Rise and Die! Chapter 8
Draco Malfoy was having a perfectly wonderful day at work. Usually tiresome and boring, the office suddenly seemed like paradise. It was certainly an escape from the horror and tyranny of this weekend. Vowing never to drink again, Draco sent Jezebel, his secretary, to fetch him some brandy.
Screw it.
When he'd gotten here bright and early, some of his minions (er, coworkers) had sent him odd little looks (nothing that a good glare wouldn't solve). He supposed it was rather strange of him to set foot into the building before nine—but what could he say, the office was a million times more inviting than his home.
A few people had inquired about his weekend. But after his snapping, "What's it to you?!" to the fifth person, they'd given up. They weren't getting anything out of him, Merlin help him! Nobody was ever going to find out that he'd gone and married a house-elf-loving mudblood bitch!
Ugh. It pained him to think it.
Around six, he decided that Hermione or no Hermione; he'd had enough of this silly "work" thing. Working in the ministry, he sighed, really sucked. They actually expected you to do paperwork. A Malfoy doing paperwork? Unbelievable, it was. Absolutely silly. But his own father had started off doing paperwork, and if Draco was lucky he could soon be promoted to Head of his department (which dealt with purely magical objects, thank you).
Just as he was packing his things a familiar owl—his mother's owl—swooped down through his window (yes. He had a window office. The perks of being rich and…let's just say…persuasive). "Fletcher," he smiled grimly at the bird. "I'm sure you bring nothing but good news."
Fletcher seemed to note the heavy sarcasm in Draco's voice. Nipping rather painfully at Draco's fingers, the owl flew off into the air. Truly his mother's owl. Not a care for anyone else in the world. Unfolding the parchment, Draco began to read the letter and nearly fainted.
That proved it. His mother was most definitely St. Mungo's bound.
She was mad.
Simply mad!
How in heavens did she expect him to take the rest of this week off and stay cooped up in his house with only Hermione Granger and her sick love for house-elves in his company? How could she do that?!
Right. Because Hermione was his wife. And they were on a "honeymoon".
At this rate, Draco would rather go somewhere and accidentally push his lovely wife off a raft. Then again, he really didn't want to go through all those murder charges his father had to deal with.
Nothing a good bribe or two couldn't solve.
Muttering to himself Draco apparated home, certainly not looking forward to his week.
----
Hermione woke the next morning in satin sheets. This was something she would have to get used to, certainly. Not that it would be difficult; the sheets were just so comfortable. Stretching, she got up and made her way to the window. The sun wasn't shining. It was dreary, rainy, typical London weather.
And then she remembered that today started her week of hell. All the way up till Saturday in which it would culminate in one big horror scene straight out of a terribly scary picture.
With a frown on her face, Hermione stumbled towards the bathroom. It was locked. With a sigh she Alohomora'd her way in, grumbling under her breath. Suddenly she heard a high-pitched shriek.
Looking up, Hermione felt blinded for a moment. There in front of her, in all his naked glory, was a red-faced Draco Malfoy shrieking like a girl. "Get out!" he screamed, glancing wildly around the ornate bathroom for what Hermione presumed was a towel.
Throwing a hand across her eyes (and of course leaving slits so she could still see a bit), Hermione ran out. "Sorry," she mumbled, feeling hideously embarrassed.
How could she have been so stupid? The door had been locked. But how was she supposed to know she was sharing a bathroom with the git of all gits? She had thought…when he'd showed her, quite rudely, where she would sleep…that perhaps he would be all the way on the other side of the house—which was very, very far.
Hermione, however, couldn't stop the traitorous flow of thoughts. For some reason she kept seeing a pale, lean, muscled body through flashes in her mind. A good chest. Not a body-builder's chest, but certainly a good chest. Good torso. Good…she couldn't bring herself to go there, turning red at the thought.
But from what she'd seen and read…he was…well-endowed.
Very well-endowed.
"Eep!" Hermione screamed into her pillow. Still blushing she knocked on the bathroom door. A muffled, "Stay out," came back at her.
Hermione wondered if there was another bathroom in this huge house. Of course there was. Leaving her room, she wished someone would give her a tour of this place. That would certainly be useful, but she doubted that Draco would do something as nice as that. He simply didn't have it in him.
"You can use it now," she heard someone call. Turning back to her room she entered, and made a beeline for the bathroom. Although slightly foggy from Draco's shower, it was now thankfully vacant.
Performing a quick spell to get rid of the humidity, Hermione took a shower and got dressed, still unable to get rid of a Naked Draco Malfoy that just wouldn't leave her mind. It was as if the image had been branded in her.
Around nine, Hermione stepped into the kitchen—the only place of this house that she had pretty much memorized. Draco sat at the breakfast table, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a paper in the other.
"Ah…uh…" Hermione began timidly.
He looked up. "Good morning," he seemed to have recovered fully from the shock of the morning. Hermione remembered with a bit of a giggle that he had actually shrieked.
"How come you're wishing me a good morning?" she asked in surprise. "I didn't think you were polite enough."
"Only because," he gave her a smarmy grin, "of this article I've found in the paper. I'm sure you will absolutely love it."
With a frown Hermione took the Daily Prophet from his hands and looked in shock at the headlines. There was a picture of Lucius Malfoy, frowning and shaking his head at the reader. Underneath it the headline read, "Malfoy Son Marries Muggleborn Witch".
"What?" Hermione gasped.
"Read on," Draco said glumly from his coffee.
And so she did.
This past weekend, Draco Malfoy, son of the prominent Lucius Malfoy and his beautiful wife Narcissa, married Hermione Granger, a muggleborn witch he attended school with. The new Mrs. Malfoy is the owner of the highly-successful potions research company, Lightstar. She is also close friends with Harry Potter, and has even been linked to him romantically. This huge news comes as a shock. Perhaps bloodlines are not as important to older wizarding families as they once were. When asked about this, Lucius Malfoy gave no comment and his wife Narcissa could not be reached. In an interview with the newest Mrs. Malfoy, it has been learned that the happy couple are away on their honeymoon this week, and will be back in order to celebrate with family and friends on Saturday night.
Hermione gaped at Draco. "It's already in the paper?" she gasped.
He nodded. "It was only a matter of time. I can't believe it."
"I…this is ridiculous!" Hermione cried. "Absolutely ridiculous!"
"I know. Do you know how many people are going to want to contact me?"
"And me!" Hermione added with a glare.
"And you," he conceded. "It will be a nightmare. Perhaps it's a good thing we're on our 'honeymoon'; we shan't have to deal with any of this until Saturday night."
"But I'm still cooped up with you, and you're stuck with me," Hermione pointed out mournfully. "Do you know how much I dislike your mother?"
He scowled fiercely. "Don't you say anything about my mother."
She immediately saw his point. No matter what, she never wanted Draco Malfoy to say, "I dislike your mother." Even if his mother was at fault, it had been horribly rude of her and even though this concerned the Malfoys, Hermione was a polite girl. Shamefully she apologized to him, not voicing the thought that perhaps she was distract because of an earlier, uh, incident that morning.
"It's fine," he shrugged, losing all interest in the battle now that she'd given in. "I'm just terribly dissatisfied with this article. Happy couple? Yeah, if you're a sadist."
Hermione laughed. "That's true. We're about as happy as Voldemort when he was bested by an eighteen year old boy."
"Yeah. I lost all respect for that guy when Potter could beat him. I mean, if Potter can beat you…then anyone can beat you."
Hermione snorted. "And that's why you've been beaten by Harry countless times at Quidditch?"
Draco growled. "Quidditch excluded."
"Then what about the time on the train when we knocked you unconscious? Harry was involved. And there've been plenty of scuffles when Harry wo—"
"It was just a statement," Draco cried hotly. "You don't have to read into it. Stop reading into it! Stop right now!"
Rolling her eyes, Hermione gave him a wink (she never knew she was so daring!) and couldn't help but say, "I always read into stuff. Even when I'm in the bathroom."
Draco gave her an odd look before realization dawned on his features. Turning slightly pink he looked away. "Don't bring that up," he mumbled.
"Oh, please," Hermione smiled, "if I had been in your position you wouldn't have let me live it down."
Draco didn't reply.
Hermione sighed. "Look, I've already forgotten," she lied through her teeth, deciding that better a lie if he wasn't used to someone taking the mickey out of him, "So why don't you forget as well."
He met her eyes. "Forgotten," came his crisp answer.
And so it was.
Although, in truth, Hermione was pretty sure neither of them had forgotten, and most likely wouldn't. They just didn't speak of it again.
The morning was awkward, in the least. The two of them had to stay upstairs for a good part of the morning, without any indication of actually being there, because they could hear reporters downstairs. "Why are they bothering us?" Hermione whined. "They know we're on a quote-unquote honeymoon!"
"Clues," Draco shrugged. "Anyhow I suppose I'll work from home. You can do the same."
"My stuff is downstairs," Hermione moaned. "Do you think they're peeking in, or could I just Accio it on up?"
"Just Accio it," Draco scoffed. "As if they could peek in my windows. Won't have any eyes left if they try that!"
"You're serious?" Hermione gasped.
Draco looked stricken. "Only kidding! Can't you take to a bit of humor?"
"Not if it's morbid," she snapped back, and quickly called out the summoning spell for most of her work things.
One hefty book of potion ingredients and a list of the potions that her company was working on, Hermione was deeply immersed in her work.
-----
Draco had decided to leave his wife alone. Although she was his only form of entertainment until those blasted reporters finally decided that Draco and Hermione were indeed gone, she was downright boring when working. If he tried to interrupt, she didn't even get mad! She was good enough to tune him out with only an occasional murmuring of, "Hush, Draco," or "Not now," or "Go play with mummy."
It was downright degrading, it was!
Bored, he was terribly relieved to see that around lunch time, all the reporters had left. Going down he had a house-elf make him a light, lovely little salad for lunch. After eating, he was just about to go bug Hermione when his father's face popped into the nearest fireplace
Surprised, Draco kept his emotions under check and gave his father a grin. "Hello, Father," he said.
"Draco," his father sighed. "we need to have a little talk."
Draco's grin dropped seven notches. He had known this was coming, but he would have liked to postpone it as much as possible. "Right now?" he asked, hoping the answer was a resounding no.
No such luck. "Of course," Lucius snapped. "I want you here right now. Your mum has gone out to prepare for the party Saturday night. Bring the mudblood as well; we'll have her start researching. Silly bint."
Draco's scowl deepened. "I'm married to that 'silly bint'," he said scathingly, "and I'd rather you didn't speak so rudely about her. She is your daughter-in-law. She's related to you."
Draco felt almost protective of Hermione. He felt as if he was the only one allowed to demean her; she was his to demean, wasn't she? After all she was his wife! It was a sick way of thinking, and Draco knew it, but it was the only way he could justify his thoughts.
His father seemed reluctant but ceased to insult the girl. "Well then I expect you two in five minutes. No later, Draco, or there will be consequences."
Draco knew whenever Lucius was in a Mood™, and now was certainly one of those times. Blearily he headed up the stairs and shouted out to Hermione. "Come on," he called, "we've got to go over to my parents' house."
"But why?" she called back. "I don't want to!"
"Believe me Granger," the word slipped off his tongue, even though the rational part of his brain realized she wasn't 'Granger' anymore, "You're going to want to. You don't want to disobey my father. Bad stuff."
"Then you go!"
"He asked for you too! You have to start researching!"
If that didn't bring Hermione down, then nothing would. Luckily she came slowly down the steps. "The only reason I'm going," she frowned at him, "is because I've just begun to realize how dire this situation is. Oh, it's worse for me than it is for you," she spat when he was about to comment on how he was in the same situation. "Your parents despise me. Your friends will despise me. I'll always be looked down upon if I stay in this old-fashioned society. You don't understand; I've got to get out."
He opened and closed his mouth furiously, ready to argue, but somehow nothing came out. Thinking again he spoke. "Look. They'll look down upon me, too. In their eyes I'll have married someone inferior to me."
"In their eyes?" she echoed with a hollow, mirthless laugh. "I doubt that very much. It's in your eyes, too, Draco. You consider me below you."
He paused. What was he supposed to say to that? It was partially true…and that was if he separated a bloodline from the rest. She was superior in intelligence (not that he wasn't smart), she was quite pretty, although not in a typical way, and… she was awfully nice. Not to him, no, but he'd seen the way she always acted around others, especially those who were beneath her.
She treated them like equals.
She championed their rights.
Draco almost couldn't understand why she would want to. She was accepting of everyone. It was unnerving; and at the same time…he respected it. He'd always respected it, although adhering to it was a different story. He realized he still hadn't answered her question.
He was married to her now. Was she still beneath him? Was she pureblood-by-marriage? If in the event they got divorced, would his opinion of her go back to the way it was? Was it just different now because she had the same last name? Try as he might, he couldn't be downright ugly with her—she was his wife. And of course, wives deserved utmost respect.
Contrary to popular belief, the pureblooded arranged marriages were different now. No longer were they made just for family ties (although that played a big role, no doubt). Instead, the parents introduced their children, and if the children got along and decided they were okay with getting married, the preparations ensued. If the prospective newlyweds decided they didn't like each other enough to get married, nothing happened and it was all just fine.
That had been the way it was with Sally Anne. Although they'd known each other at school, Draco hadn't been close with the girl and only after he'd been re-introduced at a formal dinner with his parents had he gotten to know her. They'd both decided—well, in actuality, Sally Anne had wanted to get married so very badly that Draco couldn't say no—and preparations had been made.
Except he'd ruined it all when he married a mudblood. He'd tarnished the family name. No wonder his parents were so horrified.
Hey, this was cool! He'd never really rebelled against his parents. This was a pretty damn good rebellion, he thought, and looking over at Hermione, the price to pay wasn't all that bad. Sure, if he had to marry a mudblood, he wouldn't have picked her—God. Blood was the least important factor in their relationship—but now that he had, she wasn't half-bad.
Hold on, Draco thought frantically. Had he just thought that blood didn't matter in their relationship? Of course it did!
"Draco," she was saying, waving her hands in front of his face. "Where've you been?"
He looked up, embarrassed. "Right here. Come on," he changed the topic, "we're late. Let's go."
Grabbing her hand he double apparated them to the elder Malfoy Mansion. Lucius Malfoy was waiting in the gardens. "Really," he greeted them coldly, "how long does it take to get here?"
Hermione didn't say anything. Draco flushed and apologized to his father for being late. "I, er, had some things to do," he fabricated.
"I haven't time to deal with this," Lucius growled. "All right let's get started. Hermione you'll be doing research, so let's go to the library."
Hermione nodded and they followed Lucius through the winding corridors until they reached a heavyset wooden door. "Behold," Lucius flung open the door.
The look on Hermione's face was priceless. It was as if someone had just shown her a glimpse of heaven. "Oh!" she gasped under her breath.
Draco felt pride swelling through him. "It's a pity we've lost so many books over the years," he said, feeling more like himself (ever the smarmy git). "This library seems to have shrunk!"
Hermione paid him no mind. Barely containing herself she half-walked half-skipped to the nearest shelf of books, tracing her fingers across their spines so very gently, so very smoothly, so very…sensually.
Draco shook his head. He wasn't supposed to be thinking like that. Books? Sensual? Hermione? What was wrong with him?!
Lucius spoke up. "Yes. The books on ancient wizarding families and pureblood rules of conduct are on the left side. It is an extensive list," he walked over to a certain shelf, "and I want you to start here. Here you'll find the basics of pureblood conduct… educate yourself before you try to find a loophole."
Hermione didn't argue, and Draco was momentarily surprised. He figured that she was too overwhelmed by the sheer size of the library to really care if Lucius wasn't on his best behavior. She walked over to the shelf and said, "Lovely. I'll just get started then."
Lucius nodded and ushered Draco out of the library. With one last look at the girl, Draco looked back at his father and his stomach dropped in fear. Oh, dear!
Soon they were in Lucius' private study. Pouring out a scotch, Lucius sat down and motioned for Draco to do the same. "I'm disappointed in you," Lucius began.
"I realize," Draco cut in swiftly, "but I honestly don't think it's your place to be."
Horrified at the words that had come out of his mouth (and honestly, he hadn't meant to say a thing!) Draco looked down, but he kept his cool. It wasn't that he was afraid of his father, it was just that Lucius, when angry, often had a Mood™, and those were bad, and if things went badly, Draco wouldn't get all the things he wanted, and…
"You don't think it's my place to be?" Lucius echoed disbelievingly. "I'm your father! Of course it's my place to be!"
"But," Draco pointed out, sighing—he'd already begun the argument, he'd have to finish it if he wanted to keep his ego bruise-free—"She's my wife, not yours. How should it matter to you?"
"Well, she's family now, as you said. Shouldn't I have a bit of a say in who becomes family and who doesn't?"
"I suppose, but honestly, you had too much say. And to tell you the truth I didn't even love Sally Anne!"
His father didn't look surprised. "Can't blame you there," he replied derisively, "but honestly, a mudblood is no replacement."
"She's not just a mudblood," Draco argued hotly, "she's also an annoying, goody goody Gryffindor freak! Can't you see that?"
And that was what it had come down to. Draco's thoughts had finally assembled themselves into one coherent sentence. When his circle of society saw her, they just saw mudblood, but she was more than mudblood. She was annoying. She was irritating. She was a Gryffindor graduate. She was best friends with Potter and Weasley. She cared about stupid things.
"I see," Lucius said stiffly. "You've taken a liking to her?"
"No!" Draco protested vehemently. "Not at all!"
"Hardly," Lucius snorted, "is that why you're screaming about it? I'd say you find her rather attractive. It's not a sin. She's pretty."
Draco was left speechless. What was with him? This was the second person in one day to leave him speechless. "Excuse me?" he finally managed.
"There's nothing wrong with finding her attractive. But you can't marry her! You've got to marry a proper witch; can't you see that?"
"She is a proper witch!" Draco was once again shocked by his traitorous mouth. He wasn't even thinking about these things, they were just spewing out of his mouth.
"Very well." Lucius' eyes hardened. "You too shall join her in researching. A divorce is absolutely necessary. Oh, and Draco? I've cut out half of your inheritance."
"Half?" Draco sputtered.
"Half," Lucius repeated firmly. "I never expected to do that, but you've saddened me, son. I'm ashamed."
For the third time that day, Draco couldn't think of anything to say in response.
A/N: I love writing this fic. I really do. It's my favorite besides the Bachelor, of course, but since that's finished now I can focus on this one. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it; please drop a few lines in a review and tell me what you think of the chapters. Too fast, too slow? Just right?
Oh and guess what, everyone! It's my birthday today, August 11! Yeah! And guess what makes a great gift? Reviews!!
I love you all so much!