"Please sit, Mrs Malfoy. I have a lot to tell you."
Narcissa complies, dropping gracelessly into the seat. She fidgets with her hands, and Hermione notices the nails are ragged, tinged with dirt.
"Is this about Draco? Is he all right?" Her voice is cracked and rough, as if she hasn't used it in a long time.
"He's safe and well. First things first — I come bearing good news. You're going to be released early."
Narcissa looks like she can hardly believe her ears. "Are you sure? But… but how could that be? I haven't spoken to a solicitor since I began my sentence."
"Well, that brings us to what I'm here to tell you, Mrs Malfoy," Hermione says. "Rather a lot has happened in the last few months, and Draco is a part of it."
"I see." Narcissa nods slowly, cautiously. "In that case, Miss Granger, I suppose you had better start from the beginning."
"Of course. I'd like to say it started with the idea my colleagues and I had to try and get the post-war sanctions overturned — I'm a paralegal at the Ministry, would you believe — but really, it started well before that. If I'm being completely upfront, it started with the return of Voldemort."
Hermione doesn't miss the way Narcissa's shoulders hunch up slightly at Voldemort's name, nor now her eyes momentarily drop to the table, as if in shame. Mean as it is to admit, Narcissa's reaction brings Hermione a measure of satisfaction.
As if to reiterate her feelings about it, Narcissa sighs. "I greatly regret my family's involvement with the Da—with Voldemort. Lucius' foolish allegiances in his youth came back to haunt us. After He disappeared, the night after killing the Potters, I thought we'd been given a reprieve. As a new mother myself, I thought I could finally relax."
"You, and everyone else in Wizarding Britain," Hermione says. She's careful to watch her tone. Although she feels some animosity towards Narcissa for allowing Draco to suffer the experiences he did, she also knows that a lot of what happened was largely out of Narcissa's control. Besides, she doesn't want them to get off to an acrimonious start.
"I'm not here to make you eat humble pie, Mrs Malfoy. I'm sure you've put yourself through enough self-flagellation as it is, and I won't add to it. I'm here for Draco, because he deserves redemption and to be happy. He's been helping me investigate a man named Anton Mercer — I presume you're familiar with him?"
Narcissa's expression barely changes, but the subtle movement of her eyes tells Hermione that not only is Narcissa familiar with Mercer, she also dislikes him.
"Speak freely, Mrs Malfoy. There won't be any repercussions."
"Forgive me, Miss Granger. An ingrained habit." Narcissa seems to gather herself before she resumes speaking. "Anton Mercer is, in a word, a contradiction. He's a blood purist and always had been, but at the same time always hated Voldemort and his supporters, because he felt that the negative attention they received reflected badly on other purebloods."
"Yes, he indicated as much when he had me kidnapped," Hermione says.
Narcissa's expression, for the first time since her arrival in the room, shows expression — she's plainly shocked. "He did what? You can't be serious!"
"He did, and I am. But we'll come back to that. It turns out that Mercer had a plan of his own to get rid of Muggleborns, and that's where Draco comes in. That part of it starts with an invisibility potion created by Fred and George Weasley."
Hermione talks for the next hour. She begins by describing her and Draco's testing of the potion, how it led to them teaming up together to investigate the safe houses, and their subsequent discovery of Mercer's plot and alliances. It's a much more complex story than she'd first anticipated — as she talks, she realises the mission to overturn the sanctions is finely woven into their use of the potion and everything that eventuated from the experiment. It's like two stories in one.
Occasionally, Narcissa asks a question, but for the most part she's silent, listening attentively. At the end, Hermione says, "...and that's what brings me here this morning. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but I felt I had to do something."
"I am deeply grateful," Narcissa replies. "You have no idea how wonderful it is to learn I'll be free of this vile place so soon, and I will be forever in your debt, Miss Granger. But—" she leans forward, her expression suddenly wise, knowing.
"Your reasons are not entirely altruistic, are they?"
Hermione is surprised for a moment. Narcissa has seen right through her. But then she realises — it's not surprising at all. As both a woman and a pureblood from an old family, Narcissa was no doubt raised to observe and stay silent. She's perceptive, and after everything Hermione has told her, it seems her guard is down. She's speaking freely, just as Hermione encouraged her to do earlier.
"You're right, Mrs Malfoy. I wanted to size you up. I'm going to be a fixture in Draco's life, and I needed to get a feel for how responsive you'll be to that."
Narcissa isn't the least offended — instead, she smiles. "You care a great deal for my son."
It's a statement, not a question. Hermione lifts her chin, showing a touch of defiance. "I do. And he cares a great deal for me."
"I don't doubt it. I always wondered if Draco secretly carried a torch for you. He talked about you often during his first years at Hogwarts. He disguised it as dislike and resentment — no doubt in an attempt to please his father — but a mother knows. Or, at least, suspects." She smiles again.
"I don't know about that, Mrs Malfoy. What I can tell you is, since Draco and I started spending time together, our feelings for one another have grown to the point neither of us can deny it. I don't know exactly what the future holds for us, but now everything is returning to normal, we intend to work that out."
"My son deserves happiness," Narcissa says. "As long as he is content, and with a witch who will treat him well and love him as he deserves to be loved, I do not care about her heritage. I've admired you for some time, Miss Granger. I can't think of anyone better for Draco than you."
Once again, Hermione is surprised. "You admire me?"
"I do. Admittedly, I didn't think much of you when I first heard of you. I, too, was blinded by prejudice, and couldn't understand how a Muggleborn could possibly be so accomplished. But after hearing of how skilled you were in all aspects of magic, coupled with knowing Voldemort considered you one of his biggest adversaries, my opinion began to change. During the trials, when you spoke so passionately in favour of your fellow students — and me, also — I was finally forced to admit what I'd been denying to myself for a long time."
"And what is that, Mrs Malfoy?" Hermione thinks she knows, but she wants to hear Narcissa say it.
"That blood status means nothing, and you are a brave, powerful and compassionate young woman who isn't afraid to take on the world. You've done so much for the wizarding community already, and you'll do much more. You are truly formidable."
Hermione is touched. "Thank you, Mrs Malfoy. Your words mean a great deal to me."
"You're quite welcome. And since I'll no doubt be seeing a lot of you, I would be honoured if you would call me Narcissa. I hope we can be friends."
"I'd like that, Narcissa. Please call me Hermione."
The guard returns, then, and tells them visiting time is over. Both women stand. Before Hermione is escorted back to the reception area and Narcissa back to her cell, they embrace.
"I'll see you very soon, Narcissa," Hermione promises.
"That's quite the story," Draco said when Hermione finished speaking. They had moved to the bar about halfway through the retelling, so the hotel staff could close down the dining room. "I'm glad to know you and Mother are off to a positive start."
"I'm looking forward to the chance to get to know her," Hermione admitted. "I feel like I can learn a lot from her about the witch's place in society, especially from the perspective of a pureblood of status."
"Is that what's next on your agenda?" Draco teased. "Breaking down the most deeply ingrained gender inequalities in the wizarding world?"
"Yes. Fuck the patriarchy," Hermione said, primly.
Draco laughed and raised his glass in a mock salute. "Indeed."
"In all seriousness, I wanted to talk to you about how you — we — can help your mother re-acclimate to being a free woman. I imagine the adjustment will be difficult, especially if she has to return to the manor. There must be some…difficult memories there for her, as there were for you."
"The thought did briefly cross my mind," Draco said. "But I'm glad you brought it up. You're right; it would be hard for her to go back to the manor. Initially, at least. I could bring her to stay at my flat. It's only got the one bedroom, but I'll give it to her and sleep on the sofa, or something—"
"Draco."
He stopped and looked at her. She could see the uncertainty in his expression, anxiety mixed with excitement.
"I have a better idea. Not to say your flat is unsuitable, but in her first few days of freedom, a transition space that's on more neutral ground is probably best."
"What did you have in mind?"
"Well, you did tell me you'd extend the reservation if I wanted to stay longer. And the suite has an additional bedroom. We could bring her here. She'd have a comfortable place to stay, and I'm sure she'd love the spa. The only potential downside I see is, the space might be a bit intimidating for her at first, given how large it is compared to the cells in Azkaban."
She paused to appraise Draco's expression, hoping she hadn't overstepped or made him feel like his initial suggestion was poor. Instead, he beamed and slapped the surface of the bar.
"That's a wonderful idea. Why didn't I think of that?" He closed the small space between them and kissed her. "You've always got a plan, even when things change at short notice."
Hermione felt her face heat at his compliment. "I don't always have a plan," she protested. "A lot of the time, I'm just flying by the seat of my pants and hoping it doesn't all go wrong."
"You wouldn't know it," Draco said with a smile. "You have one hell of a… what's the expression? A poker face?"
Hermione laughed. "Yes, a poker face. And thank you."
"It's a beautiful face," Draco added. "You're beautiful." He captured her lips with his a second time. She could taste the sweet wine they'd been drinking.
She slid a hand behind his hair, deepening the kiss, feeling heat spread throughout her entire body. When they pulled apart, Draco's pupils were dilated and he was breathing heavily.
"I'd like to take you back to our room," he whispered.
"Oh?" Hermione whispered back. "And what will you do when you get me up there?"
"I'll run you a nice, hot bath, with plenty of bubbles. When it's ready, I'll slowly peel this beautiful dress from your body. I'll help you into the bath, and let down those luscious curls of yours."
"And then?"
"I'll wash every part of you, starting with your hair and working my way down. When I'm done, I'll help you out of the bath and towel you dry."
"Yes…" Hermione whispered. The heat was now pooling in a specific area. Her stomach felt like it was full of Cornish Pixies, and her heart was hammering inside her chest. "And after that…?"
Draco leaned forward again, his mouth beside her ear.
"I'm afraid you'll have to wait to find out the rest."
"What? Wait—no—that's not fair!" Hermione exclaimed in outrage.
Draco just gave her a saucy grin and winked. "Shall we go up to the room now?"
"Yes, let's."
He paid for their drinks, took her hand and helped her from her seat. They made their way towards the lifts, Draco with his hand hovering over the small of her back but not quite touching. Even inside the lift, and then as they made their way along the corridor, he was careful not to actually make contact with any part of her body, although he remained in close proximity to her at all times. It was all very proper; and somehow, at the same time, incredibly intimate. The lack of touch was maddening, but in a delicious way, leaving Hermione full of wanting and anticipation — she yearned to feel his skin on hers again, to kiss him, to feel his body pressed up against hers. He wasn't touching her now, but he would. He'd promised. And she knew Draco Malfoy would be a man who always kept his promises.
She stirred from the exhausted slumber she'd succumbed to as featherlight touches caressed her skin. A whispered spell healed the parts of her that ached, leaving her body tingling with desire. How long had she been asleep? Hermione didn't know. Nor, at this particular moment, did she care.
"Draco—"
"Hermione."
He had indeed kept up his end of the bargain, down to every last detail. Never before had Hermione experienced such intimacy, passion or pleasure, not even on her own. Her only experience with a wizard prior to Draco was Ron; and their few fumbling encounters had not exactly painted sex in a particularly alluring light.
Not that it was a slight against Ron, of course — he'd been eager to please, and had pleased her, but they'd both been inexperienced and struggling with the trauma of having survived a war. That, and they were really only together because they felt it was what was supposed to happen. Their hearts — or their passion, perhaps — hadn't really been in it.
With Draco, however, Hermione's eyes were opened. She finally understood how much of a difference it made when one was not only in the right frame of mind for sex, but also shared a deeper connection with their partner. Even the promised bath had been unlike anything Hermione could have imagined. She'd never known such simple acts of care could be so… erotic.
She let her mind drift as Draco did delicious things to her, things that all too soon had her crying out. Afterwards, panting, she dimly registered his body sliding against hers. He kissed her tenderly and whispered words of love as she pulled him towards her, enveloping him in an embrace.
When she awoke again, Hermione was surprised for a moment at how hungry she felt. As she sat up, she winced slightly — she might need to perform the healing spell again. That, in turn, told her exactly why she had such an appetite. She smiled and reached out a hand to caress the smooth skin of Draco's back. He was peaceful in sleep, his pale eyelashes resting on his cheeks and his face relaxed, without worry.
He murmured at her touch and slowly opened his eyes to look at her. His smile could light up the room, she thought.
"Good morning, love."
"Good morning."
He sat up and kissed her chastely. "You look even more beautiful right now, naked and basking in the sunlight."
"Liar," she said with a laugh. "I know for a fact my hair will be a fright. It's always two or three times its size in the morning if I don't tie it up beforehand."
"You're beautiful," Draco insisted. "The size of your hair at this moment only adds to your allure."
Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, and she let out another laugh, this one of embarrassment. Draco's stomach made its own sounds, as if in response, making her laugh even more.
"Do you feel as if you could eat a Hippogriff?" Hermione asked.
"Two Hippogriffs. Shall I call for breakfast?"
"Please," Hermione said eagerly. "A full English Breakfast, and something sweet, as well. Crepes or waffles, if they have them."
"As the lady desires. And to drink?" Draco said as he reached for the bedside phone.
"Coffee, juice, and—" she paused, asking herself if she could really make such a bold request. Then she remembered Draco's instructions that she be entirely selfish, and that she could have anything she wanted. To hell with it — she would ask. "—and a bottle of champagne."
"Consider it done. Cristal again, or something else?"
Hermione considered. There were many brands of champagne, so why not try another?
"Moet et Chandon," she said.
Draco winked at her and picked up the phone. After a moment, he smiled and spoke. "Good morning to you too, Winston. We'd like to order breakfast. Yes, up in the suite, please." He rattled off Hermione's order, doubling it to include himself. "Wonderful. Much appreciated, Winston. Yes, we'll see you soon. Thank you."
He hung up and turned to her, his gaze lingering over her still-naked torso. The hunger in his eyes made Hermione's desire spike once again, but as much as she wanted him, her body needed to rest. And, she needed sustenance. She wasn't sure she'd have the energy, not without eating first.
A pop tore Draco's attention away from Hermione's body. She glanced over, too, and saw—
"Kreacher?" Hermione quickly pulled the sheet up to cover herself. A thought occurred to her then, and she clutched the sheet tighter in anxiety. "Is Harry ok? Are Ron and the others? What's happened?"
The elf advanced with something in his hand. Hermione realised it was a newspaper. "Master is telling Kreacher to deliver the Prophet to Miss Hermione. He says you will be wanting to see this one."
Hermione sighed with relief, knowing everything was fine. If something had gone wrong while she was away having massages, drinking champagne and… everything else, she'd never have forgiven herself. She reached out to take the paper from Kreacher.
"Thank you. And will you kindly tell Harry that in the future, he is to refrain from sending you to me so early unless it is an absolute emergency of the life-or-death kind."
"Kreacher will tell him." He bowed to Hermione and then to Draco, his eyes misting over slightly as he regarded the descendant of the Black line, then vanished.
Draco leaned into her and kissed her shoulder. "Harry's just as clueless as ever, it seems."
"Not clueless, just excited. Or angry. Or… something," Hermione replied. "Granted, I'm sure he'd rather not think about the two of us together, given he considers me to be family, but what I might be doing or who I was with wouldn't have crossed his mind; he'd have simply reacted."
She unfolded the paper, scanned the headline, and let out a bark of laughter. Beside her, Draco made a sound of disbelief.
"She's changed her tune, hasn't she?"
Hermione Granger - a hero once again!
Brightest Witch of her age escapes kidnappers, solves Muggleborn attack mystery. Anton Mercer implicated in plot!
"She may have changed her tune — purely out of self-interest, mind you, I bet she doesn't believe a word of it — but she certainly hasn't changed when it comes to completely mangling the story," Hermione said, slapping the paper. "Look at this rubbish. She acts like I did it single-handedly. No reference to you, Harry, Ron or any of the other Aurors involved in the investigation, no mention whatsoever of the fact your elves rescued me — that's hardly a surprise though — and that's not even taking into consideration the falsehoods she published after the attacks happened. Conveniently, she's left her part in that out, as well."
"That reminds me," Draco said. "Did I tell you what she said the morning after you disappeared, in front of the international press and members of the public, in the middle of the Ministry atrium?"
"I don't believe you did," Hermione replied. Draco's expression had turned mutinous; clearly, whatever Skeeter said then had been particularly bad. She felt the tingle of magic in her fingertips and took a deep breath, reigning in the anger that was already flaring in anticipation.
"She had the nerve to claim you were the leader of a wave of Death Eaters and responsible for the attacks on the Muggleborn families," Draco said, his nostrils flaring.
"She what?" Hermione exclaimed. She could hardly believe her ears. It beggared belief that Skeeter would be foolhardy enough to say such a thing. "I assure you, she won't get away with that. I've been wanting to shut her up, and she's just handed me the means to do so. I'll have her job for that."
"I was absolutely raging. I'd have hexed her into next year, but bloody Harry had to go and disarm me before I could get a spell off."
Hermione laughed, despite her anger. "Oh, yes. Harry's skill with Expelliarmus is the stuff of legends. He can do it wordlessly."
"Pansy and Millie told her off, though," Draco continued. "They may also have subtly threatened her. But that wasn't the best part. Lavender Brown added her piece as well, except she took it a step further and said that if she'd been the one to catch Skeeter in her bug form instead of you, she'd have simply crushed Skeeter under her heel."
Hermione gasped. "She didn't."
"She did."
"I hope she didn't get into trouble? I can just imagine the fuss Skeeter would have kicked up."
"Well, unfortunately for Skeeter, it seems no one else heard the threat," Draco said loftily. "So even though it was allegedly said in front of all those witnesses, the Aurors couldn't do a thing about it because Skeeter's claim couldn't be corroborated."
"That's brilliant," Hermione said. "I'll have to buy Lav a bottle of wine, or something. She deserves it."
A knock at the door interrupted them. Draco summoned a robe from the room's dressing area and got out of bed. "I'll get that and meet you out there."
Hermione smiled. "Sounds perfect."
While Draco was dealing with Winston, Hermione quickly spelled her hair into something less unruly, then tied it back. She summoned the second robe, belted it, and hurried out to join Draco. She could smell the tantalising aroma of breakfast already.
"Good morning, Miss," Winston greeted with a small bow. "I trust you slept well?"
"I did, Winston. Thank you for asking."
He helped her into her chair, then turned to the silver trolley he'd brought and efficiently arranged platters and bowls on the table. Next, he poured coffee and juice, then indicated the bottle of champagne resting in its bucket.
"Will I open your champagne at this time?"
"Why not?" Hermione smiled. "Go ahead, Winston."
When their glasses were full, Hermione lifted hers in a toast. Draco did the same, smiling at her. She took a sip and hummed in appreciation, then placed the glass down and turned to her food. As fun and daring as it was to drink champagne at breakfast time, she was quite certain that if she didn't eat soon, she might fade away.
After confirming they didn't need anything further, Winston bade them bon appétit and left them to their breakfast. For a short time, neither of them spoke as they made their way through the spread.
Finally replete, Hermione sighed contentedly and dropped her napkin on her plate. "That was wonderful," she said. "I'm so full I can barely move." Reaching for the champagne flute, she drained it.
"What do you want to do today?" Draco asked. "I've already informed Winston we'd like to extend our reservation, and that Mother will be joining us. He'll make all the arrangements on our behalf."
Hermione furrowed her brow in thought. What did she want to do? There were so many things to do in London — galleries, libraries, parks — but there were greater possibilities. They could venture outside the city and apparate to one of the other regions. Perhaps investigate one of the many historic villages dotted throughout rural England, or even visit the seaside?
"Let me think about that while I have another glass of champagne," she said.