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A.N – Hey folks! Yes, this is real! I've FINALLY finished chapter 14. So sorry that it's taken so long—but this chapter took a very long time to write. I've gotten a few inquiries as to whether this story was abandoned: IT IS NOT ABANDONED AND IT WON'T EVER BE. It may take longer than desired sometimes to get a chapter to you guys depending on what needs to happen in it and my muse, but know that I'm constantly working on it, and re-reading your reviews for inspiration and support.
As always and forevermore, a massive, ginormous THANK YOU, I LOVE YOU, I WOULD BE LOST WITHOUT YOU HELPING ME BRAINSTORM AND WORK THROUGH MY IDEAS, to my beautiful and talented beta, formally ellabelle12, now Elle Morgan-Black. If you guys haven't read her latest story, "An Innocent Obsession," you have no idea what you're missing out on!
To Rospasta, alien bakes, DutchScorRosefan, N1ne, SweetestSerenade, LCB, luciferase, , Guest (1), monicafoster, Guest (2), lilacaliens, Guest (3), Jaixmeitk, whitewallskill, Guest (4), riversgirl75, whatsbetterthanpie, Guest (5), addictedtoloveandfiction, AnnaOxford, Odie, rebelsaurus29, FairyStoneLove, Guest (6), mrslara2112, missyn83, Guest (7), Megafan1, Guest (8), LABM, Kyonomiko, Gnoloo, Beth, WarMad13, AalisEliza, Kou Shun'u, Animelover1396, NinaIriSemper, Adeimar, RoyalBunny, Elle Morgan-Black, Anon, DramioneAddict88, JayBat, Guest (9), moodygoody, xXMizz Alec VolturiXx, Guest (10), brigittar, Ein011, SeleneBlackburn, AideanCampbell, Guest (11), Honoria Granger, Wynter Phoenix, Mikazuki Mitsukai, Guest (12), Guest (13), Chester99: I can't even express how much I value all of your reviews. From the bottom of my heart, I sincerely appreciate you guys for taking the time to read this story, and telling me your honest reactions. Reading your thoughts put a major smile on my face and in my heart. You guys are the best! Especially since this chapter seriously kicked my butt, so note that I reread your reviews a thousand times writing this.
On that note, I'm super insecure about how you guys are going to feel about the development in this chapter. I really hope you all enjoy it, and just know that there is a method to my madness and I do have a plan—I swear it! Okay, I'll stop rambling. On with the show!
/ This is our time, no turning back
We could live, we could live like legends/
-Live Like Legends, Ruelle
Chapter 14 – Heavy Lies the Crown
The day was beautiful—birds were chirping in the distance, and the setting sun splashed colors across the sky worthy of Van Gogh and Monet. The Malfoy grounds looked magnificently peaceful, covered with a layer of snow, untouched. It honestly looked like a piece of heaven from where Hermione stood, looking across the grounds from the window.
"Can you please move faster, Granger—"
"For Merlin's sake, relax, Malfoy," Hermione practically growled, her moment of peace from Tornado Draco disturbed. "You're driving me crazy!"
"I know, I know," Draco ran his hand through his hair anxiously as Hermione went to slip on her chosen dress for the night. "I can't help it—just—wait, no. Not that color, Granger. You can't wear that to the ritual. You won't receive any grace."
"What color am I supposed to wear? Puce?"
Suffice it to say, she'd about had it with trying to meet Draco's approval tonight. For the past hour it was: You have to trim your nails shorter, Granger. You can't wear your hair like that, Granger.
You can't, you can't, you can't.
You have to, you have to, you have to.
If Draco gave Hermione one more command, she was liable to forsake the whole damned ritual. She'd never seen so many rules for one event in her entire life.
"What color is your birthstone?"
"Blue."
Draco sighed harshly. "It's not just blue—what's the stone."
"Sapphire."
"Then wear Sapphire. The moon will connect with you more."
"Is that why you're wearing purple?" she asked seemingly innocently.
Draco unceremoniously waved his hand in the air. "It's alexandrite, not purple."
Hermione covered her wicked smile with her hand. At this point she had to take her joy where she could get it; flustering Draco never failed to make her feel some level of joy. But despite her petty joke, Draco looked glorious in an alexandrite colored robe, lined with brown and gold fur. Literally, the fur was covered with specks of actual gold magically sewn throughout. He wore traditional dark brown leather breeches, and black knee high riding boots.
Just then, a house elf popped into the room—"Mother Cissy is asking for Mistress Hermy."
"Thank you Izzy," Hermione absentmindedly smiled politely at the house elf, though she could never quite get used to the fact that no house elf could pronounce her full name. "Where is your Mistress?"
"Yous is here."
Draco looked at her with a smug smile as though to say "Karma's a bitch."
"Where is Lady Malfoy?"
"Yous is here," Izzy stressed, looking slightly harassed.
Draco guffawed, and though Hermione was not amused, she could see his shoulders relax. The entire ridiculous conversation almost felt worth it to see him take a moment to breathe.
"The other Lady Malfoy," Hermione tried to keep her smile polite, though it was a struggle.
"There be no other Lady. Yous the only Lady Malfoy."
Hermione looked confusedly at Draco, who finally decided to step into the conversation.
"Once we became Lord and Lady of the House of Malfoy, the title was stripped from my parents. There can only be one Lord and Lady of a Most Ancient and Noble house at a time,"
"Oh," Hermione said lamely. "So they're just Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy now?"
It seemed too simple for people who appear larger than life sometimes, whose presence could rival Dumbledore's and Voldemort's at times.
"Technically, they're considered the Head Mother and Head Father, now," Draco turned away and continued to get ready.
Hermione was about to ask where the Head Mother was, but decided to save herself the trouble and keep it simple, lest the poor house elf go down another rabbit hole. "Where is your other Mistress—Mistress Narcissa?"
"Oh!" Izzy smiled wide, happy to know what Hermione was talking about finally. "Mother Cissy be in the crown room in the dungeon."
With that the house elf disappeared, and Hermione made a mental note to call Naricissa Mother Narcissa when she spoke to the house elves as she grabbed a simple sheath floor length blue dress—
"Not that one, Granger," Draco's scandalized voice stopped here.
Oh Merlin, Hermione grinded her teeth together. Give me the strength not to strangle him.
Hermione's shoes echoed softly as she walked down the stairs into the dungeon. The Malfoy dungeons were akin to a labyrinth; the Manor's dungeons were the oldest part of the structure with cells that had presumably housed prisoners in wars past, sacred ritual spaces, and more.
Right, two lefts, then straight until the end.
Hermione reminded herself of Draco's instructions as the hem of her deep sapphire basque ballgown sashayed across the stone floors. The candlelight guided her into a room that glittered with countless priceless heirlooms all around her.
Narcissa, dressed as regally as ever, turned towards her and looked Hermione over with a critical eye. With a quick flick of her wand, Hermione's hair swirled around her and lifted into an intricate styled bun at the top of her head. A pin from another room came zooming through the air and stuck itself into Hermione's hair so suddenly that Hermione almost jumped out of her own skin.
It felt strange, and Hermione almost toppled over with the new distributed weight of her hair on her head. Her hands lifted to touch the new hairstyle, but Narcissa's words distracted her.
"This is a tradition spanning hundreds of years," Narcissa said solemnly. "Whenever a new Lady Malfoy ascends, her jewelry for the first winter solstice ritual is chosen by the Head Mother."
"Is that a…"
"A crown, yes," Narcissa nodded her head sharply.
"It's too much," Hermione tried to decline, moving away slowly, but Narcissa simply moved forward with an inherent grace that Hermione envied.
"It's exactly right."
"I'm not royalty, Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione tried to find her bearings. "I would look foolish wearing something so precious and important—"
"You would look like who you are, Lady Malfoy," Narcissa laid the crown atop Hermione's head, ignoring her protestations. Her voice was soft but firm, even slightly frigid, as she turned Hermione towards the mirror that hung on the wall opposite them. Hermione couldn't bear to look at herself though. She was never a beauty, not like Daphne Greengrass or Ginny Weasley. She didn't want to see, and Narcissa couldn't force her, so the Head Mother simply talked.
"The Malfoys have been witnesses and leaders to many auspicious occasions in wizarding history. Because of that, being a Malfoy is not about money or power. There was a time, centuries ago, that the Malfoys lost it all and had neither. Nor is being a Malfoy about beauty or charisma, as Ailene Malfoy—Lucius's mother—had none. But she was still a Malfoy. They were all Malfoys. I am a Malfoy. You are a Malfoy. Do you understand?"
No, Hermione absolutely did not understand. If those qualities didn't make a Malfoy, then what did? Her question must have been clear on her face, because Narcissa continued.
"Being a Malfoy is about entitlement. Without money or power, Diegonus Malfoy became a general in the war against the Elves, and was hailed as the savior of wizarding culture in the isles for over a century. Without beauty or charisma, Ailene stood tall and conquered high society, claiming the title of the best hostess since Morgana herself by general consensus. I am not warm, or particularly kind, but I am clever. That nature allowed me to stand tall, poised, next to Abraxas when scandal broke over his part in Minister Leach's resignation as I used all of my connections on both sides of the matter to shield the Malfoy reputation. Because of that, I amhailed as one of the most graceful and diplomatic women in our modern society. Entitlement, Lady Malfoy, is what makes the name mean something. What are you not? What do you not have? Think on that, bury it, and then decide what others should remember you by. That entitled self-assured belief that you can decide your fate and how you will be remembered is what will make the crown on your head look perfectly in place."
You can decide your fate.
Hermione looked up, saw her reflection casted by shadows by the candlelight, and she knew she was born to be Mrs. Draco Lucius Malfoy.
Being a Malfoy is about entitlement.
She may not have been a raving beauty, though she'd never felt more beautiful; but she didn't need to be beautiful, because she was strong.
You are a Malfoy.
Yes, she was; the woman staring back at her was Lady Hermione Malfoy…
Hermione nodded, turned towards the door, and led the way, Head Mother Narcissa Malfoy rightfully behind her three paces to the right.
The mantle had been passed on to a new era of Lady Malfoy.
The tradition, the crown, continued on.
It'd been a long time since Draco had entered the dungeons of Malfoy Manor for any reason at all, let alone for such a momentous occasion. But tonight, Draco walked purposefully down the confusing corridors, shoulders squared. He walked until he reached the proper room and the sight of his father, gazing at his old crown, the same crown passed down through one thousand years of Malfoys, wearing a smaller crown made of diamonds only, stopped him in his tracks.
The sound of his shoes echoed around them, and without turning, his father quietly said "It is time."
Draco walked into the dimly lit room, surrounded by moving paintings of his ancestors wearing the crown, and knelt at the feet of his father.
"Who are you?" Lucius's voice boomed and reverberated around them.
"I am a Malfoy."
"Who are you?"
"I am a dragon."
"Who are you now and forevermore?"
"I am a king."
Lucius took the blade at his side and nicked the side of Draco's neck swiftly. After all of the training under Voldemort's tutelage, he barely flinched—only a tightness of the eyes gave away Draco's pain.
"Blood of my blood," Lucius sliced his own hand on the same blade. "Star of my star," he let their blood mix in a small bowl already prepped with specific herbs at his side, under Julius Malfoy's painting.
Lucius mixed the contents in the bowl, and dipped one finger up to the knuckle. Draco automatically tilted his head and exposed his bleeding neck right where the cut was. Lucius covered the cut, the same cut he had on his own neck, with the potion. The skin bubbled and boiled, all the while Draco's knuckles turned white from trying to contain the burning pain.
It was a different kind of agony than he'd ever experienced—this was an agony filled with pride and honor. This was a pain full of purpose.
This wasn't about Hermione or his duties. This was about who Draco was, who he was always meant to be. Thus, he didn't try to distract himself with thoughts of Hermione's love or passion as he so often did when in pain in the Dark Lord's presence.
No, Draco embraced the pain, and let it settle in the crevices of his heart and splintered soul. He let the pain consume him until there were silent tears covering his cheeks and he couldn't breathe.
Draco felt all of the pain, until he could feel it no more, and suddenly a crown with small stones ranging from rubies to topaz to sapphire, with a large alexandrite stone in the center, was laid upon his head.
"My Lord and King" Lucius bowed his head in a sign of reverence, and Draco rose.
It was the lightest Lucius had felt in almost two decades, when he'd ascended; it was the heaviest he'd ever felt, knowing the burden he'd just put on his son's shoulders.
"There are families, powerful families in England and overseas, that are bound by ancient magics lost to us to follow your lead now. Be careful how you rule over them," Lucius told him the same advice his father wisely gave to him.
"What did you do, when you decided to follow the Dark Lord?"
"I told them to follow their conscience when it came to the Dark Lord, the same as my father had. Especially since the Dark Lord has always been inclined to ignore the kingdom in our blood. Of the link and weight between us and other families that have existed for over a thousand years."
"How do you lead a people, knowing that many are against you, on the opposite side of a war?" Draco could barely fathom the concept, let alone understand how his father had managed such a thing.
"By reassuring them that I was their king first and foremost, that my duty was to them above any other, despite personal beliefs and politics. It's the reason why, despite all the muck ups and disasters that Arthur Weasley has faced at work, he's never been fired. Just the optics alone with that magical flying car business in your second year would have found anyone else without a job."
"And in war? The Prewetts? Bones? I assume all of the sacred twenty-eight are my subjects now," Draco felt the weight of the crown acutely. These were questions he'd never bothered to ask before, naively thinking that he wouldn't have to ascend until he was at least in his thirties.
It was a child's hope, a fool's wish.
"Yes, they are. I was not there when the Prewett brothers were killed, and you weren't king when you killed Madam Bones. I was their king, and it was my duty to protect them, but not to be everywhere at once. They knew the risk they were running by joining the Order, just like Madam Bones knew the risk she was running by vocally opposing the Dark Lord…I told them to follow their conscience, but I also urged them, for their safety, to stay neutral. Those who joined the war, following their beliefs, paid the price, and we are not a monarchy like we once were, ruling outwardly, governing an entire region. Instead, now, we govern a people, not a place. We have no hold over what others who are not bound to us do."
What both thought but neither mentioned was that if Voldemort acknowledged the bond, then he'd have to acknowledge his own subservient position to the Malfoys, as the sacred-twenty-eight blood of the Gaunts ran in his veins.
"Do all the children of the families that are bound to us know?" Draco wondered curiously. It seemed like something they would all know, but…
"Of course," Lucius frowned. "Why wouldn't they?"
"Well, this seems like the kind of information that would get around fast—a monarchy, by divine right, bound by blood by old magics to their station."
"Ah," Lucius' eyes sparkled with cruel humor. "Antinous Malfoy about seven hundred years ago, when the monarchy's region was threatened on the mainland, wove into the bind a vow of secrecy, so that none under our rule could conspire with wizards of other regions against us."
"That's a bit extreme," Draco shook his head unsurprised. It was an action spectacularly Malfoy-ish.
"But quite useful considering the times we live in now, and soon thereafter as the region of our rule in the continent collapsed, our bloodline went into hiding, and our people dispersed. The sacred twenty-eight were simply the ones most loyal that were called to us in England when we arrived, or sent ahead by us to await our arrival, like the Weasleys."
"I can't imagine that Ronald Weasley will take my sudden position in his life well," Draco joked, trying to add some levity.
"No, he won't," Lucius pierced Draco with his somber gaze. "You will do well to remember that there are plenty of families in England that resent the monarchy, now. They feel it is unfair that they should adhere to a bind that was made without their consent almost a thousand years ago."
"So, more money, more problems?" Draco smirked, remembering a song that played on the radio in the hotel room he spent hours upon hours in with Hermione.
Lucius didn't get the joke, but he could clearly see it was some muggle thing; an hour ago, he would've smacked Draco upside the head, or at least threatened violence. But not now. Never again, because though Draco was his son, he was also his King, and he commanded respect.
Instead, he levelled Draco with a disapproving stare and continued on. "Nonetheless, the same way there are many families who despise us, there are many who love us, would gladly kill and die for us, for you and your queen."
Your queen.
The words were like ice in Draco's veins. Lucius had been watching him intently, for the moment that he realized that he hadn't ascended alone. And unlike a pureblooded witch from a family who was bound to the Malfoy's, Hermione didn't have a clue of the title, position, and power she'd inherited.
"Will you tell her?"
"No," Draco answered swiftly. He didn't have to think or debate. "Let her worry about one problem at a time."
"Your word is law, and she is a queen," Lucius warned. "Her word comes second only to yours—she should know that before she accidently uses that power, especially on the Weasley's. They resent us enough as it is. You'd do well not to antagonize them."
"I very much doubt Granger will ever give them a command. She might ask them to do something, but they can just as easily ignore a plea as though it came from any other person."
"But will they? You know as well as I do that Molly Weasley won't—she was a Prewett before she was a Weasley and the Prewett line was and is one of our most loyal. Some of her sons have inherited that trait. All you have to do is look at who appears tonight."
Draco went to run his hand through his head and bumped into the crown. His hand fell, and he looked away from his father's judging eyes.
Draco sighed, "I may tell her before the war is over, but only if there is no choice."
"She cannot raise a hand to any of your subjects. No matter the situation," Lucius reminded him. "She is their queen, and duty bound through you to protect them—all of them, including the Lestrange's and any other Death Eater bound to us. She must memorize those names. Even if she does not know why, even if she does not recognize them and has never met them because they live halfway across the world still, she must remember those names under her protection. Just as they are bound to serve the monarchy."
Draco nodded his agreement, but it wasn't enough.
"Draco," Lucius's eyes held a sliver of fear that Draco thought had come and gone with his sixth year. "There is a reason purebloods, especially the sacred twenty-eight, tend to marry other purebloods with connections to the sacred twenty-eight, no matter how far back it goes. The magic that binds them to us would grow weaker with every muggle added to their bloodline if they didn't do so. Marrying others who are bound to us as well keeps the bind alive. It's the reason why Severus insists on Marietta Lumkipper. He's a half blood, and so, though the Prince's were bound to us, he is only half as bound, which means we are only half as duty bound to him if we so chose to be; it's enough of a bind to be secure, but it is not what it could be. Marietta's blood will allow his children to be completely under our protection."
"What's your point?" Draco was trying to follow but he couldn't see what Lucius so clearly did.
"It means that whatever child you have will only have half as much the claim to sovereign as you do. Your queen has zero room for error, if you want the monarchy to survive. Do you understand?"
Do you understand?
He did understand, but it was an ugly truth to swallow.
"I'll make sure she knows the names, but that is all."
Lucius nodded, though he clearly didn't agree with Draco's decision. Nonetheless, it was his decision to make; there was a pause in the conversation, and Draco knew it was time. It was tradition for many wizarding fathers and sons that celebrated the occasion to share a secret for the winter solstice. One secret to lessen the burden in their hearts before they went to ask for grace.
It was the one time in the entire year that Lucius Malfoy let down his guard completely, and spoke openly and honestly to his son, with whatever secret was burning his soul.
"When your grandfather died, I was devastated," Lucius began solemnly. "He was the greatest man who ever lived, though I resented his authority over me and my decisions for most of my life, much like I suspect you resent me sometimes. But he was wise, too. So wise that the last words he spoke to me before he died from the dragon pox was not a goodbye, but advice. He said that he had made plenty mistakes with your grandmother, though she forgave him every time. He said that despite the sorrows and the slip-ups, he would do it all over again if given the chance. He would hold her tighter, and praise me more. With the burdens and errors, he would do it all again. Sometimes, I feel that way too, knowing that your mother never asked to be the wife of a Death Eater, the wife of a wanted man, a criminal. I would do all it all again, too. I would remind her everyday how much I appreciate her, and I would tell you more often how proud of you I am—of the man you've become."
Draco looked up at his father as though he was seeing him for the first time. His eyes were wide, and his throat slightly closed.
I would do it all again, too.
It was a sentiment that Draco wasn't sure he could understand, but he wanted to try. It was a secret that he'd have to mull over, for a long time to come. But, now, it was his turn, and he'd prepared so many secrets that all seemed so small and inconsequential in light of Lucius's.
He opened his mouth to say "I miss how Hogwarts used to be" or "I broke down the other day because, despite how I pretend, I'm drowning under life."
Instead, what he said surprised even him.
"I think I've always loved Granger, somewhere deep inside of myself, back when we were little bratty Third Years. Hell, back when we were annoyingly innocent Firsties—I think I've always loved her…because I've always been moved by her, first to hate her, then to despise her, now to understand my love for her…and I think that's what love is. Being moved, right?"
He expected Lucius to be repulsed by the secret, to sneer at his son's disgusting affections towards a mudblood, though she had risen above her blood—she was their queen now. Either way Lucius simply patted Draco on the shoulder, and nodded stoically.
As though he'd always known the secret feelings of his son. Perhaps he always had. Maybe the truth about parents was that they always knew things like this, even when their child didn't realize his own feelings.
It was this enlightenment that spurred Draco to continue. "I think understanding my love for her has changed me, made me softer in some ways. And I'm scared that now that I've started, I won't be able to stop, and I'll change into a someone she won't recognize—won't want…I guess, I'm scared of losing myself, and losing her in the process."
It was a secret Draco hadn't realized lived inside of him; it was a secret he would've never shared if he'd known it was there, festering inside of his chest, dipping poison into his veins.
"I'm scared of losing the love of my life," Draco whispered, bare in front of the man who gave him life.
But Lucius Malfoy was a man who loved his son above all else and would give him everything he had to give…including his pride, if only so Draco wouldn't feel alone.
"I'm scared of losing the love of my life, too, son," Lucius clapped him on the shoulder in comfort and solidarity. "I'm scared, too."
It was the trick of words and hearts that Lucius didn't know if he referred to his son or his wife; it was the same trick that didn't allow Draco to fathom that conundrum. For he had yet to understand the depth to which a father loved his son.
The garden of Malfoy Manor was filled with people from all walks of life—people who hadn't even been on the guest list as far as Hermione could tell. As she walked out on the small balcony looking at the sea of glittering jewels and traditional armor, she saw Bill, Charlie, and Molly Weasley humbly dressed on the outskirts of the garden, talking to Neville Longbottom and his grandmother, who wore enough pearls to surely knock her over if she spun the wrong way. The rest of the Weasleys took after the patriarch and celebrated Christmas instead, but Mrs. Weasley never forgot her Prewett roots.
According to Lucius's offhanded comments at the tense dinner table the night before, "the blood-traitor comes every year though she knows the invite is just a formality from the days when her family were honorable; comes, and brings her Merlin-forsaken sons to stand in for the House of Weasley. Suppose it doesn't matter how deep one muddles in dirt, good blood will out, so there is that."
But what struck Hermione immobile was the proud Potter Crest on a simple dark ruby cloak hiding the form of Harry Potter. Her best friend stood regally in the garden of Malfoy Manor, a gaudy ruby ring on his middle finger, face clear of any glamour or disguising charm. His emerald eyes lifted as he tensely laughed at something Neville said, and his gaze caught hers like lightning and the purest love that existed.
Hermione couldn't contain the smile that lighted up her face as she simply stared at her best friend; it was like her dreams had come to life, and there was no war, no prophecy, nothing except friendship, love, family, and a life so magical that the moon could whither from envy.
But this wasn't a dream, and Hermione's smile faded quickly. She turned to Draco, who'd watched her expression intently.
"The ritual transcends politics," Draco answered her unasked question quietly. "Abraxas Malfoy and Charlus Potter were best friends, despite being on opposite sides of everything, including the first war. Despite it all they still managed to meet every week for a game of wizard's chess. The friendship of the Houses of Malfoy and Potter have nothing to do with politics and everything to do with history. Our magical history, which we pay homage to tonight, as we receive grace."
Hermione was floored at the information, but even more so that Draco clearly had invited Harry simply because he knew she'd want him there.
He was right.
Even though Hermione hadn't consciously realized it, her skin had been crawling at the fact that she was about to face something as huge as one of the most revered rituals in magical society, worldwide, alone. Without her best friend near to catch her in case she fell. Hermione hadn't realized how much she needed Harry's presence, until it was there, and she took in a massive breath of relief. She wished she could go and give Harry a hug but knew it wouldn't be wise to draw too much attention to him.
Instead, her eyes kissed Draco surreptitiously, as a silent thank you, for knowing her so well. He smirked arrogantly, and Hermione knew that was his way of saying I'm the best husband ever, I know.
Hermione rolled her eyes laughingly and continued to look about the crowd. She saw Umbridge standing by Viktor Krum with Bellatrix glowering at Harry from afar, surely itching to attack him and others in attendance; surprisingly, it hadn't been hard to put Umbridge and the on the guest list for the event.
"I'm amazed that Bellatrix hasn't thrown a fit about my attendance at such an important affair," Hermione raised a sardonic eyebrow to Draco as he went to stand next to her, his hand resting lazily on the glorious Malfoy Sword hanging on his hip.
"She couldn't, even though she probably wants to," Draco shrugged, his eyes intent on the stars circling above them, heart purposefully ignoring all the truths that Hermione didn't know were now being kept from her. "It's said that the great witch, Helenia, sacrificed herself to the moon on this very same spot almost four hundred years ago. Her sacrifice was in the name of all wizarding kind, during the First Goblin War, and so there is no better place on earth to receive the moon's grace. Here, her blood links all of wizarding kind—pureblood, half-blood, and Muggleborn alike. Because of that, this is the one night, though few remember it, and even fewer bother with it, that any magical person, half-blood or muggleborn, can walk onto Malfoy grounds freely. It's our way of thanking Helenia for her sacrifice and prayer…
As a child we're taught that there has never lived a person more blessed by magic and moon than Helenia—not even Merlin. He was the most powerful, but not the most blessed."
"Aren't they the same thing?" Hermione whispered as everyone lit candles wandlessly around them; parents lit the candles wandlessly for their children, and siblings for each other; all the while Draco guided her down the stairs with a strong hand on her back, leading from the balcony to the center of the garden as people parted to let them pass, an altar erected proudly in the middle of the crowd where Helenia had once stood.
"You would think, but no. Not even remotely close. To be magically powerful is to be greatly connected to the earth, but to be blessed by the moon is to be favored by magic, to know no bounds."
His words were like a beacon, and the ceremony began.
Hermione felt the magic in the air intensely; it was suffocating in the best way possible. She could hear a low humming coming from the crowd. It was slightly disconcerting, though the hum was strong with each circle that added to the song.
Hermione trembled with nervous energy, though Draco had spent days grilling her about the ritual and explaining the ins and outs of it.
Draco had been eating an apple, the juice trailing down the side of his lip a bit, as he explained the ritual and her part in it.
"The ritual is made of concentric circles, with you and I at the very center with the alter. The smallest circle begins with the Sacred Twenty-eight families. Then with the closest friends of those families. Then those who are old acquaintances, but not friends. Then those who are new associates. Finally, strangers, who come to receive grace, but are unknown to the conduit."
"Who's the conduit?"
"I am. We are."
"Terram dirigit cedimus," Draco's voice boomed and echoed over the garden, as though there were an invisible shield repelling his voice.
To the earth that guides us, we surrender.
Hermione knelt in the place of her husband and surrendered to the moon. She thought about the weight of the war, and the wishes in her heart. She thought of the relationships she would fight and die for. She thought of her parents who have missed so many milestones in her life these past months. She thought of everything that would never be.
Her hands locked with Draco's, and silent tears sprang to her eyes.
She'd been so sure when Draco had informed her of the need for sacrifice, that she would give blood—what else did she have to give? But somehow, unbidden, and untold, she knew that tears were as good as blood. Hermione, deep inside of herself, uplifted by the shining moon, knew that there'd been too much death, and that more blood isn't what they all needed.
Her tears, silent, small pear-shaped droplets of love, hope, and anguish fell on the altar in small droplets. The altar, filled with the depth of her passion, glowed bright and brilliant.
Her sacrifice was complete.
Everyone was now connected, and her sacrifice was their sacrifice.
"Ad animarum antecesorum nostrorum lucem nobis parendum," Draco's voice vibrated with emotion. Narcissa watched in awe as her son effortlessly took her beloved's place at the altar where she and Lucius had been the conduit for the past nineteen years. To the souls of our ancestors that illuminate us, we obey.
Her heart filled with pride, and instead of the blood they'd shed since she was a little girl and could attend, tears slid down her eyes.
The conduit had given their sacrifice, and thus they were all compelled to give the same sacrifice. It was strange, and yet, it was decidedly natural.
Tears were a worthy sacrifice, and Narcissa cried the tears that she had been holding back for more than two decades.
"Ad lunam et qui unxit nos eius gratia perpetua sumus grati estote," Draco cried to the moon as though he were possessed, one hand clenching his wife's, the other outstretched to the moon, a blinding light engulfing the space between the circles. The light danced between the circles as though a spirit nymph had discovered a patronus and had fallen in love. Bellatrix shouted to the moon along with everyone else. To the moon that anoints us with her everlasting grace, we are thankful.
We are thankful, we are thankful.
Sumus grati estote, sumus grati estote.
She shouted her anger and humiliation, as tears were forced out of her as sacrifice. She shouted her indignation at being connected to such filth. She shouted her resentment at having to claim such a mudblood as her queen, though the world will never know it.
Sumus grati estote.
Bellatrix shouted her rage and pain at a Lord who she'd loved for so long and would never love her back.
Sumus grati estote.
Bellatrix shouted, and her magic was a bright red among a blinding white; diseased, unimaginably dark, among the pure of heart.
"Nos sumus indignus." Draco shouted brokenly, tears streaming down his face, heart completely open in a way he'd never allowed himself to be before. We are unworthy.
Lucius shouted just as brokenly, his own tears cleansing a part of his soul that he'd sworn had been tarnished beyond repair. He sobbed his brokenness, unbidden, completely surrounded by and surrendered under the grace filling him.
We are unworthy.
Lucius thought about the love his wife had for him.
We are unworthy.
Lucius thought about the adoration and respect his son had for him.
We are unworthy.
Lucius broke and was reborn, the feeling of all his mistakes were washed away by his tears; he thought about all of the dreams he'd had as a young boy, about all the good he'd been so sure he would do as King, and he was ashamed. The shame ate at him, gripping his soul as he recognized his truth: he'd been an absent king, doing his duty only as he was bound to do, but nothing more.
His son would be nothing like him.
Nos sumus indignus, Lucius shouted the words so hard he was practically hoarse as he let the shame go, too.
"Nos sumus amisit." We are lost. Draco kneeled beside his wife, consumed and overwhelmed. He was shattered, and Voldemort was shattered with him though they were miles apart, as he kneeled in a sacred circle of his own, alone in the cemetery where his greatest enemy lay: his muggle father.
Voldemort felt his eyes burn, but he couldn't allow himself to let go enough to shed the tears that threatened.
He'd already given his sacrifice—blood—and he refused to give any other. His tears belonged to the boy he'd been before he'd split his soul and surrendered completely to the darkest of magics. His tears belonged to the past, when he'd been driven mad by the loss of Minerva.
We are lost, we are lost.
His tears belonged to her, and though he hated her in equal measure as he would always love her, he would not betray their souls by sharing his tears with anyone or anything else…not even for all the grace in the world.
Voldemort's voice cracked as his magic bristled around him—war was easy, war was a plan, but asking for grace wasn't about death and destruction. It wasn't about war. It was about truth, and giving the moon all that he had to give.
"Nos sumus amisit," he whispered to the moon as he acknowledged the most horrendous secret in his torn and deformed soul: he was lost…because he'd never stopped loving a woman he could never have, and who didn't want him.
Nos sumus amisit.
As he trained Draco, he felt a connection to the boy that he hadn't known he was capable of.
We are lost.
This connection was a weakness, his love for Minerva that still beat in his chest was a weakness. But Voldemort refused such a weakness to burn bright inside of him, and he carefully constructed walls made of paper mache around it.
We are lost, Voldemort's heart flew into a rage because, despite wanting to, he couldn't give in completely, and so he couldn't receive all the grace the moon tried to give.
We are lost.
Lord Voldemort had never learned how to give in.
"Nos sumus liberum" Draco let go, and his magic exploded from his body like a soda can that had been shaken and opened. We are free.
His magic caressed the bodies surrounding him like a long lost lover who'd never forgotten what was right. Harry had never felt anything like this. He'd never known that someone else's magic could touch him this way.
When he'd received the letter from Draco inviting him, Harry had thought it would be much like a Muggle church service. Even while Mrs. Weasley took him to his Gringotts vault, informed him of the dress code he had to adhere to, and helped him find the appropriate clothes and ring, he'd simply thought that it was a typical Pureblood event. But now, magic exploding through every nerve, he knew it was so much more.
It was strange, and supernatural. But it was also liberating too, to know that he surely wasn't feeling all of this alone.
He was never alone.
Hermione would never let him be alone, and he shouted with all of his might, "Nos sumus liberum."
We are free.
He thought of Luna's unwavering faith in him. "Nos sumus liberum," he roared with purpose.
We are free.
He thought of all of the small moments in life when he'd felt joy and happiness.
We are free.
Though his life had been ruled by Voldemort's actions, he wasn't tied down to the darkness. He wasn't tied down, captured by loneliness and despair...because he was surrounded by people who loved him.
He was loved, and the fundamental understanding of the power of that love saw Harry closing his eyes, and reveling in the peace that he found. It was a kind of peace that he'd never felt before.
He was loved, filled by grace, and we are free.
"Nos sumus sine fine," Draco withdrew his sword from its sheath and drove it into the ground. We are limitless.
"Unus," his voice cracked as every single sinew in his body vibrated with a magical force so rapturous that he felt on the brink of orgasm. One.
"Coniunctum." It was strange, and slightly disgusting to feel such pleasure surrounded by and connected to so many people. Together.
"Gratiis repleti," Draco whispered, humbled. Because he was his people, and they would forever be a part of him, now. Filled with grace.
After the ritual was over, and the glow of grace dimmed to a steady thrum in their hearts, many left. Plenty of Death Eaters and Death Eater sympathizers went inside for the reception, but those who were bound to Draco, to Hermione stayed behind. Hermione looked around her, confused, but Draco ushered her inside.
She tried to protest, but a swift look from Draco saying not now was enough. She pursed her lips in annoyance, but didn't outwardly speak, though her gaze clearly told him she wasn't letting whatever this was go.
All the while Draco was moving Hermione away from the garden, Molly Weasley was moving Harry closer.
"I should go," Harry whispered, acutely aware of the enemies surrounding him. He'd tried to ignore the hatred boiling in his chest at Bellatrix's presence before the ceremony began. He'd tried to ignore the tension in his shoulders from being so close to faces he knew bore the dark mark, but it was hard. Even the grace that thrummed in his body like hope and glory couldn't ease it completely.
"No," Charlie shook his head. "Your grandmother was a Black. Your father was a Potter through and through. You may be a half-blood, but you're still bound. Your children will be doubly so between your bloodline and Ginny's. You need to show your respects."
"I don't understand," Harry felt like Charlie was talking in riddles. Bill stayed silent, though his gaze was intense, nervous almost.
"I'll explain it all later, dearie," Molly patted his hand, and stood tall among the rest of the families bound.
Draco returned and waved his wand to hide the garden from any onlookers from inside. He looked at the faces of his subjects, of the people now under his protection, and felt a strain on his shoulders he'd never felt before.
This was real.
This was happening.
He was king.
Draco could see the anxiety in everyone's faces, wondering if he'd be a leader like Lucius, or a leader like the infamous Aurelius Malfoy—stern, overbearing, suffocating. But Draco couldn't be like any other king but who he was meant to be. Himself.
"I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, dragon born, am your Lord and King," Draco didn't blink. He could barely breathe. Run, run, run, his blood thrummed in his veins. But Draco could never run from his people, his duty. "But I have not ascended to the throne to police you, or to enslave you to my will. Follow your conscience, and as your King, I will shield and protect you to the best of my ability."
There was a clear collective sigh that went through the crowd. It was a sigh that clearly said, ah, so he's like Lucius then.
But Draco wasn't done.
"But we are living in dangerous times, separated, fractured on different sides of this war. I will not rule over a fractured people. You are all a reflection of your Monarchy, and the monarchy, your Queen that is decidedly Light and King that bears the Dark Mark are not fractured or separated. We are united, and so look around yourselves right now. Look, and see the enemy on the other side of you outside these walls…they are your kin under my rule. So I expect each of you to protect each other, despite the politics, when I am not around to protect you."
Bellatrix could be heard screeching out her displeasure. Others were already gearing up to try to convince Draco that this wasn't necessary or wanted.
"Fight on the side that you wish. Kill those that you must. There are plenty on both sides, the majority in fact, that are not bound to this monarchy. But you will not kill each other. Under no circumstance."
Half the crowd turned and looked at Harry Potter. Harry, still reeling from confusion, was fast putting the pieces together though the pieces didn't make a lick of sense. But he knew one thing—the people in this room weren't allowed to kill him. The death eaters that surrounded him right now were forced to protect him.
Draco Malfoy had officially just changed the rules of the game.
Everyone's eyes were filled with shock as they gazed at Harry, wondering what the hell they were all supposed to do now.
Harry didn't know what to do, but felt as though he should acknowledge what Draco had just done for him. For the Light side.
He wanted to be eloquent. He wanted to be inspirational.
Instead, Harry Potter looked at Draco Malfoy, his apparent King—and what the bloody hell is that about—and, mind reeling, said, "So, you and me, huh?"
What was that even supposed to mean?!
But the words were out there, and Harry couldn't take them back. He didn't want to try to explain for fear of making it an even bigger fool of himself.
But Draco simply smirked and responded, "You and me, Potter. You and me."
You.
Me.
Two destinies.
Two prophecies.
Two leaders.
Now that the game had been changed, it was all up to them.
The fate of the war was unequivocally in the hands of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.
And everyone in the garden, Death Eater, soldier of the Light, and Neutral parties alike, knew it.
The knowledge was like a call, and in unison the assembled—Harry a step behind everyone else—knelt on the ground. Wands raised, their voices were like thunder as they acknowledged their new sovereign: "Long live King Draco, and long may he reign."
Draco had never witnessed anything more powerful.
Harry didn't know whether to stand still or run away as people started to apparate away, one by one. Bill turned to Molly, Charlie, and Harry and whispered, "I should go back to Fleur—she's going to be anxious awaiting the news."
Harry wanted to know why she hadn't come herself but didn't have time to ask before Bill disapparated along with so many in the garden.
Before Harry could ask Mrs. Weasley or Charlie, Draco Malfoy—their king, holy fuck—was upon them, an air of authority surrounding him.
Molly and Charlie inclined their heads respectfully, and Draco touched them both on the shoulder, as though they were faithful knights. Maybe they were. Maybe the world had been turned upside down, and Harry wasn't sure what he was seeing anymore.
"So, you're a King?" Harry asked slowly. Charlie grinned at Harry's expression and tone, while Mrs. Weasley tsked, and fretted her hands a bit. Draco rolled his eyes and bypassed them all with a simple: "walk with me, Potter."
Harry looked at the Weasleys, but they'd turned away from him and were both in a quiet conversation, so he turned to catch up to Draco.
"So you're a king," Harry repeated as he caught up to Draco. The stars above them twinkled like he'd never seen them before. He wasn't quite sure what was happening or what to say. His stomach fluttered and clenched a bit at the feeling of uncertainty that gripped him.
Draco snorted, "Some kind of a king, yeah."
"Seems official enough to me."
"It's more official in some ways than any government around nowadays, anyway."
"How so?" Harry was genuinely curious, but they both knew they were skirting around the real reason they needed to have a conversation.
"Because my people are bound to me—bound to my word and the word of my queen." Draco felt the weight of the crown differently as he explained this to Harry Potter. "If I ordered you to throw yourself off a bridge, the blood in your veins would force you."
"Seems kind of hypocritical though, isn't it? You said you wouldn't lord over us and try to control us, but you change the rules of this war by doing exactly that. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful, but I'm just not so sure whether I should be happy or worried that you've got this kind of power over me."
"It's not hypocritical because I never said that I wouldn't do my duty as king. I said I wouldn't abusively use my power and control over all of you, which is different. The way I see it, my duty is to make sure we don't kill each other, and to watch out for everyone of my subjects. I do half of that job through the order I gave. I can control your actions beyond that point, but I won't, as a matter of honor and respect. This is order is the only one I plan on giving."
The following silence carried a heaviness that settled between their shoulder blades. It pressed down upon them as they continued to circle the garden, with its lights and immense magical presence.
"Does Hermione know? That she's a queen now?"
"No." Draco's tone was filled with a sense of finality that made Harry grit his teeth, but there was genuine concern in his voice as he continued. "You know Granger—you know how she deals and overreacts. How she can take everything on like a personal mission. There's already so much going on, so much to deal with. She doesn't need this, too."
Harry frowned severely. "She's not made out of glass, Malfoy—can I still call you Malfoy?"
"Yes, in front of others who don't know, or if we're alone. Otherwise, I'm your Lord and King," Draco waved his hand dismissively, and then rolled his eyes. "And I know she's not made of glass—hell, I've made sure that she's not. Malfoy women are strong—stronger than most. This isn't about strength. This is about burden, and she doesn't need to bear it yet. Not yet."
Harry wanted to tell him that Hermione would want to share his burden with him; he wanted to tell him that he wouldn't have survived so long without Hermione at his side, sharing in his own burden. But they'd somehow arrived back where they started, next to the Weasleys.
Without another word, Draco walked away and Harry felt his body swirl into time and space as Charlie grabbed him to apparate back to the Weasleys house, his body humming all the while from having received so much grace.
Harry and the Weasleys arrived without much fanfare, though the patriarch of the family was waiting somberly at the kitchen table, lips pursed, an anxious jiggle to his right leg. He gave his wife a small smile as Mrs. Weasley gave him a chaste peck on his cheek, and both Charlie and Harry settled into seats at the same table with Mr. Weasley.
A simple, "How'd it go?" from Arthur spurred a quick and simple explanation that reminded Harry that what he'd witnessed hadn't been a figment of his imagination.
"Here I thought that Hermione as Queen might rein him in, not set him loose," Arthur commented.
"He's protecting all of us," Charlie shrugged. "I think he's doing what he can with the circumstances he's inherited."
"Now, you're being unfair to Him, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley said as she scrubbed the dishes harder.
"He's tying our hands!" Arthur scowled. "At least before we could adhere to our consciences completely. Now, if Bellatrix Lestrange is captured, I'll have to find a way to engineer her escape. It's against our cause. Against everything that is right and moral!"
"What are we talking about?" Ginny and Ron entered the kitchen.
"Draco Malfoy?" Harry answered uncertainly. He wasn't quite sure where he landed, or if he even understood all the implications of what had happened.
"What about the ferret?" Ron went straight to cut himself a piece of cake that was on the kitchen counter.
"Ronald Weasley!" Mrs. Weasley screeched, and everyone flinched. Harry was sure he was about to be lectured on waiting for others to be served. "You will do well to remember that is your Lord and King now! Of all the disrespect! We've certainly raised you better than that!"
Ron's face was a ball of fire, but he gritted out a low and clearly sarcastic "sorry."
Harry was floored, and so he did the first thing that came to mind—an image of wands in the air surfaced.
"Long live the king" Harry said quickly as though he were changing the subject and saying "it didn't rain today."
But it was enough to ease the tension as everyone repeated, "Long live the king."
Ron looked at Harry as though he'd betrayed him somehow, but Harry was just happy that Mrs. Weasley was clearly appeased.
"Did you see Hermione?" Ginny asked as she sipped on some tea.
"She was definitely a vision," Harry mused aloud. "You should have seen her during the ritual—I think everyone was crying. It was pretty strange actually, now that I think on it."
"Everyone was crying," Charlie chuckled as he lounged against the chair, one hand on the back of his chair, the other on the table. "As our queen and the conduit alongside Malfoy, she has to give a sacrifice. Normally, at least as long as I've been alive and attending, the sacrifice has always been blood, but she gave her tears. Her sacrifice becomes our sacrifice, and so we're compelled to give the same sacrifice. She cried so everyone was forced to cry."
"Oh, that makes a lot more sense!"
Harry's exclamation caused a round of laughter at his expense, but he didn't mind. Laughter was what he associated with the Weasleys. It was better than the strange air of tension that had settled in the room before.
"Oi, Fred," George entered the room like a tornado. "Look who's back!"
"Is it good ol' Nick?" Fred threw himself into the room and into a chair. "I could do with more presents, yeah?"
"Can't we all," George went launched into the chair next to Harry and threw his arms around him. "But no, Harry's back from his first solstice ritual. Rite a passage, it is."
"Too right you are, George," Fred nodded gravely, though there was an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes that made Harry wary. "Well, don't keep us in suspense ol' boy. How was it?"
"It was amazing," Harry responded honestly. "I'd never seen something like that before. Never felt something like that before. Was that normal?"
"Hmph," George sniffed in a distinctly Umbridge manner, "I don't think we're getting this one back."
"No, I think not," Fred started to mock-weep loudly. "Why are you leaving us, Harry?"
"What shall we do without you?" George cried obnoxiously.
"Oh, enough of that, you lot!" Mrs. Weasley boxed Fred lightly on the ear. "Don't let them make fun of you, Harry, dear. They simply take after their father's side of the family. Haven't seen a Weasley at a solstice ritual since before I married Arthur, in fact."
"Well, our dear brother here and Bill have broken that mold," Fred pointed out rightfully.
Mr. Weasley sighed. "Don't let them bother you boys too much. I went as a young boy, too. Everyone celebrates the solstice in their own ways. Some with rituals, and pleas for grace, and others with presents and a Christmas tree."
"Why don't you ask for grace?" Harry couldn't help but ask.
"Well," Mr. Weasley rubbed his neck in discomfort. "As you well know, my relationship with the Malfoys has always been a bit rough. And, well, you need a certain amount of power to ask for grace, or a place imbued with enough magical grace. I would rather not have grace at all if I have to do it with them, through them."
"That's more pride than his hands can carry, I say," Mrs. Weasley tutted and started to cut the cake into pieces. "The very least you could've done was come today, if only to acknowledge your new king."
"What does it matter if we go, or not?" Mr. Weasley accepted his plate with a quick kiss to his wife's hand. "Whether I acknowledge him or not, he's still the king, and his word is law. I don't have to acknowledge him for it to be true."
"Well everyone could've come simply to support Hermione," Charlie shrugged as though he didn't care either way.
Frankly, Charlie barely knew his new Queen—as Mrs. Malfoy or as Hermione Granger—so he didn't care as a personal matter. But he was a man of honor, and it prickled his sense of family pride that his family had practically taken the girl in and hadn't gone to support her in her greatest shining moment. It simply didn't sit right on his Weasley honor, and it was clear by the edge in his tone.
"She's been married to a Malfoy for months," Ginny snorted. "I'm sure she barely noticed our absence. And even if she had, she's queen now. She'll survive."
"Well, wait a minute, Gin," Mr. Weasley looked at them all. "Hermione's going to need all of our support—your brother's right on that front. She may be a queen, but she's a muggle-born. This won't be easy for her."
"Why not?" Harry jumped in, worry etching lines on his forehead.
Mrs. Weasley finished passing the plates around with desert, and sat down as she answered. "Well, whatever children they have won't have as strong a hold on their claim to the crown. Hermione doesn't have any bonded blood in her—not even a speck. Even squib blood would count, if she can find some."
"I don't understand."
"Her position as queen threatens the monarchy," Fred said uncharacteristically serious. "People might think that he should remarry to ensure the strength of the bond. And we all know magical marriages are forever, so there's only one way for him to remarry."
Harry's heart skipped a bit in horror. "If she's dead."
"Or people could think they can overthrow the line of succession of the monarchy if they have any Malfoy blood in them," Ron whispered.
There was only one way for that to happen too.
They were alone, but it was such a dangerous thought that no one mocked him for whispering.
"We're fourth in line," Ginny whispered; the resentment clear in her eyes. "If the entire Malfoy family were to die in the war."
"Now that is enough!" Mrs. Weasley slammed her hands on the table.
"Your mother is quite right," Mr. Weasley cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the train of the conversation; he might dislike and resent his new king on principle, but the Weasley's were no traitors to the throne. He cleared his throat again and picked at his food. "Anyhow, as long as Hermione is with child if the rest of the Malfoy perish, she would remain queen and her child would still have the most legitimate claim to the throne. Despite her blood. Unless any of you plan to help slay your friend or stand aside as she's slain."
The point was well made and Ron and Ginny had the grace to look ashamed at where their thoughts had wondered.
"The point is that Hermione needs to watch what she does, now more than ever," Mrs. Weasley bit her lip. "Especially after the edict the King gave, many might think that was her influence."
Ron went to make another comment when Remus entered the kitchen with a slight stoop, but a warm smile.
"How is everyone," He started to take off his coat. "I hope I'm not intruding," his eyes roved over everyone.
Mrs. Weasley bustled around, and hovered over Remus like only she could. The conversation turned to other topics, but it never returned to the new monarchy, and Harry realized that no one referred to Draco or Hermione as boy, or chit, or young.
They were sovereign now, and Harry supposed the crown deserved respect, despite their age. Despite their feelings towards the people who wore the crowns.
It was a strange realization, but all Harry could do as he bit into a piece of his cake was think how strange everything seemed to be this year.
Long live the king, indeed.
Meanwhile, back at Malfoy Manor, Hermione walked among the crowd of people enjoying the music and liquor, high off of the grace they received during the solstice ritual. Dolores Umbridge lounged on a grey and gold settee, her bright pink dress loud and tacky against the sophisticated colors surrounding them.
Hermione walked purposefully towards her, a loose plan in her head. She hesitated for a moment, worried that this wouldn't work, but this was her shot. This was their only shot.
Hermione approached Umbridge, hands outstretched as though they were friends, a fake smile upon her lips.
"Dolores! How wonderful to see you've made it!"
The words were strange as they fell from Hermione's lips. Umbridge instinctively took the outstretched hands, but her face was slightly dazed, confused.
"...Miss Granger," Umbridge responded warily even as she upturned her nose.
"Mrs. Malfoy now," Hermione said saccharinely. "How lovely of you to make it, though! I insisted that the family put you on the invitation list."
"Y-you did?"
"Oh, of course! You know how much I absolutely adored your time at Hogwarts."
Hermione's words were pointed, and her eyes held a clear warning that Umbridge could sense.
"Yes, well," she tried to take back her hands, but Hermione gripped them firmly. "It was sad that I couldn't stay."
They both remembered Hermione's role in Umbridge's excursion into the forest. They both also remembered Umbridge's actions that led to that journey.
"Oh yes, I was just thinking about informing my husband about the year that you were there," Hermione smirked slightly. This shouldn't feel good, but it did. It felt really good to see Umbridge's eyes go wide as she caught on slowly.
"Hm, hm," Dolores cleared her throat. "I'm sure Lord Malfoy has much more pressing things to do than listen to an account of my time at Hogwarts."
"Oh, not at all," Hermione dug her nails a bit into Umbridge's hand. "I'm sure it's common knowledge how protective and interested my husband is in my affairs."
"Well, the optics of the situation is a bit abnormal. Though you and I know that neither of us meant much harm, others may not be as good natured of our encounters as we are."
"Right, of course" Hermione nodded with a mock-sympathetic glance. She knew that Umbridge was simply thinking about her career, and how easily Draco could ruin it if he felt inclined to. "But, Draco is fair and kind, he would understand. Circumstances and such."
"Right, right" Umbridge pursed her lips, and tried to convince herself. "And he was there-witness and all. He couldn't possibly blame me of misconduct while he had been standing right there."
"Exactly," Hermione said matter-of-factly, paused, and then hesitantly said, "But, well, he can. You know how these Lords can be sometimes."
It was all an act on Hermione's part-a demon leading a lost soul even further astray. She wanted Umbridge to be fully aware that Draco could crush any aspirations that the pink cow might have, if Hermione whispered in his ear.
Umbridge, having spent plenty of time immersed in politics was well aware of the tactic, and glared at her fiercely. However, for the sake of optics, she didn't try to move away.
From afar they looked like close friends in a deep conversation of importance. Up close, the air around them was as cold as the arctic circle.
"What is it that you desire, Mrs. Malfoy?"
"Lady Malfoy, actually," Hermione corrected her pettily. It was unnecessary, but Hermione couldn't get rid of the burning dislike against Umbridge that constantly erupted every time she looked at the woman.
Umbridge gritted her teeth, "Lady Malfoy."
"That's a beautiful necklace, Dolores," Hermione nodded to Salazar Slytherin's locket dangling in between the woman's cleavage. She whispered as though they were the best of friends sharing secrets, "Where did you get it?"
Umbridge sniffed haughtily, "It was a gift.
"From Mundugus Fletcher?" Hermione's smile was practically predatory.
Umbridge stuttered, but Hermione didn't give her time to answer.
"Yes, you see, that necklace is a Malfoy heirloom that I misplaced. Fletcher, the thief stole it, and I haven't been able to track him down, and keep him still long enough to recover it." Umbridge's face was a ghastly red as she tried to respond, but Hermione didn't let her get a word in. "No worries, of course, as I'm sure you didn't know. But, you see, Draco has a very keen eye, and I'm sure he would recognize it the second he was close enough to you to see it. I would hate for there to be any misunderstandings between you and the Malfoy family, over a necklace. Don't you agree?"
Umbridge was clearly flabbergasted, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. It didn't matter that Hermione was completely bluffing-she hadn't even bothered to inform Draco of her little scheme in case Umbridge insisted on calling him over to verify; Hermione was banking on a certain level of fear to spark Umbridge's meekness.
She was right.
"Yes, yes," she ripped her hands from Hermione's grasp, and lifted the necklace from her about her. She held it out to Hermione steadily, with a glint of warning in them. "We wouldn't want any misunderstandings about anything."
Hermione took the necklace, and swiftly dropped it in the space between her breasts, covered by the dress she wore. No one but Draco who shamelessly enjoyed looking down her dress would be the wiser.
She should have simply nodded and walked away, but there was a small voice that suddenly whispered in her mind, you hate her, crush her, remind her that you're better than her, she's nothing.
Hermione shook her head slightly.
She's nothing. She's a monster. Make her pay.
She ignored the voice, the cold sensation gripping her to show Umbridge her superiority. Instead, Hermione addressed her with a smile full of ice and patted her on the shoulder condescendingly.
"I'm glad you could make it, Dolores. "
Umbridge could barely contain her sneer, but Hermione felt vindicated. She felt heady and powerful. It was a dangerous feeling, she knew, but when it came to Umbridge, Hermione couldn't find it in herself to care too much as she bypassed her on her way to Viktor Krum who'd been watching the odd encounter from afar.
"Viktor!" Hermione smiled genuinely as Viktor took her hand and pressed it to his lips.
The voice whispered again, you bored him, that's why he stopped writing.
Hermione gripped his hand a little tighter to ground herself.
"Hermy-own," Viktor's gravelly voice said her name warmly. "Marriage makes you look vell."
Hermione blushed, understanding the sentiment despite his accent and phrasing.
"Thank you. You look as handsome as always."
Viktor offered her his arm, and Hermione took it as they walked casually around the guests. The euphoric feeling of grace still filled the air, and their skin felt like little bolts of lightning as they rubbed against each other.
She'd missed him. In that strange way that strangers could miss a person they never really knew.
"I vas...eh, surprised?-to hear that you married so soon."
He was surprised that anyone would want you, the voice crawled up her spine, but Hermione pushed it away. She had no idea where these thoughts of hers were coming from-Viktor surely didn't mean anything of the sort. Though she could practically hear his voice silently inquiring: Draco Malfoy?
"I'm surprised to see you here, among such...distinguished guests," Hermione sidestepped his unspoken question to throw out one of her own.
In a million years Hermione would have never thought she'd see the first man to show an interest in her romantically at an event full of death eaters. Then again, she would have said the same thing about Harry Potter, yet there he'd been too.
Viktor grabbed a couple of glasses of champagne from a house elf dressed like a butler, with diamond cufflinks, carrying a tray of assortments.
All the male house elves wore mini-tuxedos with one diamond cufflink on the right and one garnet cufflink on the left. Hermione had walked into a sea of garnet stones and diamonds accidentally the day before, when preparations were underway. At dinner she'd asked what was happening and Draco had absentmindedly explained the way he explained most things that were simply part of the magical world: "House Elves are as much a part of a family as any person-as bound to the family as any family member. As such, they are given stones to help them receive grace, the same way we do. Because they are bound to us, what they are graced with will eventually be used to serve us, so we give them garnet stones to wish upon them a deeper drive of devotion and loyalty, and diamonds to wish them innocence, as only the truly innocent can be blindly loyal."
Hermione remembered the explanation and shook her head at the immense culture and tradition that even Viktor, as he barely spared a glance at the house elf, took for granted.
I'm surprised to see you here, among such...distinguished guests-her words weren't meant as an accusation, but clearly, that was how Viktor understood them as he responded quietly.
"The situation in Bulgaria is complicated. I vish it vasn't so, but that is..eh..vhat is the phrase?"
"It is what it is," Hermione supplied, understanding and hating that she did. "I didn't mean to judge you…"
Though somewhere inside of her, she did. She expected more from him, which she realized was cruel considering she expected less of herself.
Viktor nodded, and smiled slightly. "I do not have to believe to play nice. Ve all, in that vay, are diplomats."
Hermione smiled back, though the dark whispers were trying to take her away from the moment. The dark whispers were trying to ruin it, but she'd missed his honesty and his good heart too much to let the silent hisses invade their space.
But little did Hermione know that from the outside, they looked like the quintessential reunited lovers as they gazed into each others eyes, soft smiles enchanting their lips. This picture of youth and longing for a past long gone is what Draco saw as he made his way through the throngs of people enjoying the occasion.
Draco could've walked up and simply pretended to need something from Hermione, but his pride wouldn't let it be that easy.
Mine, his blood hummed.
Instead, he sent a quick and silent charm at Viktor that made him overwhelmed with the urge to use the bathroom.
Viktor quickly excused himself, and right as he left the ballroom, into the hallway, rounded the corner down the corridor towards the bathroom, Draco practically pounced upon Hermione, gripping her arm like steel, and dragged her out into the corridor, dragging her around the corner too.
Mine, his blood sung.
"Malfoy!" Hermione hissed indignantly, though her body crooned and thrummed at his touch. Her belly coiled and jumped with electricity. "What is the matter with y-"
She gasped; Draco's lips bruised hers as he tried to devour her. He held her body tight against his, pushed against the stone and mortar wall cold at Hermione's back, making her nipples harden.
They were removed enough that no one from the ballroom would hear them above the chatter and light music playing in the ballroom. But it didn't matter because, for one infinite moment, all the noise that the crowned lovers made was the sound of rough breathing as their lips parted and slanted over each others.
"Malfoy," Hermione whispered huskily when Draco dragged his lips away from hers. "What are you doing?"
He could have lied and blamed it on the grace filling him, or played at being the smug and cocky lover that he was prone to do when it came to having his way with her sometimes. But the night had been filled with too much anxiety and magic for Draco to hide from his own truth.
"I'm reminding you who you belong to."
Hermione's brows dipped in a slight frown, confused, but Draco didn't give her time to think. His hands ran across her body, firmly touching and pleasing as he went.
Oh, yes-
She knew she shouldn't let this happen. Not when there were so many possible witnesses just around the corner in the ballroom, but her body was too full of magic and grace. Her heart was too close to bursting, for her to pull away.
"Tell me you want me," Draco groaned huskily in her ear as his fingers plunged into her-her immense skirt was up to her waist, splayed around them like a curtain of the best quality as her leg was held high against his.
Hermione moaned softly-she wanted to be quiet. She was trying, she was, but it was as if the universe was attacking every nerve ending in her body. "I want you."
"Tell me you want only me," he bit at her neck ferociously.
He was a king and a dragon, but he was humbled in his heart, knowing that she had the power to break him, to shatter him like no one else. That feeling of humility was so foreign that Draco couldn't help but bite her harder, touch her rougher, anything at all to drive those feelings away.
"I only want you, I only want you," Hermione practically babbled as he pressed his thumb on her clit. She clawed at him, trying to get him closer. The magic in the air, in her veins, responded to her pleas; the air pulled at Draco's clothes, almost ripping, but he didn't mind.
It'd been a while since he had loved her this hard, this raw. He'd thought that this aspect of them had disappeared with their declarations of love, but he realized that would never happen. It couldn't because this was who they were, fundamentally.
And so, Draco pressed his body against Hermione's, so close that their scents mingled in the tiny crevices that separated them. He held her leg on his waist with his body so as to undo his trousers. His hands trembled, he was so frantic to be inside of her.
You belong to me.
Yes. Yes, oh Merlin-
Say it.
I belong to you.
His body plunged into hers, Hermione's nerve endings exploding around him, his eyes clenched shut in ecstacy because she always felt like the closest he would ever be to heaven.
He chased that feeling with every thrust, wanting to live in it forever.
I love you, I love you-Hermione was lost in his desire.
Always, always-Draco went deeper and deeper.
The sound of footsteps walking towards them snapped Draco's attention, but he didn't stop moving and Hermione hadn't noticed. He didn't stop claiming her, driving into her with maddening force.
The footsteps stopped, long before it reached them.
Viktor's eyes were wide in shock as he witnessed Hermione's face thrown back in pleasure, her body clinging to Draco's.
Suddenly, Draco's face turned towards him. Viktor went to run, but Draco's eyes pierced through him and made him immobile. The shadows danced around them, illuminated them all by the ephemeral existence of candlelights. All the while Draco ground into Hermione, slow and torturous in the most pleasurable way-in complete contrast to how he'd been consuming her just moments before.
But Draco's eyes weren't filled with embarrassment or shame; no, there was a decidedly sadistic mischief taunting Victor with its sparkle.
His eyes were filled with warning and something Viktor couldn't quite decipher: Draco might not be his King, but he was sure as hell Hermione's, and she belonged only to him.
Viktor could see the possession in his eyes, the madness that was only a few strokes away telling Victor 'she's mine.'
Viktor wanted to call her attention, to see if his Hermy-own was so taken she would barely acknowledge him. He wanted to see whether the girl he'd thought the world of had been buried by her passion and lust for this demon.
Instead, he nodded to Draco Malfoy, turned stiffly around, and walked away, taking the long way back to the ballroom, the sounds of Hermione's orgasms chasing him down the hall.
Never let it be said that Viktor Krum didn't know when he'd lost; never let it be said that Draco Malfoy didn't know how to crush his enemies.
A.N. – So, what do you guys think? Love it? Hate it? Let me know and Review! **Reviews are love**