"What the fuck was all THAT, Malfoy?" demanded Potter as they finished flooing.
Draco quickly glanced around the living room and recognized Potter had flooed him to the Nott Manor.
Without answering, Draco walked to the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a shot of the first thing he found – mead – and tossing it back.
"Want some?" He offered.
"No, ferret. I want an explanation!"
"Well, Scarhead," Draco sneered momentarily, a defeated look befalling him the next second, "For weeks, Granger and I have been meeting at a muggle bar after work-"
"What?" Potter exclaimed, frowning. "Hermione would never go out for drinks with you."
"Greatly observed, Mr. Head of Aurors.' He sarcastically replied. "But she didn't know she was meeting me. I was glamoured – and so was she."
The skeptical look on Potter's face let Draco know he was seconds away from being hexed.
Fucking great – a duel against the Saviour to end this miserable night. He thought bitterly and flopped into the closest armchair, his head on his hands.
The rollercoaster of emotions he had endured that day seemed to have finally caught up to him – Draco felt incapable of mustering up the necessary energy to even care about what happened to him next; if Potter attacked him, he only hoped it was strong enough to knock him unconscious so he wouldn't have to think about losing Her.
"I swear, Potter." Draco exhaled, lifting his face to look at the Gryffindor. "I didn't know Jean was Granger."
His pitiful behaviour seemed to convince Potter he was telling the truth.
"So Mione thought you were a man named Jake, is that it?" Potter asked, recalling parts of what he had heard at her flat minutes ago.
"Yes. And she introduced herself by Jean." Draco summoned the mead and refilled his tumbler, tossing ack another shot. "We talked, kissed and fucked." He added in a near-whisper.
"As strangers?"
"Yes. Both glamoured." Draco nodded, noticing the flames in the fireplace turning green and the next second Theo walked out of them, looking at him and shaking his head.
"I tried, man. I told her you love her since she decked you on third year, but-"
Draco grimaced, "Bloody hell, Theodore."
"But Hermione doesn't believe you didn't know anything."
"She thinks I tricked her." Draco nodded slowly.
"Which is fully understandable." Added Potter, tilting his head to the side: "Let me ask you this: if you had known Jean was Hermione, would that have told her who you were?"
Draco stood up and hesitated a little before replying truthfully: "No, wouldn't. I'd have kissed and fucked her anyway." He saw fury in the Gryffindor's eyes so he quickly added: "But that's only because I've never allowed myself to dare entertain the idea that she wanted me!"
That didn't discouraged Potter from continuing to glare at him, his wand in hand.
But before spells could fly, a bright otter ran into the room, stopping mid-air and looking at the three men in silence.
"That's Mione's Patronus." Potter explained.
Draco approached the shining animal with awe, he had never seen a Patronus up-close before.
But the otter turned her face away from him, showing that the witch who had cast it was not happy with him.
"I get it, beautiful." Draco whispered. "And I bet you won't say your message unless I leave, right?"
The otter glared at him and nodded once.
Draco nodded back, looking at the otter once more before he turned to leave; the last thing he heard as he closed the door was Potter's low voice: "He truly didn't know anything?"
"No, love, he didn't." whispered Theo, clearly saddened.
Draco walked down the corridors of the Nott Manor – a house he knew just as well as his own – reaching the Entrance Hall and flooing away.
The silence of the Grand Entrance Hall of his childhood home greeted him like a warm embrace.
The Malfoy Manor had witnessed the best and worst moments of Draco's life – therefore there was no other place he'd rather be that night.
He crossed the Hall and the large sitting area near the fireplace, walking to the backyard, knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep if he went to bed. He'd only stare at the ceiling and think of what ifs.
No.
He needed peace; and the rose gardens always seemed to calm him down even during the worst of the war. It was a place filled by his mother's love and devotion – being the only place in the manor where Voldemort had never set foot.
Draco walked through the pergola archway that marked the entrance to the gardens and sat on a stone bench, resting his elbows on his knees and bringing his face to his hands, running them through his hair and tugging.
"You know-" a voice cut through the silent night.
He jumped up, hissing: "Merlin, mother!" he touched his chest, where his heart pounded from the scare.
"You must stop that awful habit, Draco." Said Narcissa calmly. "You'll ruin your beautiful hair if you don't stop pulling on it." She sat beside him, her hair braided to the side, her nightdress covered by a long warm coat.
"I can fix my hair with magic, mum." He replied as he had many times already.
"It's unbecoming of a Lord to use magic to charm their hair." She said just as predictably.
"Mum," Draco breathed. "I really don't want to be reminded of duties right now."
She nodded, picking up his right hand and holding it between hers. "What happened, son?"
He let out a heavy sigh, "Granger was the woman at the bar."
"Really?" Narcissa beamed. "So I can cancel this Saturday's Tea Party?"
"Yes, please." He quickly replied.
"How wonderful!" she exclaimed with a smile. "And when is Hermione coming here to officialise the engagement? Or," she looked at him in surprise. "Is she upstairs in your room already?"
"Engagement?" He frowned. "No, mum! She's not... she wasn't happy to learn that I was the man she kissed and fucked. But please do not let that stop you from cancelling the Tea Party."
"Why wasn't she happy?" Narcissa seemed confused. "She loves you."
"Yeah, well. She- what?" he stopped and stared at her. "You knew? She told you she loved me?"
"Of course she didn't tell me, Draco!" She rolled her eyes. "But she didn't have to. We talked about you every time she came here – only I was never the one to bring your name up, it was always her. And she would listen to my stories of you for hours and share with me stories of you from Hogwarts."
He closed his eyes, feeling the last of his emotional energy leave him.
"It doesn't matter," he whispered. "She hates me now. She thinks I did it on purpose – that I knew it was her from the beginning."
"Hm." Narcissa hummed, "And what will you do now? Give up?"
He shook his head, knowing he'd never forgive himself if he didn't at least try to win her back. "No. I'll talk to her tomorrow."
"Do you wish for me to write to her?"
"No, mum. I must solve this myself."
"Alright." Narcissa stood up and kissed his forehead, smiling warmly at him but her sweetness was deceitful, for next she shattered his hopes: "Draco, if by Saturday you haven't put a ring on Hermione's finger, you'll have to choose a lady to court then." And she turned, walking away as if she hadn't just dropped a bomb on him.
He felt cold, "No, mother. I-" he shook his head.
"Yes, Draco." Narcissa interrupted him, her tone leaving no room for discussion. "You've know the witch for eleven years now – she loves you, of that I'm certain. But if she says 'no' before Saturday, you must move on."
"Fucking hell!" He shouted, letting his head fall on his hands again.
"And stop tugging on your hair!" Narcissa shouted from the archway, not even turning to look at him.
If she had, Draco would have seen her scheming smile.
Early the next day, Draco flooed to the Ministry before 7 a.m. and walked straight to the Post-War Amendments Department.
Her door was closed – as expected for such an early hour – so he touched his wand to the door, opening it and freezing on the threshold.
Her desk – which was usually filled with papers and quills and at least one tea mug – sat empty in the middle of room.
He turned to the bookshelves to the right of the door.
Fuck.
There were no more books there.
There were no signs of Her anywhere.
He walked slowly out of the room and closed the door, feeling like all air had left the world.
"I'm thinking of quitting my job." He recalled Jean saying.
Bloody hell.
Would she have quit so suddenly? He paused in the corridor.
Maybe she only took the day off.
Tomorrow then; he'd try to talk to her tomorrow.
On Wednesday morning, Draco ran down the empty corridors of the fifth floor, heading back to the lift, where pressed the number 2 on the panel, getting to the second level and storming into the office of the Head of the Aurors' Department unannounced.
"Malfoy." Potter said with an annoyed sigh. "I was wondering when you were going to come looking for me."
"Did she quit?"
"Yes. I delivered her request to Kingsley yesterday morning and cleared her office too."
"Where is she?" Draco asked.
Potter kept looking at his papers as he replied coolly: "I don't know."
But Draco didn't believe him for a second: "You're the Head of the fucking Aurors' Department, Potter. She's Hermione fucking-Granger! Don't even try to convince me you haven't had her tagged."
"Fine, Malfoy." Potter looked at him. "I do know where she is. She's fine. Safe."
"Where is she?" Draco growled.
"I'm not telling you."
And the blonde had his wand in hand, not pointing at the Gryffindor – even though that was what he wanted to do.
But Potter didn't react as he would've four years ago; he just stared at him instead: "I'd be rethinking my next move, if I were you."
Yes, Draco thought angrily. Wanker can send me on a trip to Azkaban now.
"Hiding behind that auror badge now, Scarhead?"
Potter shook his head unhurriedly and folded his arms in front of his chest. "Hermione made me promise not to hurt you – at least until she's back."
Draco slowly pocketed his wand, digesting what he had just heard.
She asked him not to hurt me?
"And when will she be back?"
"I don't know, Malfoy. And that's the truth – I really don't know when she'll return."
"But you know where she is!" Draco felt desperation starting to squeeze his chest. "I need to talk-"
"She doesn't want to talk to you, ferret." Harry glowered at him. "Look, Theo told me about your feelings for Hermione. And I cannot say I understand how you claim to love her and still-"
Draco shouted: "I have until Saturday, Potter! My mother is forcing me choose a witch to court on Saturday, if I can't talk to Hermione, I-"
Harry seemed surprised, "Why is that? Narcissa knows of your feelings for Hermione. I heard her and Theo talking about you and Mione last night through the floo."
"Duty, Scarhead." Draco growled. "I'm still the Head of my family. Heir to two pureblood bloodlines and all that shit."
Potter nodded slowly, "Your mother told me you'll buy Grimmauld."
"Yes." Draco's voice suddenly carried no heat. "Because I have to, because it was the home of my mother's family."
All horseshit.
After a silent while, Potter added: "I'll let Hermione know about your mother's demand for a courtship this Saturday. But I can't guarantee she'll care."
Draco just nodded, hating that all his hopes now lay with the Gryffindor.
"Thank you." He forced himself to say before turning to the door with a stiff back, a dreadful cold feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.
If she doesn't care, I-
He'd what?
Spend a year courting some Lady, marry her, father a child or two...
Draco stopped by the door, feeling the cold spread through his body.
No. No.
Just the thought of living without Her forever filled him with despair and regret.
Life would have no flavour nor passion without Her.
"Fuck." Draco touched a hand to the closed door and breathed, feeling sick.
"Malfoy." He heard Potter's voice, noticing a hint of concern. "She borrowed my Pensieve, so whatever it is that has happened between you two... Hermione is certainly doing some extensive thinking about it."
"Not helpful Potter. But thanks for letting me know she for sure won't care about Saturday."
Then he left.
Thursday and Friday Draco refused to show up at the Ministry, choosing to work in Grimmauld Place instead; for breaking family curses and shouting at his Great-Aunt Druella Black's painting was better than walking by Granger's closed door and feel the emptiness of her office twisting the proverbial knife in his chest.
He could almost hear the closed door laughing at him on Wednesday evening when he left.
He had to distance himself or he'd be sent to the Psychiatric Ward at St. Mungus for hexing inanimate office fixtures under the excuse that they were "laughing at him".
Friday night, Draco lay on his bed staring at the ceiling above, being consumed by thoughts of Granger somewhere out there, dissecting every past interaction of theirs in Potter's pensieve.
Just cementing her old hatred for my very existence.
It was torture.
He wanted to go after her, scour the world until he found her and then he'd ask – beg! – for her forgiveness.
She'd certainly laugh.
Earlier that day, Potter said he had already told her about Narcissa's next day's courtship announcement demand.
As it was nearly midnight, Draco had begun to accept that she truly didn't care – he had squashed any and all feelings she might have had for him.
In twenty-four hours, he'd be a step closer to the altar and a world away from the witch he loved.
On Saturday morning, Narcissa found him in the rose gardens again, sitting on the same bench he had sat four days before.
"Looking even worse today than on Monday, son." she said after she kissed his cheek. "What happened? Something to do with Grimmauld?"
"No, mum. Work there hasn't been easy but... I'll be done by August."
"So things with Hermione haven't gone as you'd hoped?"
He let out an annoyed breath. "Why are you even asking? You know the answer. She's not in England, Potter refused to tell me where she is so I was unable to find her and talk to her. As it's now Saturday and my ring isn't on her finger..."
"You'll be choosing a Lady this afternoon." She finished for him, nodding once. "Which ring you picked for her?"
"The stargaze ring with the amethyst surrounded by diamonds."
"Devotion and eternity." Narcissa whispered the meaning of those gemstones. "You're such a romantic, my son."
"It doesn't matter now."
Narcissa stood up, "I'll pick up something... less meaningful for when you choose a girl this afternoon."
Draco just nodded and watched his mother walk towards the house.
Her personal house-elf, Jules, stopped her by the door and she picked up a letter from the tray he held.
Draco frowned as he saw her smile at the letter and then glance towards him, but she didn't walk back, she just entered the house.
So he continued his pity-party for a while longer and then followed the same path his mother had, going to breakfast before Narcissa sent Jules after him.