A/N 1: This chapter is a bit longer than my usual, as I couldn't find a good place to split it evenly 😅
Draco breathed a quiet sigh of relief at Hermione's reaction. Part of him had worried she wouldn't like the venue he'd chosen.
He'd initially wanted to whisk her away to one of the Black estates in France — his mother, along with his aunts, had inherited several properties upon the death of his grandparents. He and his parents had enjoyed a number of stays there during his childhood, but after Voldemort's return, the visits had stopped. He hadn't been in years.
Still, when she'd asked to stay local, deciding where he'd take her had been easy. He'd loved the place ever since the first time he'd seen it; and of course, the first thought that had entered his mind at the time was that he would love to bring her here.
"We're staying at Claridges? Are you serious?"
Her voice was higher than normal, and she had a huge grin on her face. That alone reinforced how excited she must be by the prospect. His relief turned to joy; he'd definitely made the right choice.
"We are. And I know you'll think it terribly indulgent, but I've booked us the finest room in the hotel - the Royal Suite. We're staying for two nights, but if you want to extend the booking, you only have to ask."
She turned to him, her mouth open in surprise and disbelief. "You're fibbing."
He grinned at her. "I'm not. I asked for the best, because I'm a Malfoy, and Malfoys have only the best. We won't settle for less." He made a show of brushing invisible lint from his shoulders and affected his best snooty expression.
Hermione laughed and slapped him on the arm. "You're ridiculous."
Draco relaxed his posture and reached out so he could cup her cheek. "Maybe so. But you also deserve the best, and I have the means to give it to you. After everything you've done, not just for the wizarding world but for my friends — for me — and all you've been through… you've earned a proper pampering, Hermione Granger, and you're going to have it."
Her eyes welled up as she slipped her own hand over his. "Thank you."
He leaned down to capture his lips in hers. Finally, he could do what he'd been wanting to do since… well, since he'd reconnected with her that day in Kensington Park, really. This time, no one was present to ruin the moment. It didn't matter that they were standing at the entrance to an access lane. The moment was right.
As their lips connected, something seemed to bloom inside him — an almost indescribable feeling of rightness, of discovering something treasured but previously thought to be lost. It was like coming home. The shades of grey that had seemed to sit deep inside his soul lifted, returning vibrant colour to everything he saw. This was what he'd been missing the whole time, and it all made sense now. The echoes, the memories, everything — the circle was complete.
The kiss was soft, sweet, and chaste, but Draco was certain it was the best one he'd ever had — that he could remember, anyway. Undoubtedly, he and Hermione had shared sweet kisses during their fleeting time together at Hogwarts. He felt a moment of sadness, knowing he didn't have those experiences to draw on and treasure, but one couldn't change the past. They could only live in the present, and try to influence the course of the future.
After what seemed like an age, they pulled apart, both slightly breathless. He rested his forehead against hers. "Shall we go in?" he whispered.
"Yes, let's. But if you've booked the best room, perhaps I should change my clothes." She indicated the jeans and hooded sweatshirt she wore.
"You look lovely just as you are," Draco said. "I'm sure they won't care."
She looked doubtful. "But it's so posh. I don't want them thinking I'm some ragamuffin."
"Since when has Hermione Granger cared about what other people think?" Draco teased gently.
Hemione looked around conspiratorially. "Let me tell you a secret." She stretched up slightly so she could whisper in his ear. "Sometimes I worry about what other people think. I just hide that fact very well, so they all assume otherwise."
Draco gave a scandalised gasp and drew back in mock horror. "You mean to tell me you have moments of uncertainty, just like any normal person?"
Hermione nodded. "Shocking, isn't it?"
"Refreshing, actually." He kissed her again. "There's absolutely no need for you to change. Now, come on. Let's go and check in."
She gave him a small smile, although she still looked unsure. "All right."
He looked around to make sure no one was watching, then withdrew the shrunken overnight bag he'd concealed in his coat pocket and enlarged it, while Hermione did the same with hers. Once ready, he took her hand, and they headed across the bustling street, along the footpath and up to the entrance. The doorman barely batted an eye as he inclined his head in greeting. "Welcome to Claridge's." He pulled the door open and they stepped through. Hermione uttered another small gasp.
"Oh — it's beautiful," she said in a hushed voice.
"Not as beautiful as you," Draco said.
"Hush," she said, but she squeezed his hand and bumped his shoulder lightly with hers.
They approached the front counter. The clerk gave them a quick once over, then smiled. "Good afternoon, and welcome to Claridge's. How may I help you today?"
"Reservation for Malfoy," Draco said.
The clerk's welcoming smile didn't change, but Draco didn't fail to notice the way she glanced at the two of them a second time, nor the way her posture stiffened slightly as she turned to the boxy item Muggles called a computer. Perhaps Hermione had been justified in her concern about their state of dress. But then again, why would it matter? He had the means to pay for it — right in his pocket. He'd already been to Gringotts to exchange Galleons for Pounds.
"Ahh, yes. Here it is. Malfoy, for two nights," the clerk said after a moment. "And how will you be paying for your stay, Mr Malfoy?"
The challenge was subtle, but unmistakable, disguised as a standard question. He would soon set this person straight.
Draco took his wallet from the inside pocket of his coat, opened it, and withdrew the thick wad of bills the goblins had issued him. The clerk's eyes widened imperceptibly.
"I presume cash is acceptable?" he said, laying the money on the counter.
"Er — yes sir, of course it is perfectly acceptable," the clerk said. "Just one moment, please." She pressed a button, and a man arrived shortly after. From his demeanour, Draco assumed this was a manager.
"Is everything all right, Miss Jones?"
"Our guest wishes to pay for his visit in cash," she explained. "I just need you to verify the amount and move the money to the safe, Mr Andrews. They are staying in the Royal Suite."
Andrews looked unperturbed, but it made Draco wonder if it was unusual to pay for hotel rooms in cash in the Muggle world. He knew about the bank cards that could be used in place of cash to pay for things, of course, but he didn't have a Muggle bank account. Perhaps he should consider getting one?
Draco observed as Miss Jones counted the money and split it into two stacks, then passed the larger stack to her manager. He repeated the process and nodded in satisfaction.
Carry on, Miss Jones." He scooped up the bills and took them away, leaving the smaller stack on the counter.
Miss Jones handed back the smaller stack — "I'm afraid you've given me too much, sir" — then dinged a small bell to summon a porter. A young man arrived at their elbow almost instantly.
"The Royal Suite, Bernard," she told him, and handed him a key.
"Very good. May I take your bags, sir and miss?"
"I'm sure I can manage—" Hermione started to say, but Draco plucked her bag from her hand and gave it to the porter along with his own.
"Thank you. Please lead the way."
The porter inclined his head and headed towards the lifts. Once there, he summoned a car and indicated they should enter before him.
As the lift rose, the porter gave commentary about the hotel's history. Hermione was listening attentively, nodding along as he talked. The car stopped and the porter led them out, still chattering away. He led them down a wide, ornately decorated corridor and Draco watched Hermione as she gazed around, her eyes wide in awe.
The porter stopped in front of a set of large double doors and laid their bags at his feet to unlock them. He pushed them open, then picked up the bags and entered. "Welcome to the Royal Suite."
He led them through, once again offering commentary, this time on the rooms themselves. Draco paid attention, finding it fascinating that it was inspired by, and had catered for, the English Muggle queen and her family. He had definitely made the right choice. Rooms fit for a queen? Even his father, who had always been a terrible snob, would have no doubt been impressed. It even had a grand piano in the sitting room, and Draco made a mental note to try it out later.
"...now, your service for the duration of your stay will be up shortly," the porter was saying as they returned to the entranceway. "But in the meantime, is there anything at all I can get for you?"
"I'm sorry — what do you mean by 'our service for the duration'?" Hemione asked. She looked up at Draco, and when he shrugged, turned her attention to the porter.
He looked bemused for a moment, then quickly schooled his features back into an expression of polite neutrality. "The Royal Suite comes with twenty-four-hour service, miss. You will have a personal butler at your disposal to attend to anything you might need, day or night."
Hermione's expression of surprise was adorable. "Oh. Well… thank you."
Draco was also surprised to learn they would have an attendant. He hadn't asked for the specific services or amenities of the different rooms when he called ahead to book, just which one was the best. Clearly, it was the best for a reason.
The porter waited patiently for further instructions or to be dismissed. Draco turned to Hermione. "Is there anything you want? A drink, something to eat?"
Hermione shook her head. "Not just yet. I'm still trying to take it all in."
He turned back to the porter. "That will be all, Bernard. Thank you."
"Very good, sir."
Draco remembered it was customary in some Muggle establishments to offer a gratuity to staff, and withdrew his wallet. He had no idea what the proper amount was to give, but he only had large denomination bills, because of the amount of Galleons he'd exchanged. He hoped it would be adequate.
He took out a bill and passed it to the porter, whose eyes widened in amazement as he accepted it. "Thank you, sir. You are very generous. Please enjoy your stay." He bowed and exited, leaving Draco and Hermione alone.
He looked over at her to see her watching him with an amused expression.
"What?" he said, suddenly self-conscious.
"You just gave him what is probably nearly a day's wage," she said.
"Oh," Draco said, feeling more worried by the minute. "Was it not enough? How much should I have given him?"
Hermione smiled. "It was more than enough. Not all guests would tip, but of those who do, most don't hand out one hundred pounds at a time. I'm sure you've brightened his whole week."
Draco relaxed. "Oh. Well, that's all right, then."
"You put that clerk's nose out of joint when you paid in cash," Hermione sniggered. "The look on her face was priceless."
"I'd been meaning to ask you about that. Is it not standard practice?"
"For a room this expensive, no," Hermione said. "People would usually pay with a credit card."
"I see. Well, perhaps it's time I thought about opening a Muggle bank account for such occasions. Now, what would you like to do?"
She grinned excitedly. "Bernard mentioned a spa. I'd love to try it out — can we?"
"Of course we can. Anything you want, you'll have," he smiled. "But if you don't mind explaining — what's a spa?"
"Oh. It's a place you can go to enjoy personal treatment. A massage, a facial, mani and pedi, things like that. A massage right now would be heaven."
They all sounded like heaven, even if he wasn't entirely sure what those things involved. "I'm sold. Shall we go now?"
"Maybe we should wait for the butler," she said, chewing on her lip. "I'd hate to waste his time by having him arrive and find an empty room."
Draco chuckled. "Hermione, it's his job to attend to us. He's not going to expect us to be here all the time, nor will he mind waiting around for us to ask for something," he reasoned.
"I suppose," she said doubtfully. "I just hate the thought of inconveniencing someone."
He stepped closer and placed his hands on her shoulders. "You spend far too much time worrying about how your or someone else's actions will affect others," he said. "While we are here, I don't want you to think like that. I want you to be entirely selfish. Think only of what you want, and don't concern yourself with anything beyond your happiness and pleasure."
"Oh, but I couldn't—" she started to say.
"You can, and you will," he said, firmly.
Hesitantly, she nodded, then bit her lip and smiled shyly. "All right. Thank you."
A muted crack from the master bedroom caught their attention. "Was that the sound of an elf apparating into the room?" Draco said.
Hermione's eyes widened in realisation. "Yes, I think so. It's probably Lucille. Pansy insisted on supplying me with some outfits when she heard you were taking me away, and tasked Lucille with delivering them once we were settled."
Draco huffed in amusement. "Sounds about right. I hope you didn't let her bully you into accepting a whole showroom's worth of clothing and accessories?"
"She very nearly succeeded," Hermione admitted. "Millie intervened and stopped Pansy from getting too carried away."
At that moment, Lucille appeared in the doorway and bowed. "Hello, Master Draco and Miss Hermione. If Miss Hermione will follow Lucille to the bedroom and examine the outfits, please."
Hermione smiled nervously at the elf and did as she was asked. She was probably thinking the same as he, Draco mused. Wondering if Pansy had snuck in a few additional items after agreeing to Hermione's initial specifications.
He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see an older gentleman standing at attention in the doorway, with gloved hands clasped in front of him.
"Good afternoon, sir. Winston, at your service. Please do not hesitate to ask for anything you may need, and I shall be honoured to provide it."
Draco smiled. "Thank you, Winston. I'm Draco, and my companion is—Hermione, can you come in here?" he called over his shoulder.
She entered a moment later, saw Winston, and smiled. "Hello."
"Hermione, this is Winston," Draco said. "He'll be looking after us while we're here."
"A pleasure to meet you, miss," Winston said, giving a small bow. "May I fetch you anything? A bottle of champagne, perhaps?"
"Champagne?" Hermione echoed, her expression suddenly — for some reason Draco couldn't discern — almost wistful.
"Anything you want, remember?" he told her.
Hermione seemed to think about it for a moment longer before her face broke out into a grin. "In that case, yes — we would love a bottle of champagne, Winston. Thank you."
"Excellent, miss. Brand and vintage?"
"I don't know much about vintages, I'm afraid. But I would love a bottle of—" she looked at Draco again, a hint of doubt in her eyes.
"Anything," he promised.
"All right. Is it possible to have Cristal, please?"
"Of course. May I suggest the 1979 vintage? It was an excellent year and highly rated."
"That sounds perfect," Hermione said.
"Very good, miss. When would you like it?"
"Well, I did want to visit the spa," Hermione said. "Perhaps we can try it after we return?"
Winston inclined his head. "I will call ahead to the duty manager and tell her to expect you. What treatments would you like?"
"Oh. well, I'm not sure…" she started to say.
"The best," Draco interrupted. "A full pampering for both of us, please."
"Yes, sir. And what are your plans for dinner this evening? Will you be dining in the restaurant, or in your rooms?"
"In the restaurant, please," Hermione said. "Eight o'clock?" she glanced at Draco for confirmation.
"Eight suits me," he agreed.
"I'll ensure a table is booked, and escort you down," Winston promised. "The champagne will be waiting for you upon your return from the spa, and I will be back to collect you at ten minutes to eight. Will there be anything else?"
Hermione shook her head, and Draco followed suit. "That'll be all for now. Thank you."
Winston bowed again, excused himself, and left. Once they were gone, Hermione smothered a nervous laugh behind her hands. "I hope you really don't mind dinner in the restaurant," she said. "It's just that—well, I think Pansy would hex me if I didn't wear at least one of her gowns. I did say that one gown would be more than sufficient, but it would seem she disagreed."
"Pansy 'one is never enough' Parkinson? I'm not in the least surprised," Draco snarked. "How overboard has she gone?"
"I don't know her well enough to make an informed judgement on that, but I'm sure she managed to restrain herself," Hermione replied.
Draco laughed. "Shall we investigate the spa?"
She grinned at him. "Yes, let's."
He offered her his hand, and she took it happily. Together, they headed for the lift, an easy silence settling between them.
Draco didn't think he'd ever felt more relaxed and invigorated, and questioned why wizarding spas hadn't caught on. Surely he wasn't the first Magical to experience these treatments? He wondered if that was a potential business venture he could consider in the future.
Beside him, Hermione also appeared happy and relaxed. "That was amazing," she sighed, confirming his observation. "I don't think I'll ever find a more skilled masseuse anywhere else."
They were both sprawled on the large sofa in the sitting room. The staff at the spa, following Winston's instructions, had given them the full treatment. Draco had never even known most of them were a thing. The nail treatments he knew about, of course. His mother had indulged in regular manicures prior to Voldemort taking over the manor and their lives. But everything else — the massage, the hot towels, the facial treatment and mud bath — were new experiences. He was an instant convert.
"Let's do that every week," he said to Hermione.
"Not too often," she countered. "It's not as special if you do it all the time."
"I could do that every day and not grow tired of it," he declared.
"You say that now, but I guarantee it would lose its charm after a while if you went every day."
A knock at the door caught their attention, and they sat up. Winston entered the room, pushing a wheeled frame containing a shining silver bucket. Peeping out from the top was a bottle with a gold wrapper. Draco could see condensation forming around the bottom of the bucket, which told him the drink must have been chilling for some time. Attached to the side was a small serving tray.
"Will I pour your champagne?" Winston asked.
"Yes, please," Hermione said eagerly.
Winston moved across the room to a cabinet, opened it, and removed two pristine flutes. He returned and laid them on the serving tray, then unwrapped the foil on the top and popped the cork with a flourish. It made a loud bang, causing Hermione to laugh in delight and clap her hands. He poured a small amount of liquid into a flute and handed it to Hermione to taste.
She took a sip and sighed happily. "It's delicious."
"Excellent. Allow me to fill your glass," Winston said.
Hermione extended her flute obediently and he gently poured until it was two-thirds full, then did the same with the second flute and passed it to Draco. Once they each had a drink in hand, Winston checked they didn't need anything further and then withdrew once again.
Draco took a sip and hummed in appreciation. "It's fantastic," he said. "What made you choose this? Have you had it before?"
Hermione shook her head. She suddenly looked sad, almost regretful. "When you brought me here… to Claridge's… the reason I was so excited was because I've always wanted to visit. My parents—" she clutched her glass tighter and seemed to steel herself. "—they stayed here on their honeymoon. Mum used to tell me the story. Back then, their dental practice was new, and with the costs of the wedding they didn't have enough spending money left over to travel abroad. So they stayed local and came here instead. It was like a fairytale. They shared a bottle of Cristal on their first night, and toasted their new status as husband and wife."
"That sounds very romantic," Draco said. "But… I can see it upsets you, too. Hermione — what happened to your parents? I know they moved during the war, but did they—are they—?"
He didn't want to say it, didn't want to ask the awful question in case the worst had happened. Why else would she suddenly seem so sad?
"They're alive," she said quietly. "Safe and well in Australia. But they don't know I exist."
Draco frowned, not understanding. Hermione sighed and placed her glass down on the table in front of the sofa.
"During the height of the war, I worried constantly about my parents. I knew they would be targeted, not just because I was Harry's best friend but because they were Muggles and defenceless. I worried that even if I set up the strongest wards and enchantments I knew, it wouldn't be enough. At the same time, I was afraid to tell them what was really going on, because I feared they would try and stop me from staying in the wizarding world, and there was no way I could have left Harry to fight Voldemort on his own. So, just before I left with Harry and Ron to go on the Horcrux hunt, I modified their memories. I removed all traces of myself from their minds, and put the idea in their heads that they wanted to move to Australia, effective immediately."
"Merlin," Draco whispered. He took Hermione's hands and squeezed them. "That must have been a very difficult thing to do."
"It's one of the most terrible things I've ever done," she sniffed. Her eyes began to well up. "At the time, I convinced myself the ends justified the means, that I was doing it for the greater good. But after the war, when things started to settle and I learned more about the things that had been done, the people who had been sacrificed in the name of the greater good — Sirius, Remus and Tonks, Harry and countless others — I realised that I'd made the wrong decision. That I was as bad as Dumbledore, manipulating people for my benefit."
"You did what you thought was right at the time. You were only trying to protect them," Draco said. He lifted her chin so she would look at him, and brushed away the stay tears that had escaped. "Have you tried to find them?"
She shook her head. "No," she whispered. "I'm too ashamed. And afraid. I'm afraid that I won't be able to undo the spell, and they'll never know who I am again. Even if I could undo it, I'm afraid they'd never forgive me for violating their trust like that, for performing magic on them without their knowledge or consent."
"You won't know unless you try," Draco said. "After the hearings and the thing with Mercer are over, you should go to Australia and find them. I'll come with you. We'll do it together. And if we can't undo the modifications ourselves, we'll take them to the best mind healers in the world, healers who specialise in memory modification and recovery."
"You would do that with me? For me?"
"Of course," Draco said. "I would do anything for you, anything to make you smile. I love you, Hermione. My life's mission would be to bring you joy and contentment.
She smiled through her tears. "Thank you. I love you too, Draco."
He pulled her towards him and captured her mouth in a searing kiss, one that started out soft and gentle but quickly became passionate. Her lips parted and her tongue brushed his own. He groaned and pulled her closer, tasting the champagne she'd drunk. He wanted to be closer to her, wanted her, to feel skin on skin—
No. No, not here and now, while she was vulnerable. He wanted her to be fully present and in a relaxed frame of mind, not influenced by strong emotions. Gently, he pulled back. She was breathless, her pupils dilated. Disappointment crossed her features when he put a finger on her chin to stop her from resuming the kiss.
"We have plenty of time to… to get to know each other intimately," he said, aware of how awkward it sounded. "I just… if… when we do make love for the first time, I want it to be more than just a spur of the moment thing. You're vulnerable right now, and it would be wrong to take advantage of that. Besides, the waiting and anticipation will make it even more special when it does happen. I want us to be able to take our time."
Hermione quirked one side of her mouth up in a half-smile. "That's very gentlemanly. Most of me appreciates it and agrees with you."
"Good, I'm glad—wait. Most of you?"
"A part of me strongly disagrees," Hermione said. "I'm sure an equivalent part of you feels the same." She gave him a coy look from under her lashes.
His trousers, which had begun to loosen as he pushed down his desire, suddenly tightened again. "You'll be the death of me, witch," he groaned.
"I'll be the death of myself," she said, and picked up her glass. "Well, if we're going to take our time, let's at least enjoy the champagne."
Draco picked up his own glass. "Should we talk… um… about the memories? About what it all means?"
"It's a lot to possess," she said. "I think we'll need to have several conversations about it, in small doses. Finding out that you were a double agent, and that you and I were… that we had something back at Hogwarts… well, I have so many mixed emotions."
""Like what? Describe them to me."
Hermione tucked a foot under one leg and adjusted herself on the sofa. "Sadness, because we'll never actually know what it is we had. And a feeling of disconnect, because seeing a memory and knowing that it doesn't exist in our minds any more is very surreal. I know all those things happened, but for me — and for you — all those things are like missing pieces in a puzzle. I know what the puzzle piece looks like, but it's gone and I can't retrieve it."
She looked at him as if asking whether he understood what she was trying to say. He did, and nodded his encouragement.
"Grief, for the same reason," she continued. "What we had… it was stolen from us, destroyed. I'm feeling a sense of loss, because we'll never be able to draw on those memories. And those feelings of grief and loss, of sadness… it makes me angry. In fact, it makes me furious."
Hermione placed her glass on the table and stood, then began pacing. "Voldemort took so much from the wizarding world… not just our generation, but the one before it. We've been through two wars. He's responsible for the torture, killing and control of so many people. He's torn families apart, destroyed friendships. But perhaps one of the worst things he did was cause children to be forced into a war. Forced to fight, to choose sides, to do awful things and even to die for his cause. Forced to make terrible sacrifices, because their love was a threat to their very lives and the lives of the people dearest to them."
She turned back to him; her hair was crackling with magic and her expression was mutinous. Draco was reminded, not for the first time, of how fearsome she could be when riled. Voldemort was bloody lucky he was dead, that was for sure — her wrath, had he still been alive, would have been terrible.
"I feel that way, too," Draco said softly. "All of it, every word. But although the knowledge has brought up a lot of regret and negative emotions, it's also brought me closure. Everything I've felt since we met that day in the park, it all makes sense now."
He reached out a hand, imploring her to rejoin him on the sofa. She did, her posture relaxing as she listened to him.
"I thought I was going mad," he continued. "Spending time with you felt so natural, so right. As if I'd been there before. You calmed a part of me I thought would never be calm again, and although I still had my fair share of self-doubt, the whole world began to seem less bleak when you came back into my life."
She gave him a wobbly smile. "I completely agree."
They had both drained their glasses. Draco checked to make sure Winston wasn't about, then slipped his wand out of its holster and flicked it at the bottle, so that it poured another serving for each of them.
While they were drinking, he looked at his watch and was surprised to discover it was seven o'clock. "Nearly dinner time," he announced. "How long do you need to get ready?"
"Oh!" she looked just as taken aback. "Is that the time already? Let me take a quick shower, then I might need a little while to get into my dress and everything. I'll be in the dressing room, so you can still have access to the facilities. I'll see you soon."
She got up and pecked him on the cheek, then made her way towards the master bedroom and ensuite. Draco looked at his watch again, got to his feet, and crossed the room towards the piano. It wouldn't take him long to shower and get into his dinner suit. He would play while he waited.
"You play beautifully."
He'd been lost in the music, in the simple joy of his fingers flying over ivory keys. Her voice pulled him back to the present, and he turned on the stool to thank her.
The words died on his lips as he took her in. He stood and, as if in a dream, slowly walked towards her. She looked bashfully down at her feet, as if self-conscious under the weight of his stare.
"Don't look down," he said. "You are… you look… exquisite."
She looked up at him again and blushed. "Thank you. It's not too much?"
"Never."
The gown was satin, ankle-length and in a shade of Slytherin green — no doubt a deliberate choice by Pansy, Draco thought — and complimented her skin tone beautifully. It hugged her curves without being too tight, and the plunging neckline showed the merest hint of cleavage, seductive without being showy or immodest. There was a single strap that went around the neck, leaving her shoulders bare.
"Turn for me," he said softly.
She did so, and Draco felt his chest tighten. It was backless, and the satin gently accentuated her gorgeous arse. Her hair was in a simple up-do, with curled strands falling around her ears and the back of her neck.
"Exquisite," he said again. "When we go down to dinner, you'll be the most beautiful woman in the room, and I'll be the envy of every man."
She turned back to face him, and he noticed she wore teardrop ruby earrings and a matching necklace on a gold chain. A nod to her Gryffindor roots, no doubt.
"I'm pleased you like it." she reached up to kiss him, and he caught a whiff of her perfume — something floral and sweet. He groaned and pulled away after only a short time, knowing that if he didn't walk away and get into the shower — preferably on a very cold setting — right now, they would never make it to dinner at all.
"I'll be right back," he promised.
She smiled and returned to where the bottle of champagne still rested in its bucket. By now, it must have been warm, but she passed her hand over it and whispered a spell before lifting it out and bringing it straight to her lips.
It was a scandalous thing to do, drinking straight from the bottle. And yet, it was undeniably, incredibly sexy. He really needed to go, right now.
He emerged ten minutes later, showered and dressed but no less aroused. He was quite determined to make love to her later tonight, if she was willing, and he was certain from the hungry way her eyes roved over his suited form that she would be.
A knock at the door signalled Winston's arrival. He smiled when he saw Hermione. "If you will forgive me for saying so, you look beautiful, miss," he said.
"Thank you, Winston," Hermione said. "That's very kind of you to say."
"Shall we go to dinner?" he asked.
Winston led Draco and Hermione through the hotel and to the restaurant. He held one door open for Hermione while Draco pushed against the other. As Draco had predicted, a gradual hush befell the room as the other diners noticed them — or rather, as they noticed Hermione.
"Hold your head up. Walk proudly," Draco whispered to her. "You're the most beautiful woman in the room — own it."
She nodded and pushed her shoulders back, then slipped a hand through the crook of his arm.
"Please follow me to your table," Winston said.
He led them to a more intimate corner of the restaurant, partially concealed by a cross-hatched partition and several plants, then waited as Draco helped Hermione to her seat before sitting himself.
"I will inform the wait staff that you have arrived. Do enjoy your meal," Winston said, and left them alone.
"Draco, this is.. It's amazing," Hermione said in a hushed voice. "As beautiful as mum described it. I hope I can describe my own experience to her one day."
"You will," Draco assured her.
A server arrived, then, and introduced herself as Marcine. She offered menus, listed the day's specials, took their drinks orders, and left them to decide. They both turned their attention to what was on offer, quietly debating the merits of each dish based on its description.
When Marcine returned, Draco and Hermione each placed their orders, but it was all automatic. Draco was lost in Hermione's radiance, in the way she smiled softly at him and how her cheeks glowed with happiness. They conversed about inconsequential things, the discussion flowing easily from one topic to the next.
At some point, the food arrived and conversation momentarily stilled as they ate.
After Marcine had cleaned their plates and taken their dessert orders, Draco noticed Hermione seemed to be working up the courage to say something.
"Something's on your mind. What is it?" he asked.
"There is something I need to tell you," she said hesitantly. "It's about your mother."
His mother? Was she ill? Had something happened? Why was he only just hearing about this now—?
"She's perfectly fine, I assure you," Hermione said hurriedly, clearly recognising his sudden anxiety. "I'm sorry — I probably should have worded that in a way that didn't sound quite so alarming."
Now that he knew that she was all right, Draco was more curious than anything. That, and a bit suspicious. She'd said it was nothing bad, but still seemed slightly nervous, as if she were worried about how he might react to whatever she was about to tell him.
"It's fine," Draco said. "What do you need to tell me?"
"When I was giving my statement to Auror Robards," she began. "I had an idea. I thought about everything you've been through and all you've done to help investigate Mercer. You helped thwart his plans to target Muggleborns and their families. And I decided you deserved to have that acknowledged, above and beyond simply being vindicated during the hearings. So I used my influence, and asked for a favour."
"A favour?"
He thought he knew where this was going, but at the same time, surely it was too good to be true.
"I asked when your mother's sentence would end," Hermione said. "Robards said she still had another six weeks to go. Given the time was so short, I asked him if he would agree to release her early."
"Are you saying…?" Could it really be true? "Are you saying she's to be released early?"
Hermione smiled. "Yes. She'll be out within forty-eight hours, once all the paperwork is complete. Minister Shacklebolt had to give his approval, of course, but he had no objections."
Draco felt a wide grin splitting his face. "That's amazing!"
It occurred to him that there would be a lot to do. Where did he start? He supposed he should send the elves to tidy up the manor and prepare it for her return. They'd all be excited to learn she was coming home early. Wait — was she aware? Had anyone told her the news?
"Does she know?" he asked.
"She does," Hermione replied hesitantly. "Because I told her. That's where I was this morning. I got special permission to visit your mother in Azkaban."
The worried look returned. "I hope you won't be angry with me. I know you haven't been able to visit her, yourself. But I wanted to surprise you with the news at a time where you were relaxed, and not worrying about me. I also wanted a chance to talk to her before she got out, to tell her about everything that's been happening. To tell her… how I felt about you, and that I thought you and I had something special." She gave a tentative smile. "Then, when I saw the memories this afternoon… Well, it turned out I was right."
He looked inside himself, trying to make sense of what he felt. He was ecstatic at the prospect of seeing his mother again so soon, and touched that Hermione had gone to such effort to make it all happen. But at the same time… she'd gone to see Narcissa, something he'd been denied the opportunity to do since she'd been incarcerated. And kept it from him…. Knowing, of course, that if he knew she was going, he'd insist on accompanying her…
"I'm… well, truthfully, I'm jealous," he said at last. "And I feel a little… betrayed, I guess. But I'm not angry with you — I could never be," he said quickly, as he saw her face fall. "I understand why you didn't tell me that you were going, and why you waited until now to say anything."
She looked like she didn't believe him. "Are you sure?" she said. "I would understand if you were. You have every right to be. I wasn't upfront with you, and it's a sensitive subject."
Marcine interrupted their conversion with their desserts, then. She checked they didn't need anything else, then left them to pick up where they left off.
"Is she really all right? How does she look?" Draco asked.
"She's as well as one can expect," Hermione admitted. "It's been hard on her — the conditions, I mean. But I think once she's out and has some time to recover, she'll improve quickly."
Draco thought of what he'd looked like coming out of Azkaban after only a few months — gaunt, more pale than was healthy, with limp, greasy hair and dry, irritated skin — and suppressed a shudder. It was undoubtedly a good thing he hadn't visited, as he probably would have lost the plot, seeing his mother as diminished as Hermione implied.
He smiled. His mother was getting out, and Hermione had made it happen. They would be together again and could finally begin to heal.
Another thought entered his mind. "How did she take it? Our feelings about one another?" he asked.
"Quite well." Hermione smiled back, clearly relieved he really wasn't angry with her. "Once she got over the shock of seeing me in the visitor room and I had explained why I was there, she and I had quite a pleasant conversation."
"Tell me all about it," he urged. He picked up his spoon and dug into his dessert as Hermione began to describe their encounter.
A/N 2: The Royal Suite at Claridge's really does come with its own butler (as do several other premium suites)! According to Google, in modern prices, the room cost per night is about £14,000. Yikes!
