Chapter 4: To the Unknown


24 December 1924

BELOVED BACHELOR MISSING: A REFLECTION OF HIS LIFE AND LEGACY

By Rita Skeeter

By the end of 1921, Mr. Malfoy had gathered quite a loyal following –

Oh, did he Rita? Did he?

It's remarkable how little Britain knew of Draco and the Death Eaters, but alas, that was due to his and Narcissa's careful design.

-and while young women everywhere were certainly not tired of seeing his face in the press, it was only just the beginning. Mr. Malfoy would come to be the face of Coco Chanel alongside model and film star Miss Fleur Delacour. It was their winter line, famously breathtaking with their complementary profiles, that sparked not only allegations that the two were secretly dating, but also Mr. Malfoy's future with Mr. Norman Hartnell.

Mr. Hartnell is an English fashion designer who became famous due to Mr. Malfoy's constant appearance in his works, however often the latter of the two refuses to acknowledge it. The former would go on to become the favorite of the social elite and eventually the British Royal family. It was during the opening of his first house in London in 1923 that Mr. Hartnell would propose the Daily Prophet nominate such a fine and outstanding man for Man of the Year in 1924.

It's hard to believe that it's been three years already since that winter line was released.

The papers were ravenous for information on Draco and Fleur and their supposed love affair. She was lovely and, understandably, I was enormously envious of her slender figure and painstakingly aware of her complementary profile to Draco's. They were beautiful and ethereal with their pale blonde hair and bright eyes surrounded by snow and daring to pose clinging to each other's bare, perfect skin.

I shouldn't have been jealous of her and her French accent and kind smile, but there I was, and she wasn't even the woman that directly resulted in me accepting my fate with Draco. To be fair to both women, that year – and particularly that winter – had been a very emotional time for me. All of it had been building up since I first took the name Penelope Clearwater and got myself into this mess, and while it wasn't a complete surprise that the dam had burst, I still didn't expect it to break the way it did.

At the hands of a deranged man, the words of a scornful woman, and the trigger of a loaded gun.

Much like now, actually.


1 December 1921

Hermione was just about to turn the corner into the dining room when there was a thunderous pounding at the front door of the Manor. She halted in the foyer, eyes widening as the staff shifted to allow the visitor an inch of space to declare who they were and what they wanted from Mr. Malfoy. All she caught was a flash of silver against dark blue before she turned on her heel and sprinted into the nearest vacant room, a toilette.

"Chief Inspector Horace Slughorn," the portly man said before pushing his way past the butlers and into the foyer. He glanced around at the spacious and elegant setting before gesturing to his comrade, "and this is Inspector Thomas Scabior."

"What can I do for you today, gentlemen?" The butler asked, frowning at their coats dripping all over his pristine hard wood floors.

"We need to have a chat with your young master," Slughorn informed him.

"A chat," Draco said, striding from down the hall to greet the two uniformed men with a polite and charming smile, "is that all? This wouldn't be a discreet interrogation, now would it, Chief Inspector?"

"Oh, Draco, my boy!" Slughorn grinned.

He sized up Draco quickly before patting his shoulder as if they were old friends, and Hermione's brows furrowed deeply. She was aware that Draco had quite a good amount of her police brethren on his payroll, but she had presumed it mostly consisted of street patrols and perhaps the occasional sergeant. If a Chief Inspector was old friends with Draco, or worse on his payroll, then Fudge and Shacklebolt had absolutely no idea the extent of his corruption in their forces.

"How are you?" The older man gushed, flashing yellowed teeth when he smiled. "My, my you look just like your father. More and more every time I see you, my boy!"

Draco sported his fictitious I Have Company to Flatter smile, "I'm honored you think so," he said. His grey gaze slid over to the other man and Hermione could have sworn she saw recognition spark behind his eyes. "Mr. Draco Malfoy," he said, offering a hand to the man.

He took the proffered hand and shook it, "Inspector Thomas Scabior." They nodded politely to each other before Draco turned his attention primarily back to the elder man.

"Shall we retire to the sitting room? I can have Winky whip up a cup of tea and some biscuits for you gentlemen…" His voice faded as did their footsteps as the three of them disappeared down the hall where Hermione could no longer see or hear them. She waited a full minute, checking her surroundings, before scampering off down the hall after them and turning sharply down what was now a very familiar corridor to her.

There was a painting – one of Renault's most famous – hanging but she carefully removed it from the wall of the small room and tucked it aside as she slid her eye into position.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Chief Inspector?" Draco asked, taking a seat opposite them instead of looming by the hearth as he usually did. His familiarity with them – and subsequent vulnerability – was significant.

"Oh, please, none of that. You must call me Horace, young man, I insist!" He half-reprimanded Draco. "I was very close with your father. Very close you know. I practically watched you grow up and – Oh! How is your mother? Effervescent Narcissa,"

Draco dimpled, "She's lovely, thank you for asking. She's in the garden now, I believe, if you would like me to ring for her?"

"Oh, no! Of course not, my boy! I wouldn't want to disturb her while she's tending to her dear flowers. Women can be so unforgiving when you interrupt them, and might I say, speaking from experience of course, that it is best to leave them to their feminine devices. They're quite good at it quite good indeed!" Slughorn rambled.

Draco, much to Hermione's internal delight, let his mask fall slightly and grimaced at the sexist comments before blinking it back into place and resuming his charming character. "Right, well… How can I be of service to you both today?" His gaze flickered momentarily to Scabior before settling on Slughorn.

"Draco, my boy, I hate to trouble you. I really do, and I know how busy you are these days," Slughorn went on, pausing to sip at his tea. "With running the family company and heading your philanthropic endeavors, but I must ask you. I must."

He paused again and Hermione wondered how Draco was able to maintain his composure; she would have easily lost her patience and broke character with the dawdling old man. Chief Inspector or not, she could not imagine having to withstand having to listen to him go on and on and constantly lose focus from one tangent or another, and she respected authority and coppers unlike Draco.

"Right," Slughorn continued after realizing Draco was not going to verbally indulge him. "I know you keep the most benevolent company about you, Draco," – Hermione stifled a laugh, practically choking on it – "but I'm afraid this matter has gone on far too long for my boss, Superintendent Fudge – have you met him? He's not as wonderful as me, of course, but he has his moments - "

"Chief Inspector," coughed the man, Scabior, beside him. Slughorn waved him away impatiently.

"Yes, anyway – It is crucial that a certain… cargo, per se… is located and returned to its rightful owner." The elder copper summarized with pleading eyes.

Draco sipped languidly at his tea. "Cargo?" He repeated skeptically. "Why do you think I would be able to assist you with that, Horace?"

"My dear boy," Slughorn began, placing his teacup down with a clatter in his apparent enthusiasm. "I don't mean to imply that you have any business down in that nasty harbor, no of course not! You are much too clever, like your father, to invest your company in that area of commerce. No, no," he shook his head wildly. "I only meant I understand how well-liked and accepted you are by so many Londoners."

"Hm?" Draco half-agreed, motioning for the other man to go on.

"Right, well – Err – Scabior do feel free to jump in here any time now! I'm incredibly aware that I am your superior and far more familiar with Mr. Malfoy than you, but you must not let me be the only one to talk to him. How else are you to make connections and move up in the world? Take one from Mr. Malfoy's book, for crying out loud!" Slughorn said, gesturing for the reddish-brown haired man beside him to take lead in the conversation.

"Mr. Malfoy," he nodded amicably, and Draco returned the sentiment. "This missing cargo is of the highest discretion. Instructions from Mr. Winston Churchill himself have trickled down through the ranks. We have orders to keep this investigation under wraps and off-book, but Horace here volunteered you as a confidential informant."

"Hm, is that so?" Draco drawled. His silver brows lifted minutely as his scrutinizing eyes shifted from Scabior to Slughorn.

"It is a compliment," Slughorn insisted. "I would never believe you to have any knowledge of the theft, Draco my boy!"

"Hm," he huffed.

"What my boss is trying to say," Scabior continued. "Is that he believes you will be monumentally helpful in recovering the lost cargo seeing as you have so many connections all over London."

"Naturally," Draco commented.

Scabior nodded, lacing his fingers and crossing one leg casually over the other. "It would be detrimental to all of Britain if this cargo were to fall into the wrong hands," he said. "So, if you do hear anything all we ask is that you let us know."

Slughorn agreed, sputtering out a few more incomplete sentences about how indebted the nation would be to Draco – which Hermione thought was an odd thing to say over a simple package retrieval, especially since his country already did owe him for his exceptional service as if that particular fact could be easily forgotten.

"Well, gentlemen," Draco said in a courteous manner. "What is the missing delivery?"

Slughorn stuttered momentarily, "Draco, my boy, you understand this is highly classified information – strictly confidential – You must attain to utmost secrecy."

"Yes, Horace," he replied calmly if perhaps a little drily. "I understand, however I would be exponentially more helpful to you – and ten times more aware of the implications – should I be able to recognize what is it Mr. Churchill wants found."

Scabior tapped his foot, bouncing it on his ankle as he glanced askance to Slughorn. The latter sighed and fidgeted.

"A large cache of weaponry has gone missing from the Royal Small Arms Factory." He swallowed. "Mr. Churchill needs the weapons recovered before – Well, as soon as possible."

Draco dragged his hand across his chin thoughtfully, "I can't imagine this shipment of arms is very easy to conceal gentlemen."

"No, Heaven's no," Slughorn agreed with a scoff. "Which is why it is absolutely imperative that it be found soon and returned to the British Royal army. As you can presume, Mr. Churchill is impossibly angered by its continued disappearance."

"Of course," Draco nodded.

"Since you are a famously decorated war veteran and have already done so much to help our nation, dear boy, I know that you will do what you can to help in this investigation." Slughorn grinned. "Though, I remind you, it absolutely must remain undisclosed. Especially with the fairer sex," he added with a conspiratorial whisper.

Draco sighed, then leaned forward and winked at the two men, "What investigation?"

"Ah, well done, my boy! Clever as always, Draco!" Slughorn beamed, clapping his palms against his thighs before standing and motioning toward the exit. "Well, we better be off. Do reach out to us if you need anything, and don't forget to give Narcissa my warmest sentiments."

"Of course, Horace," he said, shaking the man's hand and leading him toward the large wooden door.

At the last second before the two uniformed men disappeared through the door, the younger of the two – Scabior – turned to Draco and handed him a business card. "In case you have any further questions,"

"Oh, Thomas!" Slughorn crowed. "The young Mr. Malfoy already has my number. He has no need to have both of ours, how absurd."

Scabior indulged his boss in a polite smile before placing the card in Draco's palm, "Regardless, I insist,"

"Good day, gentlemen," Draco said, bidding them both farewell as he called in the butler to see them out of the Manor.

Hermione stumbled back from the wall, blinking several times to adjust to using both eyes, then quickly hung the painting and aimed herself anywhere less suspicious lest Draco or any other Death Eater discover what she'd been up to.

Less than a minute later, she heard Draco call out for Theo in the dining hall and ducked back into the toilettes opposite the large room. Over the usual breakfast chatter, she caught him saying, "Family meeting. Ten minutes." To which, Theo replied, though Hermione couldn't catch it over the scraping of the dining chairs across the floor as the men hurried to the drawing room.

"Nott," Draco shouted, and Hermione held her breath as Theo called back to him from the other side of the door. "Find Penny as well, will you?"

"Penny… Really?" Theo questioned. There was a loud, exasperated sigh followed by Theo adding, "Yes, fine. I'll get her."

Hermione swallowed and hurriedly stepped out of the bathroom, pretending to fix her sleeves.

"Ah, wonderful," Theo noted coming up to her. "I do hate unsolicited exercise this early in the morning, don't you?"

"Hm?" She frowned.

He shrugged, cupping her elbow and directing her through the dining room and into the large sitting room, "This Manor is far too big. Too many long corridors for my taste,"


"What the fuck is she doing here?" Narcissa hissed.

Theo slid his gaze over to Draco as a way of answering her as he forced Hermione to sit in one of the velvet armchairs beside the fireplace, taking the other one. He propped his foot up, balancing his ankle over his knee, and placed his forefinger on the edge of his lip. Hermione tried to settle into the chair but couldn't quite get comfortable as Narcissa turned her attention toward Draco.

"Draco," she seethed. "What the fuck is she doing here?"

He sparked a cigarette and took a long drag before meeting her eye. "Mother," he replied warningly.

"No," Narcissa interrupted, wagging a disapproving finger in her son's direction. "Don't you dare take that tone with me." She pulled out a glass and poured a dark liquid in it and took a long sip (which made Hermione instantly blanch at the thought of drinking at this hour). She drew in a sharp breath and focused her gaze on Draco once again.

"She was supposed to be long gone by now," she continued without hesitation, flinging an arm accusingly in Hermione's direction. "You two," – she directed the accusatory hand then toward Draco and Theo – "were supposed to get rid of her the first bloody night. Then, after Longbottom. Then, after Karkaroff. Now you expect me to be fine with her sitting in on a family meeting, eh? Riddle me that one my darling son."

"Mother," Draco repeated, voice low.

She sniffed, "To hell with the rest of us, right? Our opinions must not bloody matter one bit." Her glass was half-drained by then and she eyed the crystal decanter on the bar cart as if she was going to refill her glass, but then slid her gaze back to Draco reluctantly.

Draco bristled and dropped the cigarette from between his lips. His grey eyes, dark and stormy and dangerous, never left his mother's. "She saved my life," he stated icily. "She stays. She's earned it." The rest of the room was eerily silent. His orders had been clear before but now – her presence in the meeting – spoke volumes. There was no more questioning her position in her gang.

Unless, that is, one was Narcissa Malfoy.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Draco! Tuck your cock back into your pants and open your eyes. She doesn't belong here, and she certainly doesn't belong in this fucking room right now." She snapped.

Hermione's eyes flickered helplessly back and forth the two of them, watching Draco's micro-expressions – or attempting to – to try and discern his thoughts. Per usual, it was an impossible feat as well as futile. Next to her, Theo sat erect with his hands clasped firmly in his lap; there were tiny angry crescents where his nails dug into the fragile skin on top of his hands.

"Think what you want about it – Fuck knows you've always thought men incapable of using their heads," – "Both of them," Narcissa muttered under her breath – "but that will not extend to this situation, are we clear? Penny stays. She's proven herself enough for me to trust her in other manners, so what's to stop her sitting in on family meetings, eh?"

Narcissa looked very much like she wanted to continue arguing her point but at Draco's glinted, narrowed eyes she refrained from doing so. Instead she reached for the rest of the whiskey and took a seat on the end of a sofa, kicking her feet out onto the coffee table.

"Right, then," Draco said, addressing the whole of the room. "If anyone has anything else that they want to fucking say about Penny being here, then fucking say it because after this I don't want to hear one more bloody word on it. Understood?"

His booming demand was met with utter silence.

"Brilliant," he went on. "Now, let's get down to bloody business."

Draco picked up the cigarette butt from the posh red rug it landed on and dropped it ceremoniously in an ash tray before lighting another one. He exhaled a puff of smoke, then leaned against the hearth. It was his usual standing point, though Hermione couldn't help but wonder if he stood closer to her armchair than to Theo's intentionally or if he didn't even realize what he was doing.

Theo cleared his throat casually, "About the coppers…?"

"Yes," Draco commented. He waved a hand about the room, surveying the few remaining people; there were only seven of them regularly occupying the Manor now with Greg and Vince over in America and Pansy and Daphne still in university. "About the coppers. I'll get to that, but first let me start with the smaller meeting notes."

He took a long drag, then held the cigarette between his forefinger and thumb as he went on. "Theo, how is the expansion going?"

Theo ran his thumb along his lower lip, "Fine. Finishing up a few details in the contract with Rosmerta and then it should be an official property of Nott Holdings."

Hermione squinted at him, not understanding, but she didn't bother to question it – especially not aloud with Narcissa already having questioned her loyalty – and mentally made a note to poke around with Theo later. Perhaps he would slip up enough to give her a clue. Her attention cut to Draco, who nodded and moved onto Graham, and wondered if he might be slightly easier to get information out of now with their current inexplicable relationship.

Relationship was definitely a stretch. It could more accurately be described as the occasional devastatingly hot kiss and the even rarer bout of intimate conversation.

She sighed.

"You're fond of horses, aren't you Montague?" Draco asked him.

Narcissa snorted into her glass, shaking her head. Graham's hazel eyes flickered over to her briefly before he turned back to Draco with a quizzical expression and a listless shrug. "Yes…?" He replied, dragging out the response.

"Excellent," Draco remarked, unfazed by the hesitation. "How would you feel about investing some of that new fortune of yours in a legal betting license and running a shop, eh?" His eyes glinted, thought their silver hue was clue enough to let the other man know he was calculating and plotting something.

"Sure," Graham nodded. "I could certainly use something to keep me busy. What about the young lads?" That, Hermione knew, was Graham's primary role in the Death Eaters; he was responsible for training and aligning the boys with the gang as well as tailoring them to one day join it.

Draco shrugged, "Take them with you. They could stand to learn a trade or two," his eyes slid over to Marcus, waving one of his hands at the man. "Make sure they keep up with their other… activities. Especially your brother," he chuckled into his next drag. "That little shit."

Marcus smirked, leaning back against the sofa and sharing a glance with Graham. Both nodded toward Draco, giving their understanding as well as loyalty without any further questions. Narcissa, however, was always ready to scrutinize Draco's motives and movements.

To Hermione, it always felt like Draco was playing a game of chess with the world; meticulously selecting his pieces and moving them accordingly around his board. He was exceptionally skilled at it, as well, and from the cunning look on Narcissa's pale face, it was not difficult to see which of his parents Draco actually took after despite the older copper's insistence that he resembled the other.

"Why?" Narcissa probed, narrowing her eyes at her son. "Why should we be investing ourselves and our resources into betting shops? There's hardly any money in that, Draco," she noted with a grimace. "Not to mention how we're already investing too much energy in that bloody fool, Karkaroff, as it is."

"Precisely, Mother," he said, tilting his head in her direction to acquiesce her statements. He exhaled a few rings of smoke, exact and methodical, then cleared his throat. "We are wasting much too much of our time guarding Karkaroff's coin from the bloody Order at every race," he took another drag. "Aren't we, Blaise? You're the one with the Death Eater's numbers. How are we doing?"

"Well," Blaise began, toying with a biscuit before discarding it and leaning back to give the room his full attention. "Although working for Karkaroff has given us the direct advantage of cutting off the Order's most profitable pursuit, the agreement was scarcely advantageous other than that. The inside bets are welcome, of course, as well as the cut we take, but…" He trailed off, meeting Draco's eye.

Draco nodded, once, seemingly unconcerned with what Blaise was about to say next despite the latter's nervous twitch in his facial expression. Blaise sighed and went on, turning to address Narcissa mostly this time.

"Narcissa is right," he confirmed. "We aren't making much compared to what we could be doing with our men in the meantime. It doesn't seem worth it unless…" He trailed off again, chewing on his lip.

Draco took over readily, "Unless we don't work for him."

There was a moment of silence before, predictably, Narcissa snapped, "You're bloody fucking joking." He raised a brow to her, challenging the statement. "Draco," she cautioned. "Over a year ago, we all sat around here and had to listen to you lose your fucking mind and decide to go after Karkaroff in the first place and now you're telling us – What? – that you want to up and leave? What happened to Blaise's point about the bloody Order? You think they won't easily take back that hunting ground the moment the Death Eater's clear out?"

"We won't be clearing out," he informed her evenly. "We would almost certainly be staying."

"So, what?" She snapped. "We bloody compete with the fucker?"

Again, Draco raised a brow. "No competition," he said. He took one long, last inhale of smoke before tapping the butt into an ash tray and clearing his throat. He tucked his hands into his trousers and half-sat on the arm of Theo's chair. "We don't work with him. We don't work for him. We don't even work bloody against him."

"What?"

Draco nodded slowly, letting the sentiment settle in everyone's heads. "We're not going to work for Karkaroff anymore because we're going to overthrow him and take his place. No competing, and no submission. We overthrow the ignorant fuck and take his place." Draco gestured to Graham. "Montague will run the betting shop and collect all the money on the bets," he paused, eying Narcissa's open mouth and held up a hand, "I know it won't take in much revenue. Blaise and I have seen Karkaroff's numbers. They don't make a dent in what we're currently taking in."

"So?" Narcissa pushed. "Then what? Why even bloody bother? Just cut him out and leave it be," she commented with furrowed brows.

Hermione watched intently as Draco's mouth quirked slightly upwards; he was pleased that she had brought that point up, Hermione observed. She was curious herself and had been glad that Narcissa had thought to point it out.

"That," he stated. "is exactly what I was hoping you would say." The rest of the room, based on their furrowed brows and slacked jaws, were just as confused as Hermione was apparently. They all focused on Draco as his next words invited them in to glimpse at a tiny piece of his innerworkings. "We must bother, firstly, because it will prevent the Order from gaining any form of income from the racetracks in the area. Secondly, because I don't care for Karkaroff of his imbecile prodigy and want them out of London. Thirdly, and most importantly, because we need a legal enterprise to funnel money through."

Theo was the first to counter him. "Expanding Nott Holdings isn't enough?" He challenged.

Blaise answered for Draco. He cleared his throat and informed the rest of them that, "No it's not enough. The revenue that we're bringing in from the opium and from the American prohibition is impressive. Ridiculous, really." He shook his head. "Fucking absurd."

Hermione felt a rush of warmth wade through her and felt a smile pull at her lips at the thought that she contributed to that. That, even more likely, she was solely responsible for that income. A dark thought struck in the back of her head that she shouldn't be proud of that, but she shoved it away hastily and refocused on the meeting.

"It's not enough on its own," Draco summarized for Theo and Narcissa's wary gazes. "We need the pubs, the inn, and the betting shop in order to cover our tracks well enough. Splitting it up and spreading it out over all of them should be immensely difficult for the HMCE to flag as illegal."

"So…" Blaise said, cocking a dark brow between Draco and Theo. "When are we making a move on Karkaroff? And when?"

Narcissa silently sipped at her drink, though it was clear from her foot tapping impatiently that she very much would like to know the answer to those as well.

Theo lifted his shoulders and let out a heavy sigh, angling his chin up to Draco, who smiled vacantly back. He craned his neck toward Blaise, "Those are very good questions." He remarked. "For another time. For now," Draco noted, rising from the arm rest, "is there any further topics that need to be discussed? Speak now or forever keep your fucking mouth shut."

Hermione coughed, tentatively inclining her head. She had (barely) resisted the urge to raise her hand; ever the dutiful student.

"Yes, Penny?" Draco addressed. His silver eyes sparked with amusement, yet his exterior remained cool and stiff.

Hermione glanced askance to Theo, then asked, "The coppers?"

"Ah, yes," he grinned. "Nearly forgot about those fuckers." Though she sincerely doubted that was true. Nevertheless, Draco went on, indulging the others. "This morning I received a Chief Inspector Slughorn and Inspector Scabior for a… discussion of sorts."

Theo grunted, "Slughorn? Really?"

"Yes," Draco grimaced. He swiftly angled himself toward Narcissa, "He says hello, by the way, and sends his kindest regards to your health and womanly wiles."

She snorted, "Fucking buffoon." To which, Draco let a full smirk display over his features.

"Slughorn," Marcus commented aloud. "Is he one of the higher-ups on our payroll?"

From Blaise with a shake of his head, "No. The other one is, though."

"Scabior?" Montague recalled. Blaise nodded.

"Why were they here?" Theo pressed, redirecting the questions toward Draco. Hermione leaned into the armchair, tucking her legs beneath her and propping her chin up on her palm.

"They think I'm trustworthy," Draco replied with an air of debauchery.

Narcissa scoffed, setting down the empty glass and decanter with a clang. "Imagine that," she added drily. "Must have something to do with that bloody reputation of yours."

"For which we are grateful, Narcissa," Theo smirked. "Still," he shifted his blue eyes to Draco again. "What did they want?"

"My help," – another scoff from Narcissa, and even Hermione had to bite back a laugh at the woman's unspoken commentary on the idea of Draco being cooperative with law enforcement – "and information. They think I know the whereabouts of some precious shipment they misplaced, or at the very least know of someone who would know something."

"Shipment?" Blaise questioned.

Draco winked at him, then went on. "The RSAF has misplaced a very valuable crate of SMLE guns and approximately fifteen-thousand rounds of ammunition to accompany it."

Hermione's jaw nearly hit the floor. She quickly righted herself, fidgeting in her chair at Theo's sharp glare, and swallowed the lump at the back of her throat.

"Misplaced?" Narcissa contested with pursed lips. Draco nodded. "So, they believe," she sighed. "That you are capable of helping them locate their missing arms? Why?"

Draco shrugged, "You know how Slughorn can be," he told her. At that, she tilted her head considering it, and then reached for a cigarette and a match box. "You also know how Scabior can be, the fucking sell-out, so I didn't say anything to either of them."

"Because you don't know anything?" Narcissa ventured, arching a brow hopefully. He raised a neatly poured glass to his lips and returned her perceptive expression with a hint of amusement. "Bloody hell, Draco. Don't," she pointed a finger at him. "Don't fucking tell me you stole from the RSAF?"

He slowly placed the glass down on the coffee table and stuffed both hands in his pockets, rocking back onto his heels. Narcissa threw her arms in the air and began pacing the far side of the room.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" She snapped. "How did you even - " She stopped abruptly, and her cold eyes flickered back and forth between Draco, Theo and Blaise. "Spill," she instructed the boys. "Fucking out with it."

Theo sighed, rubbing his temple, and let his blue eyes fall on Blaise and Draco with a tired expression. "That's what you two have hiding at my pub?"

Blaise, in turn, gaped and snapped his head in Draco's direction. "That's what I stole and moved from the bloody harbor? Fucking RSAF arms?"

Hermione's eyes widened, piecing together the small clues she'd bore witness to over the past few months as she accompanied Draco here and there. Graham and Marcus, having had likely no direct implication in the stolen weaponry, turned their heads around the room as Hermione did and watched the conversation unfold with piqued interest.

"Tell me," Narcissa seethed, regaining her vocabulary and shooting it at her son. "What the fuck did you do, Draco?"

"It wasn't on purpose," he admitted, sighing. "I asked Blaise to nip a shipment of car parts that I intended to use and resell – the usual – but when I finally went to check out the crate… well," he pressed his lips into a thin line and lifted his shoulders marginally.

"That was months ago," Blaise noted, exchanging a wary glance with Narcissa.

She crossed her arms over her chest, raising one hand to tap her pristine fingernails against her enviously defined cheekbone. "Why the bloody hell do we still have it then, hm? Don't tell me you still have them?" She gaped incredulously.

Theo groaned, "Unless any of our boys recently dug up a ton of dirt beneath another two tons of whiskey and lager, then I'm afraid we very much still have it. Buried beneath the floorboards of the Cavalier's warehouse." He lamented.

Draco tilted his head comically toward Theo while keeping his eyes focused on his mother's crazed expression. "That," he agreed.

"Un-fucking-believable," she hissed. "Why? Why?"

He swept a hand through his hair nonchalantly, biding his time before responding. Hermione knew it was not for lack of words – god knows he's never without that – but more for dramatic effect and some bizarre leader tactic to draw the focus in the room toward him. Summoning silence. Demanding attention.

"I knew the minute I saw it that it would make a fantastic bargaining chip one day," he supplied. "As for your next question," he said, reading his mother's contorted expression with ease. "I did not mention it to the coppers, nor do I plan to. This information – the whereabouts of the guns – does not leave this room. Are we clear?"

There was a round of murmured affirmations from everyone in the room.

Then, Draco continued. "They don't know we have it," he told them. "Not even close, and I'd like to keep it that way until absolutely necessary. They're desperate to retrieve the weaponry and punish the thieves who outsmarted them."

Theo pursed his lips, "How do you know they don't believe we know anything?"

Draco fished out a small white business card from his trousers and held it up between two fingers. "This," he explained. "Scabior wrote one evil on the backside which is from - "

"Socrates," Hermione called out with a sudden gasp of realization.

"Yes," he acknowledged.

In his pause, she took the signal to add. "There is only one good, knowledge, and one evil, ignorance," she quoted. Draco nodded to her, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, and Hermione flushed under the compliment.

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" Theo demanded. "We aren't all nerds like the two of you - "

"It means," Draco interrupted with an irritated sigh. "That they know nothing. It means that their interest in me has nothing to do with the Death Eaters. It's a code I developed with my higher-up coppers. If they were on to us, he would have written the other code, one good."

Blaise grimaced, "And we can just – What? – Trust that Scabior won't fuck us over? Lie to us?"

Theo stood and swung his arm around Draco's shoulders, leaning against his mate. He eyed Blaise skeptically, "You seriously think that fucker is dumb enough to cross the Death Eaters? His diminutive brain couldn't even create realistic enough nightmares for him to fear compared to what great hell we would bring upon him."

"That," Draco indulged with a cheeky grin.

"Where there is reverence there is fear, but there is not reverence everywhere that there is fear, because fear presumably has a wider extension than reverence." Hermione chimed in, again quoting Socrates.

Draco glanced over his and Theo's adjoining shoulders to wink at her before turning back to the rest of the room and smirking, adding, "Also that."


"Remind me why I have to be here," Hermione muttered as she stepped into a gleaming office lobby. The building itself was void of any color but had been decorated for the holiday season and was overflowing with a shallow sense of joy.

Draco permitted a small smirk, "You are my assistant, Miss Clearwater, are you not?"

"Since when have I ever done even the most remotely mundane assistant work for you, Mr. Malfoy?" She challenged, shooting him a knowing look.

He merely chuckled in response, and then placed his hand at the middle of her spine and guided her past the woman sitting behind the counter with a pleasant nod. "Miss Patil," he greeted.

"Mr. Malfoy," the woman dimpled. "They're ready for you upstairs."

"Wonderful," he commented briskly before leading Hermione up the staircase.

Hermione was out of breath by the time they arrived at the correct floor. Draco reached out to open the door but paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. She blanched, a flutter of panic emanating in her veins. Just when she thought he would open the door and lead her into certain doom – perhaps having finally discovered her true identity – he dropped the handle instead and turned to back her into a corner in the stairwell.

She gasped, all of the air rushing out of her lungs as he placed his palms on either side of her face. His chest was pressed tightly against hers, constricting her movement and any chance of escape. Then he lowered his mouth to hers.

Her mind was reeling, trying to register the kiss. She stilled against him. It was still unclear whether or not he was leading her to her murder scene and ridding himself of her once and for all instead of to a Christmas photoshoot for Chanel as he had told her. But then, before her mind could puzzle out what the kiss meant – Was it goodbye? Was it asking for forgiveness? – she sighed, and her body gave in to his touch.

His lips were rough, commanding and dominating, as his hips flushed against hers, pressing her against the wall and securing her in place. One of his hands dropped to take hers from around his neck and hold them above her head. The tension in her shoulders dissipated as soon as he took control of her body; in the beginning, Hermione used to try and fight back, even a little, but lately she had found she rather liked it when he exerted his power over her (permitting that he continued to know just how far to push her, or how hard).

Draco was not the kind of man to give himself easily or readily, and Hermione found herself constantly deciphering him. She had known him for quite some time now and spent the better part of nearly every day with him; there were infinite number of clues that she gathered in attempt to solve the enigmatic man that was Mr. Draco Malfoy, ruthless gang leader and apparent adored aristocrat, but no matter how many she collected, at the end of the day he was always a mystery.

She briefly wondered if he still found her extraordinarily puzzling as his lips brushed down the side of her neck. His teeth scraped against her clavicle as he bent his head to kiss and suck at the fragile skin just below where it protruded from her chest. Hermione shivered.

Draco pulled her closer to him, flexing his coarse fingertips against the sliver of skin that peaked out between the pretty pinstripe coat and pencil skirt she wore. She bit down on her lip to refrain from letting out a terribly embarrassing moan as his lips lowered again to the dip in her blouse where her breasts were pushed up.

"Hm," he murmured appreciatively against her pebbled skin, "You should wear this more often."

Hermione slowly exhaled, willing her heart to – for the love of god – beat at a less erratic pace. His tongue slipped out to trail up her cleavage and base of her throat. Her pulse skyrocketed. They could be found out any minute, by quite literally any person, and yet he didn't seem to want to stop touching her. Not that she wanted him to, she thought.

However, as if her inner ponderings themselves had awoken something in him, Draco snapped back and stepped away from her, adjusting his suit and trousers. Hermione heaved slightly, then likewise fixed her appearance, stumbling after him in a trance as he held open the door for her.

Inside was exactly what one might expect to see from a high-end French fashion designer shooting what was expected to be the most famous Christmas advert; there was no doubt that whatever the product was, it would be well coveted by hundreds of thousands across Britain.

As it turns out, the product had been a new line of perfume and cologne which for some reason, unbeknownst to Hermione, called for Draco and Fleur – the most beautiful embodiment of a woman that Hermione had ever seen – to pose in very intimate positions with absolutely no clothing on.

It struck her as unnerving at first, when both of them undressed for the exuberant French photographer, Maxime, who called out things like "C'est magnifique!" and "Donne-moi la convoitise, mes chers!" as Miss Chanel herself nodded and pointed from the sidelines, whispering tidbits of instructions into the models' ears.

Then, it settled in a deeply problematic pit in her stomach at seeing how flawless the two of them were wrapped in each other's arms. Fleur had a figure so tall and lean that Hermione felt immensely frumpy and plain next to her ethereal features. Of course, Draco was no better. He shone all golden and godlike as he usually did in the public eye, but with his musculature bared and his grey eyes sparking something heavenly, it was tremendously unfair.

Hermione found she couldn't look away.

Though, she had to admit, she preferred the kind of beautiful he was when he was tousled and dazed, blinking into consciousness in the dim lighting of his bedroom, tangled in between his sheets and gazing at her as if she was the anchor to pull him back from his night terrors. Often, that was the case. It made her smile despite the flare of jealously bubbling in her at the sight of Fleur draping her delicate hands across his torso and pressing her lips to his jaw; the oversized glass bottle balanced precariously between her sculpted shoulder and his angled neck.

"See something you liked?" Draco taunted, sliding up next to her as he buttoned his shirt.

Hermione caught the silvery sparkle in his eye and boldly reached forward to tuck the loose ends of his oxford into his trousers, then securing them against his hips. She peered up at him with a hint of a smirk, "No," she lied.

"Are you absolutely sure, Penny?" He murmured, tucking a loose curl behind her ear and angling his hips toward her.

She hastily removed her hands from his belt loop, then stepped away from him with a full, gleaming smile to further tease him. "I'm sure," she shrugged. Hermione let her gaze flicker down his impeccable figure as he slowly put on his vest and coat with deliberation meant to send her mind spinning into a realm of dirty fantasies. It worked. "I'm sure," she said again, less convincing this time.

Draco's lip quirked.

"Monsieur Malfoy!" Fleur called out, heavily accented and breathless. She sauntered away from Maxime and slinked a translucent white dress over her shoulders as she made her way to them.

Hermione instantly grimaced, unable to conceal her dislike at the way the woman was looking at Draco, and he caught it. A low laugh rumbled through him, and as he turned to greet Fleur, he slipped a hand behind Hermione's back, pulling her toward him by the curve of her hip.

"Miss Delacour," he beamed. "Please call me Draco. After all, we've seen each other naked." He joked, winking at the French woman.

Hermione bristled in his arms despite her best effort not to give any more of her distaste for this particular errand away; in reality, she would have much rather preferred to accompany Draco on one of his bloodier and more vulgar errands than this one. What that said about her and her character after spending so much time undercover was unsettling, and yet, there she was.

"Draco," the woman repeated with a kind smile. "Fleur, I insist as well. Oh," she gasped, a gentle blush spreading over her cheeks. "Who is this on your arm?"

"This is Miss Penelope Clearwater, my assistant" he informed her, tightening his grip on Hermione's hip as he did so, and she held her ground so as not to fall into him in the process.

"Penny," she offered with a forced grin, marveling at the stunning woman standing before her.

"Assistant?" Fleur repeated, glancing back and forth between them before giggling with a sudden realization. "Ah, I see! One of those – Euh – Sex things? A cover?"

Hermione choked on something in the back of her throat and had to spend several long and embarrassing moments trying to clear it. Meanwhile, Draco smiled mischievously, sharing a conspiratorial expression with Fleur. "No," he said, flexing his palm against Hermione's upper back and soothing her through her bouts of coughing. "It's not like that."

"Ah, I don't understand. Why not?" Fleur lamented and then when Hermione finally gathered herself, scrunched her striking face at her in confusion. "You are aware le garçon is very attractive, yes? As are you, Penny. You would both make a lovely couple. I don't understand why sex is not happening, but – Euh – Perhaps, it is the French in me thinking it is a – Comment dit-on? – No-brainer."

Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line to prevent herself from dropping her jaw, then nodded absently to the long-legged model who had mistakenly referred to her as attractive.


Hermione was finally starting to feel welcome in the Manor and among the Death Eaters and it wasn't because Draco had finally allowed her to sit in on their family meeting's but because of the mundane, seemingly minute interactions she shared with them.

For instance, when Draco barged into the dining room during a casual lunch and muttered incoherently under his breath, eyes blazing, and Theo's head snapped up to exchange a peculiar look with Hermione. She subtly shook her head, relaying that she had no idea what had caused Draco's mood. The infinitesimally small narrowing of Theo's already narrowed eyes told her that this particular behavior of Draco's was odd. More than normal.

"Oi," Theo said, leaning back against his chair and pointing a bread soldier at Draco's overall lack of composure. "What's wrong?"

Another minor indication of Hermione's accepted and valued presence in the Manor was when Draco's eyes finally adjusted and refocused on where he was, they scanned the room and met hers in the span of a single breath. She held hers as she kept her eyes trained on him. His hands were clenched into fists at his side, his shoulders were tensed and raised, and the longer blond strands of his hair fell messily onto his forehead.

"Nott," Draco said, shifting his gaze from Hermione to Theo across from her. From the tone of his voice, both of them instantly dropped their food and stood up. "We have a problem," he sighed.

"Well," Theo pressed. "What the fuck is it?"

"Satan."

Hermione didn't understand the reference or code or whatever it was, but Theo clearly did. His blue eyes immediately widened, "What?" He gaped. "Where? When?"

Draco replied through gritted teeth, "Yes. Here. Tonight."

"What the fuck?" Theo snapped. "Since when?"

He sighed, running a hand down his mouth and then raking it through his hair. "Since now," he replied. "I just got word." At Theo's continued flabbergasted expression, Draco waved his hands at him and reached for a cigarette and a match from his pocket, tossing the packs to Theo afterwards. "Don't ask why because I have no bloody fucking idea."

Theo slid a cigarette between his lips, precariously balancing it, and then slid the pack across the dining table to Hermione. She cautiously took one out as Theo sparked his and then leaned over to do hers as well. He caught her mildly curious expression and blew out a low whistle in her direction, "You're going to need a lot more than that by the end of the week, Penny."

Hermione bit her lip, took a long drag, and then shakily breathed out a cloud of smoke as her gaze flickered back and forth between the two very tense men.

"Hm," Theo noted with an air of curiosity. He cocked his head at her, "Aren't you going to ask who we're talking about or what it has to do with you?"

She wanted, desperately. However, Hermione believed if they were going to tell her they would have done it already and so, like so many other things, she figured asking questions would be pointless and unsuccessful.

Instead she took another long drag and met Theo's eye with a teasing glint, "I don't see the point. You'll simply tell me I'm asking too many questions, Nott."

Draco barked out a single laugh, almost choking on trying to hold it in. Theo shot him a meaningless glare and Draco shrugged, "She's got you there."

Theo rolled his eyes, flicking Draco the bird, and then returned his attention to Hermione. "Of all times to learn that bloody lesson, you choose now, Penny?" She shrugged and gestured through another exhale of smoke for him to indulge her then if that's what he wanted. "Ask him," Theo said, motioning to the thin-lipped blond standing between them. "Ask him who Satan is."

Hermione rolled the half-gone cigarette between her fingers and looked Draco in the eye. She took a deep breath, then said, "Who is Satan?"

"My ex," he confessed.

"Oh, come on now, Draco," came a trilling new voice from behind Hermione. "I wasn't all bad."

She turned to see a petite brunette leaning against the doorframe with a sickly-sweet smile spread across rouge lips. Hermione was taken aback by how much this woman resembled Narcissa in her demeanor and marveled at how different she was from Pansy and Daphne just by asserting herself in the room. The petite woman, evidently Draco's ex, strode further into the dining room and plucked a grape from Theo's plate and plopped it in her mouth with a pop, "Nott," she dimpled.

"Greengrass," he grumbled in response, leaning protectively over his plate and swatting her black-gloved hand away when she reached for another piece of fruit.

Hermione blinked.

"Greengrass?" She accidentally let slip. Draco's jaw clenched as his eyes slid from one petite brunette to the other.

"Yes," the other woman smiled, not bothering to conceal her eying Hermione up and down. "Astoria Greengrass," she said, coming up to Hermione with a proffered hand. "Pleasure."

"Penny," Hermione breathed, shaking her hand. "Are you - "

"Daphne's sister," Astoria supplied with a smirk. "Younger," she looked away from Hermione and sized up Draco with hungry eyes, trailing her gloved hand down his three-piece suit. "Smarter," then she grabbed Draco's chin in her small grasp and brought his face down to her level and placed a kiss on his cheek, leaving ruby-red lips with a chuckle. "Better," she shrugged.

"That's debatable," Draco muttered.

Astoria elbowed him playfully, "I love my sister, of course. She's lovely and pretty, but we've always had different…" She paused for a long pause to let her green eyes wander down Draco's physique. "Taste," she finished.

"Oh," Hermione remarked dumbly.

She wanted to resent this woman – the one who not only had been previously involved with Draco but also clearly wanted to be involved with him again – but she found she couldn't quite muster the energy. It was an odd and completely unfathomable sensation knowing that seeing adverts of Fleur alone was enough to spark an evil green monster in her subconscious, but watching Astoria Greengrass practically undress Draco with one glance right in front of her eyes was less vexing.

It was almost… admirable?

The woman, like Narcissa, was the kind of woman who didn't seem to care what others thought of her because she was comfortable enough in her own skin and with her own assets – whatever those may be – to demand what she was owed or at the very least voice her opinion with confidence.

Hermione respected her.

Hermione wanted to be her.

Astoria Greengrass, from what Hermione gathered in all thirty seconds that she'd met her, was exactly the kind of brilliant, beautiful, and badass woman that Hermione wanted to embody. That particular thought didn't diminish over the week. They didn't spend a lot of time together, and while Hermione should have been more infuriated that Astoria consistently tried to get Draco alone at the end of the night, she could only look on the two of them with quiet curiosity.

Perhaps it helped that Draco constantly looked irritated by her presence and more than once had looked over her head to meet Hermione's eyes as he tried to convey something through a single glance. Pleading her for something, if she was not mistaken.

"Penny," Theo said, tearing her gaze away from Astoria and Draco to meet his icy blue eyes, mirroring glaciers.

Hermione blinked away the image of Astoria swiping away a stray strand of Draco's hair and turned to face Theo with a strained, exasperated sigh. "Yes?"

He looked at her and his eyes were glaciers. The dark-haired man sitting beside her on the red velvet sofa next to the decorated Christmas tree rolled his eyes at her poor attempt to hide her flickering gaze by the hearth. He opened his mouth, likely to tell her something along the lines of "Don't make me fucking repeat myself, Clearwater," but instead, he promptly snapped his mouth shut. Theo hurried out of his seat and darted toward Blaise – who was currently engaged in a futile chess match with Narcissa – and as Hermione furrowed her brows to protest his sudden absence, was joined by another person.

The scent of jasmine and vanilla wafted into her senses.

"Penny," came a softer, more feminine voice.

Hermione inhaled sharply at the sight of Astoria beside her. She bit back the gasp on the tip of her tongue and nodded amicably, swallowing the dryness in the back of her throat. "Astoria," she smiled, raising her glass to the woman. She, in turn, raised her own glass of wine and her lips quirked upwards.

"You know," she stated. "I hear Narcissa takes great care of her gardens. I bet they look lovely this time of year… especially with the recent snowfall." Astoria cocked a single, dark brow at Hermione questioningly.

Her brown eyes flitted over to Narcissa – her knight effortlessly cornering Blaise's king; a triumphant smile edging across her features – and then back to her younger protegee. Hermione did not need to claim to know Astoria very well to know that she was not interested in the upkeep of Narcissa's gardens. Still, she replied with a kind smile.

"Yes," Hermione breathed. "They look heavenly. Though," she added, tilting the remainder of her wine to her lips, soaking them in a deep rouge. "It's likely as cold as it is lovely,"

Astoria's smile broadened, "As are most divine things, yes?" Her sage green eyes landing on the silvery glow of Draco's head across the room momentarily. "I would hate to have to leave the city without paying my dues. That would be most unfortunate, don't you think, Penny?"

Hermione, who wasn't entirely certain if they were talking about Narcissa's gardens or Draco anymore, blinked. She placed her glass carefully on the table and stood up, dusting off her holiday dress, "Shall we gather our coats and pay it a visit?"

"What a wonderful idea," Astoria beamed. She tipped the rest of the dark liquid back without hesitating and stood to follow Hermione.

Both women received their coats, hats and gloves from Winky in silence, then traipsed through the side corridors and out into the gardens. Hermione fought the urge to glance back at the French doors illuminated by the rest of the Death Eater's enjoying the Christmas festivities; mostly because Astoria did not look behind her, but she was sure if she were to look that she would see Theo with his head bent loyally to Draco's ear, nodding toward their disappearing figures in the snow.

Hermione and Astoria walked through the gardens with the snow crunching underneath their shoes. Other than the occasional call of an owl, there was little other noise in the dead of the night until Astoria spoke up. "I know what you must think of me," she announced.

"I don't know what you mean," Hermione replied airily – half because it was true and half because she definitely did not want to anger this woman. She was quite sure that if there was history between her and Draco (not to mention her own relation to Daphne, a known Death Eater as well) that she was just as violent and dangerous as everyone else in the Manor, if not more so.

In truth, Hermione had gathered very little about Astoria Greengrass other than she was an old flame of Draco's with a renewed interest in pursuing him and that her arrival was not welcomed by many in the house outside of Narcissa and Daphne. Hermione presumed her own character was as much as a mystery, but she highly doubted her existence was as much of a threat to this woman as vice versa.

Astoria weaved expertly through the gardens, and at a pace that Hermione found herself struggling to keep up with.

"He did love me once you know," she said.

Hermione bristled, and Astoria let out a low, snort of a chuckle.

"Please," she scoffed. "Don't do that. Let's not do that." He green eyes shifted from the snowcapped hedges to Hermione's flushed cheeks. "I would like to think we're better than that," she added.

Hermione frowned, "I'm not sure I - "

Astoria sighed loudly, cutting her off. "I am nauseatingly tired of women being pitted against women, aren't you, Penny?" She proposed. Hermione nodded along, mesmerized by the sheer authority in the other woman's voice; much like Narcissa, she demanded attention and, at the same time, did not wait for it. "I'm told you are quite brilliant and would very much like to get to know you, you know. I would hate for our mutual interest in a man to come in the way of that. It's absurdly primeval."

Hermione cleared her throat quietly, "Yes," she croaked out. "Yes," she repeated, and at the twinkle in Astoria's eyes she went on. "I always hated that. Men are far more likely to stand beside one another while women see another of the same sex as competition."

"Precisely!" The other woman crowed encouragingly. "In many other species – probably all except humans – the females band together long before and long after a male comes into their lives while the men are forced to perform ridiculous mating rituals and prove their worth to them." She paused, a smirk spreading across her lips. "Most species have a female in charge, you know, and the males must fight – often to the death – in order to secure their position at her side. The most coveted, the most lucrative, and the most powerful position. It is the female who is the leader; the sacred and the savior."

Hermione pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, contemplating the behavioral analysis Astoria provided her with, and turned to question its significance when the other woman waved a chartreuse glove at her.

"Never mind that," she sighed. "As I was saying, Draco did love me at one time." – Hermione grimaced, as if she could so easily forget the way she constantly had her painted lips to Draco's ear the past few days – "But clearly, that time has expired."

Hermione stopped abruptly.

"What?"

The word left her lips before she'd given them permission to, and while she desperately wanted to take it back, to keep it close to her and reflect a cool and collected demeaner, it was too late. Astoria's sage glance glinted.

"Yes," she muttered, directly Hermione back toward the Manor. "Penny," she began, "I like you, or I think I would if we were ever to see each other as more than competition. I could be an ally, I believe, and I presume a woman in your position in this godforsaken house could use one."

Hermione averted her gaze lest the woman believe she had more to worry about than simply being the newest occupant of the estate and newest person of interest to the Death Eater's; no more than that, and definitely not a secret agent with more on the line than her pretty, clever head.

"I - " She cleared her throat, coughing once into the starry night. "I would like that, too."

Astoria smirked, "Good." Then, she lifted her gaze to the constellations twinkling above them in the deep blue sky. "He did love me once," she said, and this time, Hermione did not violently shudder at the information. "Not anymore," she added as Hermione had expected she would. Then, Astoria's green eyes fell on Hermione with a knowing smile. "I believe his affection has shifted."

Hermione swallowed.

"Oh?" She stated, trying to pass off the remark with as much nonchalance as she could muster.

Astoria, rightfully, choked on a bout of muted laughter. Her small frame shook under her black coat before stilling and turning to face Hermione with a sudden shift in demeanor. Astoria's shoulders tensed; her feet planted firmly before Hermione and blocked her pathway back to the warm, firelit Manor.

"Promise me, Penny," she said; her eyes narrowed cruelly at Hermione, scrutinizing her every micro-expression. "Promise me."

Hermione didn't have to ask the other woman to elaborate. She knew precisely what she was asking of her because if it had been Hermione in her position, she would be asking the same thing. Hermione didn't hesitate to respond.

"I promise," she replied. Amazingly, Hermione thought she meant it as well. For once.

Extraordinarily puzzling –

"Good," Astoria quipped. Then, her small frame dissolved back into a relaxed state, and she looped a gloved arm through Hermione's, placing one snow-covered boot in front of another. "I have a few thoughts on how to water the gardenias," she added.

Hermione frowned, "Water the - "

"Narcissa takes excellent care of her garden, of course," Astoria said, ignoring Hermione's lack of understanding. Evidently, it was the right call. Already, she had a revelation into the actual conversation Astoria was trying to have. "I would never deign to tell her how to care for her flowers," Astoria went on. "But there are a few things I happen to know about gardenias."

"Hm," Hermione nodded. "Do tell."

Astoria grinned mischievously, "Well…"

Hermione followed along to the other woman's insight into the man she'd come to fall for despite her better judgement. She marveled at how willing Astoria was to help her overcome her fear and her resistance to give into the inevitable.

I don't deserve it –

I definitely don't deserve her –

Pen –

"Why are you doing this?" She pressed, cutting of Astoria's ploy as well as her own spiraling thoughts. "Why?"

Astoria sighed, though her expression was not wilted and tired. Instead, it was resolute and thoughtful, and she took Hermione's elbow between her small fist. "Don't do this to yourself," she warned. "I thought you were quite the feminist, Penny," she challenged. Hermione bit her lip. "Listen, we are both far more intelligent than others would prefer us to be, and that's what makes us as special as it does dangerous." She paused, eying Hermione pointedly. "Nonetheless, do not question what others see in you. What he sees in you."

Hermione, under her piercing glare, nodded once.

There was a huff of displeasure, "What I see in you."

Hermione knew it had pained Astoria to be so blunt with her and refrained from averting her gaze sheepishly at the snow beneath her feet. Instead, she kept her brown eyes focused intently on Astoria and felt a tight smile tug at the corners of her lips. She knew better than to thank the other woman; it would be wholly unappreciated and unwelcomed.

She was truly Narcissa's prodigy through and through.

Astoria let out a sharp exhale, digging for a cigarette and handing one to Hermione, then lit them both. She took a long drag before eying the glow of the sitting room with the Christmas tree around which the rest of the family sat around, laughing and drinking and enjoying the ease of the holidays.

"I believe I told Narcissa that I would play her next," she remarked with a glint in her light green eyes. "You stay here," she commanded with a flick of her wrist. "I'll see if Draco fancies a walk around the gardens," she added with a conspiratorial wink.

Hermione immediately felt her cheeks heat and fought to hide it as the dark-haired woman turned to re-enter the Manor. There were a few moments of uninterrupted silence that enveloped Hermione and she welcomed it with a sigh of content, angling her frigid face up to the night sky. The stars shown brilliantly against the black backdrop, reminding her of Draco.

The sound of snow crunching beneath heavy, uneven footsteps caused her eyes to snap open and her head to whip around. She had expected a golden glow to immerse her vision and was shocked to see a messy head of black, greasy hair instead. A cold sharp inhale rushed into her lungs and Hermione stumbled backwards, fear trickling into up her spine.

"Sirius Black," she gasped.

His mouth twisted into a cruel, suggestive smirk and Hermione's blood immediately ran cold.

"Hello love," he teased.

She reached instinctively for her hip, where her purse usually rested, but exhaled shakily under her breath when she didn't find it there. No purse. No blade. No chance in hell she was escaping the hunger in his eyes this time.

Fuck, she thought.


A/N - Ok, not an enormous amount of Dramione here but I promise it is coming. The stage has (mostly, she says optimistically) been set now so... Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews and words of encouragement. I posted this way later than I intended to but the rest of the fic should not have quite as much of a gap between postings xx

This chapter title is from Lil Wayne's song Uproar from the lines to the unknown / only way he coming back is through his unborn / if you see what's in my bag, think I'm a drug lord / it's empty when I give it back, now where's the uproar?