
Hermione thought about it.
"Yes and no," she replied truthfully. "I miss having meaningful work, and something to do. I hate having to sit around all day and do stupid crafts meant to demean my intelligence. If I have to learn another useless trade like crocheting, then I'm going to scream."
"Hm," grunted Harry. "There's always a leadership role in the New Order waiting for you, if you want it."
"Absolutely not," scoffed Hermione. "There's no way I could ever get involved with them, no matter how different they are now, given my allegiance to the Death Eaters." Not to mention, Hermione thought, she was directly responsible for the death of a notable Order member. Luckily, Harry didn't know about that. "Besides," she elbowed him playfully. "Everyone knows you will always be the real leader of the New Order."
Harry chuckled, "Try telling that to the woman in charge."
"Wait," she blinked. "I thought your little sidekick was the new leader. Theo definitely complained about a weasel making snappy demands the other day so, I presumed it was him."
"Oh," Harry smirked. "Ron is technically the leader, yes, but we all know it's his younger sister, Ginny, who has control of the New Order." He shook his head, and Hermione's blood boiled at the name. That was the second time that afternoon that she'd heard it, and both times she has been thoroughly displeased by its association with topic of conversation. "She's fire incarnate, that one," added Harry.
Hermione lay awake that night, unable to fall asleep.
Eventually, tormented by spiraling thoughts, she swung the duvet aside and slipped on a silk robe. She opened the top drawer of her nightstand and removed one of the fuller bottles of vodka, having every intention to make a nice dip in its contents. Her bare feet padded against the wood floor as she crossed the corridor and stepped soundlessly into the room across from hers.
The emptiness of the room stood out to Hermione. The furniture, flooring, and walls used to all be adorned with black wood, which is why she had nicknamed it the Room Noir. There used to be bookshelves, armchairs, and a proper desk on the far wall. Now, instead of elegant furniture, there was no furniture; the room was vacant and eerie. Despite the cream-colored walls, and the naturally finished oak floor, the room appeared more sinister to Hermione than it did with its black decor.
Sometimes, when Hermione was feeling lonely or depressed, she would come into the room and sit in the center of it. She would stare at the floor, walls, ceiling, and try not to think of the potential this room held. How it haunted her, and how no matter how much she wanted to move away from it, she couldn't bring herself to do so.
Hermione was inhaling and exhaling slowly, trying to keep her flood of tears from breaking the dam. She raised the bottle to her lips, and the creak of the heavy door alerted her to someone's presence.
"I figured I would find you here," a voice said.
Her head turned slowly, and her eyes were met by dark and stormy ones. "Draco," she whispered, more to herself than to him. He moved quietly through the doorway and stopped beside her. "What are you doing here?" She asked him; her voice barely audible.
"Same as you, I imagine," he replied softly. Draco motioned with a wave of his hand to the space on the empty floor next to her, "May I sit?"
She nodded, "It's your house. You can do whatever you please." Hermione had not meant to be harsh, but her tone was quite rude, and there was no taking it back now. The words froze Draco as he shifted into a comfortable sitting position. His eyes flickered across her face, and Hermione immediately felt a surge of guilt wash over her. "Sorry," she murmured, averting her gaze from his piercing grey eyes.
Hermione internally reprimanded herself for apologizing to him when he was the one being unspeakably aggressive to her nowadays, but, then again, that was one of the differences between them. She coped by requiring affection and someone to talk to, while Draco coped by needing space and someone to blame.
That someone, of course, would be her.
"How are you?" He asked, clenching his jaw.
Hermione grimaced, "Don't act like you care. Don't do that," she reprimanded, shaking her head and nervously toying with the strap tying her robe together. "I don't think I can take you letting me in just to shove me away again."
"What? Am I not allowed to ask how you are anymore?" His lips twisted downward sinisterly. "We've been over this a million times, and I don't know what else to say to you. It's for the best," Draco's tone had taken a sharp turn for the worst. Hermione didn't appreciate it one bit and, because she'd been drinking, decided to lash out.
"Are you fucking joking?" She snapped.
"Am I wrong?"
She fumed. "You always think you're on the bloody right side of everything, Draco, well you're not. Just because you provide some good for this city, with your charity work and whatever else, does not mean you don't commit some bad as well. Your moral compass may be sideways, but that doesn't mean everyone else's is," Hermione tore her eyes away from his bare chest rising and falling rapidly. "You don't get to say what is right and wrong, no matter how clever you are nor how much power you obtain. Don't you get that?"
"That's not what I'm saying at all," he said in attempt to defend himself.
"Yes, it is!" Hermione snapped. "You blame me for everything that happened!"
"How can I not?" Countered Draco with a glare. Hermione sharply inhaled, offended beyond measure, and stood abruptly. "Wait," he said, standing with her and clasping a hand around her wrist to pull her back. "I didn't mean it like that,"
"Yes," she hissed. "Yes, you bloody did."
"No – I – Hermione," he tried.
She was fuming. Hermione tipped the bottle in her free hand back so that the clear liquid stung her lips, numbed the back of her throat, and trickled down her chin. Draco swiped the liquor from her grasp, and discarded it somewhere behind him, where she couldn't reach it.
"Hey," he whispered. His tone, for the first time in a long time, was calm and kind. Hermione blinked through the blurriness, focusing on the silver glint of his eyes in the moonlight. "Hey," he said again, "Don't do that. Please, don't do that,"
"Why?" She slurred. "Because it's not your coping mechanism? Because you don't have to down half a bottle just to make it through the day?"
Draco pursed his lips.
"Who says that I don't, hm?" He retorted. His eyes searched her face, and after a moment he added, "This isn't you."
Hermione's hands balled into fists, and she swiveled to face him. "How dare you," she said. "How dare you pretend to care about me, or pretend to know me - "
He raked a hand through his hair, cutting her off. "Of course, I don't know you, because I don't know who you are anymore!"
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Draco, are you ever going to let that go?"
Draco continued to vent, while Hermione went on screaming and interrupted him. "I'm not even talking about that right now, but how am I supposed to get over something like that, hm? I don't know what about you is real, which parts were Penny - "
"I told you - "
" – and besides, I was referring to this alcoholic version of Hermione that has been walking the halls of the Manor - "
"Alcoholic?" Screeched Hermione.
Draco flung his hands in the air, "Yes, alcoholic! You said so yourself you have to drink copious amounts to get through the day - "
"Well, now you're just twisting my words around, Draco. It was a fucking exaggeration!"
" – You are too brilliant, too clever, to go down this road, Hermione." Draco went on. "But if you don't fucking take care of yourself, or get some bloody help,"
"I don't need you preaching to me about getting help. You're the one who needs help! You're the one who still wants me to smile and wave for the press, and to stand beside you like the dutiful girlfriend I supposedly am when behind closed doors you won't even talk to me." She wailed, throwing her words at him like knives. "You practically imprisoned me, Draco! You tell me what I can and cannot do, what I can and cannot say - "
"I told you," he argued. "The press can be vile, vindictive - "
"And you can't?" Hermione hissed, cutting him off. "Besides, I wasn't even referring to when we're in front of the press, Draco, and you know it. This is the most we've said to each other in fucking months! I can't take this anymore, Draco. I can't pretend like everything is fine when it's not, and I can't keep up this façade any longer - "
"Funny, how you put it like that. Does it bother you that we're pretending to be something we're not? I would have thought you would be entirely in your element with that." He snarled.
"Fuck you," she cried. Hermione felt the tears prick behind her eyes and knew she didn't have much left in her to hold them back. "I'm hurting," she choked out, backing away and swiping furiously at her eyes. "If you're going to be like this, then I don't know if I can stay and put on this show for the public anymore. I don't give a fuck about your precious power scheme. I only wanted to see if we could work things out, and get over this, but clearly neither is possible." She hiccupped, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I'm hurting, but you're obviously not, and I can't - "
"I am bloody hurting, Hermione. Every fucking day, I suffer. I'm not so heartless that I don't – Fuck – We lost a baby,"
His voice broke over the last word, and his hand rose to close over his mouth. It was only then, with Hermione's anger dissipated by the lingering horror of the statement between them, that she noticed the tears already streaming down Draco's face.
She sniffled, swallowing a heartbreaking sob.
Draco closed his eyes momentarily. When they opened again, they were bloodshot, but the sparkling silver captured Hermione's heart like it did every time it focused on her. He opened his arms, and Hermione collapsed into them.
The two of them stood there, enveloped in each other's arms, and cried. It was horrendous, but also beautiful, to have that moment. There was a sense of emptiness, but also belonging, that existed between them as they clung to each other.
Hermione's tear-stained cheek was pressed against Draco's bare chest. She could hear every miserable, erratic beat of his heart and knew that hers was going through the same motions. They had both lost something, and the world would never be the same for it.
"The baby would have been born today, Madam Pomfrey predicted," murmured Hermione when both of their racking sobs slowed, coating the room in silence.
"I know," replied Draco. His fingers stroked her unruly curls; whether the motion was more soothing for him or for Hermione, she couldn't tell. "I know," he said again. "I knew you would be here."
Here being the would-be nursery for the would-be baby had it lived.
Hermione lost the baby. The miscarriage was likely due to the trauma her body sustained, Madam Pomfrey informed her. It was the night she and Draco revealed he was no longer a missing person and announced his intention to run for parliament. They were cuddled up in her old bedroom upstairs, and he woke her in the middle of the night to let her know that she must have had an accident. Hermione panicked; embarrassed, she flicked on the desk lamp. To her horror, the wetness they both felt had been from a pool of blood between her legs.
It was possibly the worst night of her life.
Tonight, was no better.
"I didn't want you to be alone tonight." Draco whispered in her ear, placing a sweet kiss beneath it. "If I'm being honest," he went on, "I didn't want to be alone tonight, either. I wanted to be with you, because you're the only person who understands this pain."
Hermione sniffled, then turned her head to look up at him and meet his eyes. When the flash of silver swam into her blurry vision, she leaned forward on the balls of her feet and placed her lips gingerly against his.
The kiss was hardly a kiss at all.
Her lips brushed against his softly, testing the waters. She inhaled his breath, then rocked forward on her feet a bit more to apply a bit more pressure. Neither of them moved; neither of them so much as took a breath for several long seconds. Then, Draco cupped his hand behind her head and deepened the kiss.
His tongue danced along her bottom lip, and Hermione readily opened her mouth, welcoming it. The kiss was frenzied and desperate, with hands tangled in hair, hips thrust against one another, and gasps for air. The old spark, the old flame that was perfunctorily their relationship, rose from its dying embers in that embrace. Their obvious attraction for each other had not let up in all of their time apart. Deep down, they both knew this would not be healthy for the reparation of their friendship or relationship.
Hermione's chest ached; she had wanted to be loved – and be loved by him – for so long that she felt starved for his touch. Based on Draco's roaming hands, perhaps he felt the same for her.
If this was it for them and there was nothing more to come from their relationship after all these years, then there would at least be this night. This one last time.
Hermione's hands wrapped behind Draco's neck, pulling him closer to her – closer, closer, closer – and, in turn, Draco pressed his palm to the small of her back, holding her against his bare chest. Suddenly, the silk draped over Hermione's body burned. It scratched, suffocated, and begged to be free of her; with the help of Draco's attentive hands, Hermione willingly obliged.
The stifling air sent a chill up her spine, but the heat of Draco's bare skin was enough to keep her warm in the bare room. When it was clear, there would be no turning back from this kiss, Draco took the opportune moment to lay Hermione down on the hard-oak floorboards.
Draco bit her lip, drawing droplets of blood from it. Hermione didn't mind. The pain was familiar, and the physical representation of it was a pleasant distraction from the mental pain she suffered daily. Hermione dug her nails into the hardened muscles of his back, dragging them down his spine and leaving angry marks behind. He didn't seem to mind; his response, predictably, was to rid himself of the only layer of clothing left between them.
Draco paused.
His silver eyes glinted in the moonlight, and he stopped kissing her for half a breath to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. Hermione recognized the sentiment, as well as the hidden question within it.
Are you sure?
She replied in the only way she knew how. Hermione raked a hand through his long hair, placed a kiss beneath his structured jawline, and wrapped her legs around his waist. Bucking her hips up to meet his, she met his gaze with a hazy, intoxicated one of her own. Draco inhaled sharply, then thrust into her with one slow, tantalizing movement.
Neither originally wanted to give in, but now that they had, neither could stop.
Hermione lost herself in loving him.
The sense of fulfillment (literally) flooded her senses and drugged her mind. He was here with her and that was all the mattered in that moment. Hermione, once a lonely and fucked up planet, had been ensnared in his orbit and defined by his gravitation. Then, she'd been cast aside, obliterated by comets and meteors alike, only to come up undefeated. There she was, wrapped in his arms and burning from his touch, and it was no different from the very first time. It was hot, desperate, and she craved it.
Draco buried himself, and likely his demons, into her. Thrust after thrust after thrust. A ball of light built within her – an old friend which she greeted with open arms – and threatened to burst. When Draco slowed his pace, tucking her legs over his shoulders and nearly bending her in half, the ball of light shattered.
Hermione rode out her orgasm with the help of Draco's dexterous fingers inside of her, pleasuring her.
By the time she caught her breath, Hermione was spent, but seeing Draco struggling to feel the same satisfaction in release, leaned forward to prop herself on her elbows. She steadied her heartbeat enough to maneuver them into a different position. This time, Draco lie with his spine digging into the hardwood. Hermione perched above him, straddling him to the floor, and lowered herself onto his erection.
They both inhaled sharply, hissing under their breath as two become one, once again.
One thing Hermione used to doubt, that she no longer did, was how well she knew Draco. He liked it rough in the beginning, then affectionate in the end, and fuck all that was what she would give him. Anything he wanted – anything – and he would have it, if she could help it. Because in that moment, this night, they would be there for each other above all else.
It was them against the world.
Her legs began to shake as she was nearing another climax. Draco lurched forward, entangling his hands in Hermione's hair. She pulled on his lower lip, rolling it between her teeth, then kissed along his jawline. A groan emanated from between his lips, and he clenched his thighs against hers, trapping her body, slick with sweat, to his.
"Hermione," he murmured against the base of her throat when he came.
They both collapsed on the floor, taking deep, ragged breaths. She curled into his side, trailing a finger down his chest, along his temple, and across his collarbones. Hermione inhaled the scent of sweat and sex in the air.
"Draco," she whispered, fighting to keep her eyes open and failing.
Hermione woke the next morning to the sun streaming through the windows. She blinked, squinting through the harsh morning light to see Winky pulling the drapes back and propping open the windows. Immediately, the room filled with the song of blackcaps chirping. Hermione groaned, rubbing her temples and willing the migraine to sort itself out before she stormed outside and practiced her rifle technique out on the damned birds.
Winky smiled dottily at her. "Good morning, Miss Granger," the young staff member said. Hermione mumbled a pitiful greeting, then sat up in bed. Finished preparing the bedroom for the morning, complete with running a bath, Winky dutifully threw aside the rosy duvet Hermione hid under.
"Did you sleep well, miss?" Winky asked, batting her extraordinarily long lashes at Hermione.
She blinked.
"I – I think so," she muttered truthfully.
Winky ushered her out of bed and into the porcelain tub. The frigid water instantly woke Hermione up; she nearly leapt out of the tub from how quickly she sank into the water, trusting it to be at least lukewarm.
"Mother of - " Hermione swore, biting down on her tongue. "Winky!" She wailed, gesturing to the water as she stepped out of the bath and wrapped a towel around herself. "This is freezing. Why on earth would you - "
"Winky is so sorry, miss!" She yowled. "Winky never meant to cause miss any harm - "
"I'm not harmed, per se," groaned Hermione as she leaned against the counter. The decorative glass her toothbrush sat in caught her eye, and Hermione dumped out its contents in favor of filling it with tap water. She barely brought the glass to her lips before catching Winky's bulging eyes.
"Miss Granger!" Winky wept, foregoing refilling the bathtub to approach Hermione. "Miss mustn't drink from a used glass. Oh, Winky is such an awful servant. Winky is not suitable for miss, no, not suitable at all." She tried to take the glass from Hermione's grasp, but she dodged the effort.
"Winky, it's fine," Hermione told her firmly. "I won't tell anyone, I promise. Just – Fill up the bath, will you?" After a few more reassurances, Hermione managed to get Winky back on track as well as finish her glass of water. Her head, feeling slightly less fuzzy, was grateful for it.
The water, now scalding, soothed Hermione's muscles. They ached terribly. Presumably from the time she spent lying on the hardwood floors across the hall, but –
Had that even happened? Hermione pondered the possibility that it hadn't (she had woken up in her own bed, hadn't she?) and found herself struggling for a clear answer. Amidst her trying to recall whether the interaction with Draco last night – and the sex – was a figment of her vodka-induced imagination, or whether it actually happened, Winky interrupted her.
"Would miss like Winky to prepare her three shots this morning, yet?"
Hermione turned her head toward the figure in the doorway and noticed the bottle in Winky's hands. It was the same exact bottle she thought she scampered across the hall with last night, except this bottle was full almost to the brim. There was no sizeable dent from however much she supposed she must have drunken last night. Odd…
"No," she replied with a wave of her hand. "I won't be needing those anymore. I've quit." Hermione leaned her head back on the lip of the porcelain tub and closed her eyes. A split-second later, she opened them again because the room spun the moment they were shut. "In fact," she added to Winky, shouting it across the room. "Why don't you go ahead and empty out that entire drawer for me, Winky. I believe I'm tired of that dreadful habit I developed."
Real or not, Hermione could not seem to get Draco's reprimanding words out of her head.
Please don't do that. This isn't you.
"Are you sure, miss? Winky only just filled up the bottles this morning before Winky woke you. Winky would hate to empty the bottles if miss changes miss's mind and wants them - "
"That's quite alright, Winky," assured Hermione with a tentative smile. "I won't be needing them, and if I do ask for any spirits, don't hesitate to tell me off." At the horror on the staff member's face, she chuckled and quirked her lips into a more genuine grin. "That's an order, Winky."
"Oh, certainly, miss. Right away, miss. Winky will empty out all the bottles! Winky would never disobey," she replied rapidly as she nearly sprinted out of the room and down the hall with a couple of bottles balanced precariously in her arms.
An hour or so later, Hermione emerged into the dining room to see its usual chaos in full swing.
Greg and Vince nodded mutely to her as she took a seat across from them. Both of their mouths were stuffed with fresh pancakes and cream. Hermione bit her lip and covered her mouth to keep from laughing at the pair of them acting like starved, hormonal teenagers.
Further down the table sat Daphne and Blaise, both bent over tea-stained parchments. There were manic motions from their quills as the worked feverishly on whatever they were working on. From her distance to them, Hermione couldn't exactly tell what that might be, and with the two of them, one never truly knew. It must have been interesting enough, she thought, since both of their plates remained untouched and shoved aside.
Hermione elbowed Theo, who sat in the chair to her immediate right, and pointed to the plate piled high with buttered toast. Although there were loads of pastries and other delicious breakfast foods scattering the long table, she didn't think she could stomach any of them. Their strong scents were bad enough on her upset stomach as it was.
"Oi," said Theo to Graham on the other side of him, "When's your eldest joining our ranks, eh? We're starting to get outnumbered here, mate, I think we could use another lad in the Manor."
"You're not outnumbered," mumbled Hermione, earning a disapproving look from Theo followed by a swift kick to her ankle.
"Not anytime soon if I can help it," replied Graham with a shake of his head. "He's only ten or something. Far too young." He paused, chewing and swallowing another bite of his scone before going on. "Little Flint, on the other hand, should be old enough any day now. I'll have to pop in and see what the little shit's been up to."
Hermione rolled her eyes at the two men, then diverted her attention away from their schemes. Even farther down the table sat Pansy, though her chair was far closer to Draco's at the head of the table than it was to Graham's. The two of them were involved in hushed conversation. From the rapid hand motions made by Pansy, and the blank expression across Draco's face, it must be something serious.
True to form, and validation for Hermione's theory, Narcissa strolled into the room, plucked a bowl of berries, and beelined for Draco and Pansy. The three of them, now, were huddled in their own little bubble. None of them paid any sense to the rest of the mayhem ensuing at the dining table.
It wasn't until Draco tilted his head up and met her eyes, that Hermione realized she'd been openly staring at them. She flushed. However, Hermione wasn't thinking clearly enough this morning, and her reflexes were severely lacking swift timing. So, when Draco held her gaze for a few seconds, then winked, before returning his attention to Narcissa and Pansy, Hermione's heart skipped a beat.
She was utterly confused, until it occurred to her that, perhaps, last night was not a dream, but reality.
Winky only just filled up the bottles this morning before Winky woke you.
"Oh, fuck," she swore under her breath.
Although, Hermione had absolutely no idea as to where that left them now – seeing as having sex didn't resolve any of their issues with one another – but it happened. She couldn't help but think that maybe this wasn't the end for their relationship. The possibility that they could fight to get back to their golden era loomed in the back of her mind as she chewed on her meager breakfast.
Hermione, for the first time in a long time, glowed.
There was hope, after all.
"Here we go, ladies and gentlemen," announced Pansy, "and Theo," she added with a derisive smirk. He blew her a kiss in turn, which she mimed grasping, throwing it on the floor, and stomping on it. Theo feigned hurt but Pansy simply shrugged. "Only twenty-one more days until Doomsday." She stepped back from the fireplace to showcase her creation. It was a calendar with a red star on the fifteenth of September.
Hermione's brows furrowed in confusion. "Doomsday?" She questioned to no one in particular. The few of them who had little to do that afternoon were all sat around the main family sitting room. Hermione's gaze instinctively fell on Theo, the closest person to her in the room.
"Doomsday," he confirmed, not understanding the point of her inquiry. She shook her head, then opened her mouth to explain what she meant, but he raised a hand to stop her. "I know what you meant, Granger, there's no need to be a swot about it." His lips quirked into a smirk before he went on. "The fifteenth of September is the day Draco will be officially anointed a lord by His Majesty the King."
Hermione blinked.
This time, it was Pansy who spoke up. "If you think Draco is unbearable now, just imagine how much worse it will be when he is adored and revered as Lord Malfoy." She feigned a gagging motion before crossing the room to stretch out on the loveseat.
"Ah," exhaled Hermione. "Doomsday." An unpleasant thought pricked at the forefront of her mind, and Hermione could not keep from voicing her concern. "Oh god, that means my role as his 'girlfriend'," – she used air quotes – "will be scrutinized even more so because the public thinks I'll be Lady Malfoy." Hermione remarked with horror.
Pansy pursed her lips.
"Absolutely," she told Hermione. "Don't rule yourself out so quickly either. Just because it's an act now doesn't mean it will always be an act."
Hermione frowned inwardly, careful not to express the dreadful knot in her stomach at the thought that, perhaps, Draco had talked about what happened a few weeks ago to Pansy. Her gaze slid unhelpfully over to Theo, who refused to meet her eye.
Despite the talk of Hermione carrying on with Draco as if nothing was wrong, and, worse, the idea that their relationship would eventually be genuine again, Hermione felt lost as ever. Since her true identity had been discovered, there hadn't been much discussion regarding what would happen with her. The family meeting had done very little to clear it up, either.
It had been a few days after she and Draco had gone public about their relationship, painting it as though it was a newfound love formed from her many years of service to the family company. However, the meeting was also held a few days after she and Draco lost the baby so, Hermione had been exceptionally withdrawn. She sat numb and mute in an armchair by the hearth while Draco, obviously coping differently, argued with nearly every member of the family.
"Why doesn't she go back to the coppers and join Harry in his investigatory work?" Suggested Theo with a cigarette dangling precariously from his lips.
Draco grimaced, booming, "Absolutely not." When Theo raised a finger to take the opportunity of twisting Draco's words around to Absolutely, Nott, Draco quickly shot that down. He narrowed his eyes viciously in Theo's direction and hissed, "Don't." Addressing the rest of the family, he added, "She can't be trusted. Simple enough."
"Well, what do you expect her to do then?" Astoria chimed in, playing solicitor for her dear friend. Her hands brushed Hermione's curls down the length of her back as she perched on the edge of the arm of her chair. "You claim she can't be trusted – can't be let out of our sight – but you won't give her any proper work to do here, either."
"She lied to us about who she is and what she represents for five fucking years," roared Draco. He knocked back the remainder of his whiskey and slammed the crystal glass down on the drink cart. "If it were up to me," he said. "She'd be locked in a room until further notice."
"You don't mean that," reprimanded Narcissa with a derogatory scowl. "She's grieving – you both are – besides, she's clearly chosen whose side she stands for. Among many other pieces of evidence, my son, she saved your life -"
"Which is precisely why I am not suggesting we do away with her, Mother," Draco quipped in response.
"So, your plan is to lock her away and effectively wrap her in a straitjacket?" Astoria criticized. "That's going to do a load of rubbish for everyone here. We all know she's quickly become the brains of the bloody Death Eaters as much as you are," she threatened, aiming an accusatory cigarette toward Draco. "If you let her waste away, then you'll lose more than her intelligence. You'll lose her."
"Good."
Astoria inhaled sharply, meeting Narcissa's eye for validation, "Draco," she began to chastise.
"What?" He seethed. "What do you want me to do? Hand her important Malfoy Company Limited documents and let her run free with them? Let her stick her nose in places it doesn't belong? She's no good on the outside – who knows what fucking connections she has that we don't know about – and she's no good with us." Draco jabbed a finger in Theo's direction, "Would you trust her with Nott Holdings documents?" Theo hesitated but ultimately shook his head. Draco then pointed to Pansy and Daphne, "How about you two? Fancy hiring our precious Miss Hermione Granger for some of your fine projects?" Both women mumbled their negative responses. "See?"
"Oh, fuck off," snapped Astoria. "She's going to spiral into nothingness faster than you if she has nothing to occupy her mind with." Her pale green eyes flickered to Hermione's vacant expression, then back to Draco. "She needs something to do – anything."
Draco scowled, mulling over a decisive plan.
Finally, he lit a cigarette and exhaled several clouds of smoke before approaching Astoria. "Fine." He said. "Fine, she can do bloody women's crafts during the day if you're so concerned about her fucking mind." Draco bent down, tilting his head at Hermione curled around a velvet pillow. "If you ask me, I don't think her mind is one bit in danger of wasting away. I bet she's as sharp and snakelike as the rest of us." He stood up, meeting his mother's wary eyes. "Just you wait and see. This is just another one of her ploys. It's a trap."
"Get out," Narcissa hissed, shoving Draco toward the door. "Go cool off. You aren't thinking clearly. No woman would knowingly risk her unborn bloody child for a fucking copper that was ready to kill her. No woman would go through this insufferable pain for the likes of you and your bloody company secrets, either. Get your head out of your fucking ass, my darling son, and screw it on right."
The rest of the room was silent, watching Narcissa and Draco fume at one another with beady eyes. Since that day, there was no talk of what would come of Hermione. She had been informed, either by Winky or by Astoria before she left the Manor for the summer, that her position was unclear. Her days were filled with mindless crafts such as knitting, sewing, and painting. Now and then, she was allowed a novel.
At first, Hermione didn't complain.
She simply woke up, had a drink, then went about her day. Her mind and body were numb to everything. But, as the intended due date of her unborn child drew nearer, she began to slowly wake up. That was when she began listening more closely to conversations in the Manor and questioning why she was or wasn't allowed to participate in certain tasks.
The rest of the family did little other than shrug and chalk it up to Draco.
It drove her mad.
Which is why it was especially hard to believe, over the past few weeks, that there may be a shift in his feelings toward her. The notion that even Pansy taunted Hermione with a potential future for her and Draco, was unthinkable. Yet, there it was.
"Pansy," drawled Hermione carefully.
"Yes?"
Her dark eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Hermione's cautious tone and nervous fidgeting.
"There has to be something I can get involved in that isn't bloody knitting a pathetic scarf, isn't there?" She fretted. "I know I can't be seen working on anything controversial but - "
"Yes, you have to be very careful now that you're the official woman on Draco's arm, and he has every intention on securing a position in parliament. If it were up to me – or even Narcissa – you would already be campaigning to end world hunger, promote women's rights, or something of the charitable sort." She paused, her gaze flickering up and down Hermione's frame. "However, it's not up to us, and Draco doesn't want you - "
"I know, I know," she sighed. "Still, there has to be something."
Theo chose that moment to stride across the room toward her. His pale blue eyes fell on her shoulder, and Hermione refrained from wincing, knowing what was coming. "You would have to do something that didn't require a lot of activity, though." He tilted his head, arching a dark brow reproachfully. "How's your shoulder recovering? Winky tells me you constantly shout at the healer."
Hermione bristled. "Well, Winky must have taken to spreading rumors, then."
"Oh, has she now?" Theo mocked. Without any hesitation, Theo dug his thumb into the space just below her clavicle, and Hermione screamed bloody murder. He drew back, pursing his lips. "I thought so. Didn't Narcissa warn you against not listening to the healer?"
Hermione, now favoring her injured shoulder, bit back tears and a long stream of obscenities. "To hell with what Narcissa thinks. It's not her bloody shoulder, is it?"
"Tsk-tsk," tutted Narcissa as she strode into the room adorned in the newest line of Chanel skirt suits. "Watch your fucking mouth, Granger, or I'll make sure Winky no longer allows you access to our finest liquors." Her eyes glinted at the recognition on Hermione's face. "Oh, yes. I'm quite aware of your little habit. You'll find, Miss Granger, that I know everything that goes on in the Manor."
Hermione resisted the urge to tell her Penny went on in the Manor for five bloody years.
Instead, she pursed her lips and bit the inside of her cheek. Hermione attempted to sit as straight as she could notwithstanding the throbbing pain in her shoulder. "I don't do that anymore," she told Narcissa, inclining her chin subtly. "You can tell Winky whatever you like, but I haven't required those services for nearly a month now."
"What do you want – a congratulations?" Narcissa teased. Hermione grimaced, daring not to break eye contact with the woman. Ultimately, it paid off, because she sighed and beckoned for Hermione to leave the room with her.
"Where are we going?" She asked, trailing behind as they headed through the maze-like corridors of the house. Narcissa didn't answer, which was typical, though Hermione had hoped she would have been more forthcoming. After a few minutes, the two women emerged into a small room; there was a raised platform in the center of the room, surrounded on three sides by tall mirrors. Off of the walls were rows of shoes, closets full of dresses, and vanities stacked with makeup. "Another gown for an event?" Hermione guessed aloud.
Narcissa waved her hand, lightly dismissing the theory. "You are always going to need one of those, however, I brought you here this time because you need clothes better suited for your new job."
"New job?"
"Yes," replied Narcissa impatiently. "Did I fucking stutter?"
"No, ma'am," said Hermione, earning a disapproving glare from her.
"Don't call me ma'am." She ordered. Hermione obediently nodded, going along nicely out of genuine curiosity as to what job could possibly be in store for her. She hoped it was something thought-provoking, though she wouldn't be surprised if it was another silly housewife role or glamour position for the press. "Now," Narcissa went on, clapping her hands to welcome several seamstresses into the quaint room. "Let's get started."
Hermione slid across the leather seat behind Draco and waited for his proffered hand to help her down, but it never came. Instead, Draco sauntered off toward the door leading upstairs to the main floor of the Manor, leaving Hermione to fumble out of the vehicle by herself. The corset in this event's gown suffocated her and restricted her mobility. Next time, she mused internally, she would insist that Daphne draw up a more flexible dress.
By the time she made it up the stairs, navigated the corridors, and collapsed on the sofa in the corner of the dressing room, Hermione was half out of breath. Without hesitation, she ripped the ribbon from her spine and took her first full inhalation that day.
"There you are," exhaled Narcissa. Impatience dripped from her beautiful waves; the jet-black locks of hair bouncing effortlessly across her back to reveal the stark white ones beneath them. "Come," she said, snapping her fingers at Hermione. "We have a meeting to attend."
Hermione groaned, "Can't I have a moment to catch my breath?"
Narcissa paused, seemingly considering the proposition, but a few seconds later she snapped her fingers at Hermione again. "There, you've had your moment. Now, get moving." She crossed the room and selected a bright lavender dress suit from one of the closets, tossing it in Hermione's lap. "Put this on. Meet me downstairs in two minutes. Don't be late."
She groaned, falling back against the cushions the moment the door slammed shut.
An hour later, Kreacher parked the family car – a sleek red number with beige leather interior; Narcissa's new favorite – in front of an enormous mansion outside the city. Hermione trailed behind Narcissa, struggling not to lose her footing on the loose pebbled driveway.
"Narcissa," she gasped, forcing her strides to match the elder woman's. "Where are we? What does this have to do with Malfoy Company Limited, and why did you choose me to work for you?" Hermione panted.
Her head whipped around so quickly that the knot from her half-up do came loose despite its hundreds of pins. "You ask too many questions," she reprimanded. Hermione sighed inwardly, feeling a slight wave of déjà vu at the accusation. Then, Narcissa's pale eyes fixed on Hermione sharply and caused her to choke on her next labored breath. She stared for several seconds before adding, "You have a head for maths," with no further explanation.
"Maths?" Hermione whispered, unconvinced.
Narcissa pursed her lips, clearly disappointed in Hermione's lack of finesse, but otherwise not finding the effort to openly disapprove. "Yes." She sighed, facing back toward the house. "Come along. I don't have time to sit here and stroke your ego. We have meetings to attend to,"
Hermione frowned.
Since Draco announced he would be running for a seat in the House of Commons, he formally stepped back as Chairman of his company and offered the position to his mother. She took on this particular role quite often so, there was little fuss about it in the papers. What was more interesting, however, was when it became evident that Draco was among the favored men looking to gain a seat in parliament that fall. The king favored Draco, despite not being legally allowed to put his weight behind any particular man.
To cover his preference – poorly, but still – the king proclaimed Draco deserved to be anointed lordship. Thus, providing him the opportunity to run for a seat in the House of Lords instead (a more prestigious seat in parliament, among other men of his class).
This, in turn, prompted Draco to announce that his mother would be taking on a more permanent role in his company so that he may focus all of his attention on his civil service as a member of parliament, should he be elected by the people. His words, quoted by Rita Skeeter, not Hermione's. Though, it did end up working out for her, months later, when Narcissa offered her a position on the board.
Furthermore, Miss Hermione Granger became the Chief Executive Officer of Malfoy Company Limited, and Narcissa's right-hand woman.
Although, Draco was expected to step back from his lucrative business in order to better serve the public – should he be successful in attaining a seat in parliament – there was no expectation for his supposed partner to do the same. Hermione thought this was a result of the patriarchy not finding it plausible – nor possible – that a woman on Draco's arm would be capable of thought and reason.
Nonetheless, Hermione, now in an entirely better mindset than she had been in all year, readily accepted the new position and started accompanying Narcissa to various board and client meetings. This errand, supposedly, was one of the latter.
"You never mentioned who we would be meeting with today." Hermione observed aloud.
"No. I didn't." Narcissa replied. She greeted the butler at the door, following him through the lavish mansion to the backyard. There was a beautiful display of garden chairs, cushions, and a dainty table. Vibrant colors, delicious cakes, and English breakfast tea filled the sitting area, bringing to life what Hermione envisioned to be a rich, summer tea party.
"Tea," she breathed, taking the seat the butler withdrew for her. "I thought you said we were going to a meeting. Is this another one of your detours?" Hermione pressed, determined to get a straight answer out of Narcissa.
"This is a meeting," snapped Narcissa. "Now," she said, placing a serviette neatly across her lap, "cross your ankles, sit up straight, and pay attention to what is said. Actually," she said, correcting herself, "focus on what is not said." Narcissa clasped her perfectly manicured hands in her lap, arching a brow at Hermione. Immediately, she mimicked Narcissa's ladylike pose with effort. "You are an avid reader, are you not?" Hermione nodded. Narcissa went on, inclining her head. "You read people in order to better understand them and how to manipulate them. You learn how to deceive them, and expertly so." Hermione couldn't help but grimace at the comment, but Narcissa waved her away impatiently. "This is how women work, Miss Granger, and you should be the most practiced among us. This is the art of deception, as it were,"
This time, Hermione outright gaped.
"Don't be offended, stupid girl, what you did was cruel but remarkable." Narcissa told her. "Most people would not have been able to do what you did so well, and certainly not for as long. However," she paused, twisting a large ruby ring Hermione knew to hold a dose of poison underneath the stone, "you pull a bloody stunt like that again, and I'll personally see to it that that is the last thing you do. Are we clear?"
Hermione nodded, "Crystal," she murmured.
Silence enveloped the tea table, which remained untouched as the hostess had yet to join them. Eventually, Narcissa spoke up again. "Don't mind my son," she advised. "He'll come to his senses. You both will."
Though, Hermione didn't quite believe her. The cold shoulder Draco had taken to giving Hermione, after the drunken sexual encounter, felt personal and vengeful. It was as if he was punishing her for that night, and the only way his fucked up mind reasoned against it happening again was to distance himself from her. He wasn't necessarily as nasty to her as he had been before they had sex, but he wasn't friendly either. Hermione was reasonably self-aware, and she knew that just because he wasn't screaming horrible accusations at her didn't necessarily mean he didn't still blame her.
Hermione fixed her gaze on the fine china rather than meet Narcissa's piercing eyes. "I wouldn't be so sure about him," she mumbled.
Narcissa's eyes hardened; she loathed mumbling, which Hermione knew, but refrained from criticizing her which was remarkable on its own. "Believe me, my dear," Narcissa insisted. "You won't be going anywhere any time soon. There is no getting rid of you." She sighed deeply. "Lord knows I've tried too many times, and if I wasn't successful before, then I doubt I will be now."
Hermione's brows furrowed, and she pursed her lips. "Lovely, thank you, Narcissa. I feel so loved," she mocked.
The older woman raised a pale hand to her chest, feigning shock. "Oh, my apologies," she replied in an icy tone. "That wasn't my intention."
The tell-tale clack of heels on flagstone alerted both of them to a new arrival. Narcissa stood to greet the woman walking toward them, offering a kiss on either side of her face, and Hermione followed in her steps, mimicking her greeting. This woman smelled of expensive perfume; a summer breeze flowing through a lavender field with a hive of bees pollinating the flowers. She wore a garish golden dress, tights and heels. Aside from her horrendous costume and makeup, however, Hermione could see the beauty of the older woman sitting across from her. More than that, Hermione spotted familiarities in her high cheek bones, sleek black waves, and piercing gaze.
"Bellatrix," drawled Narcissa with a smile painted across her lips.
"So formal, Cissy!" The other woman cooed, half reprimanding. Then, she turned her attention to Hermione and gasped as if noticing her for the first time. Even though she had just kissed her cheeks mere seconds ago. "Oh, hello. You are…?"
Hermione blinked.
"Miss Granger," she supplied after a moment to recollect herself.
It hadn't mattered, though, because the woman had already shifted her attention back to Narcissa. "My sister has always kept the most interesting company," she trilled, returning the plastic smile. The two women went on chit-chatting over designers, the weather, among other nonsense. Meanwhile, Hermione couldn't help but survey the similarities between them with new eyes. Sisters, she mused internally.
"Oh!" Bellatrix gasped, jarring Hermione from her internal reverie and simultaneously reminding her she was supposed to be working during this tea party. Bellatrix flitted her hand in front of Narcissa excitedly, "I have a new friend that you must meet, my dear sister. My precious nephew as well – Yes – They would be great friends, I think."
Narcissa's lips twitched into a small smile, but her eyes glinted something dangerous. "What kind of friend, Bella?" She proposed innocently. "Your kind of friend of the normal kind of friend?"
"Cissy!"
Bellatrix raised her serviette to her lips, touching the edges cautiously. Hermione could see the flush on her cheeks was ingenuine from the smirk in her dark eyes, but she was thoroughly impressed in the woman's ability to conjure a reaction like that. It would certainly fool most people – men especially. Narcissa, conversely, arched a dark brow at her sister and gave Bellatrix her best I don't give a fuck expression she generally shared with Hermione.
"So," she pressed. "Are you sleeping with him or not?"
"Well," responded Bellatrix, straightening her posture. "I would never disclose that information. How very unladylike."
Narcissa grinned into her teacup, pausing to take a sip before saying, "Since when are you a lady, my dear sister?" Hermione's eyes bulged momentarily before she schooled her face into a blank expression. Narcissa went on, nodding to herself, "You are sleeping with him then. Is this one at least handsome? You know how much I detest your fancying Neanderthals."
"Cissy," inhaled Bellatrix sharply, narrowing her eyes. "How dare you speak of my husband like that! How crude! Have you absolutely no manners?" She shrieked.
Narcissa pursed her lips, not bothering to hide her smirk. "I made no mention of your husband's name, Bella. If you presumed that I was referring to Rodolphus, then I suggest you take that up with yourself." Hermione bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep from laughing. She was in awe of Narcissa, who continued without missing a beat to add, "Anyway, why should I trust your professional opinion on this man?"
Bellatrix pouted briefly, then regained her ecstatic demeaner and leaned forward with a biscuit in her hand. "He's ever so clever," she whispered to her sister, "just like your darling Draco. I believe he would make a wonderful asset for my nephew as he explores his new political career." She leaned back in her chair conspiratorially, dunking the biscuit in her tea. "I'll set up an appointment for you. When are you available?"
"Tuesday," input Hermione without thinking.
Narcissa glared at her, and Hermione shrunk back, embarrassed to have stepped out of line. She caught the devilish grin spreading across Bellatrix's face. Hermione seethed, not enjoying how victorious she must feel having caught a weakness of Narcissa's. To cover her mistake, Hermione shrugged.
"You said so yourself we have to fill the afternoon since the family meeting with Draco was called off." She lied effortlessly, then turned to Bellatrix and added in a whisper, "King George requested to meet with Draco again, you know,"
The immediate angry flush that swept across Bellatrix's face had been worth the fib. Judging from the smirk hinting at the corners of Narcissa's mouth, Hermione would be forgiven.
"Quite right, Miss Granger," chimed Narcissa. She turned attention back to her sister with a proud inclination in her chin. "Tuesday it is, Bella. What is this bloke's name, after all?"
Bellatrix hesitated. She smoothed her dress absently, then sighed heavily before curating a carefree expression across her face in order to hide how put-out Hermione's comment about Draco made her. Hermione suspected Bellatrix didn't have any children, or, at least, any to be proud of; she certainly didn't have any so friendly with the King of Great Britain.
"He's not just a bloke, Cissy," she fussed. "He's a lord."
Narcissa arched a brow but desisted from outwardly commenting. Soon, Draco would be a lord as well, which all three women were well aware of. "Fine," Narcissa sighed. "What is this lord's name, then?"
Bellatrix chose to analyze her fingernails rather than meet her sister's eye when she replied.
"Tom Riddle."
A/N - Welcome! I am so pleased to be writing a sequel and starting a new adventure with this storyline, and I hope you are, too! The playlist is still being finalized and will be available soon. I know this chapter was a bit sad/dark but don't worry, the mood will pick up as Dramione draw closer together again and the plot thickens. Thank you in advance for all of your love in beginning this sequel.
The title for this chapter comes from the song titled Monster by Kanye West, featuring JAY-Z, Rick Ross, Nicki Minaj and Bon Iver. The title specifically comes from the lines (by Nicki) you could be the king, but watch the queen conquer / ok, first things first, I'll eat your brains / then imma start rockin' gold teeth and fangs, 'cause that's what a motherfuckin' monster do xx