Chapter 37
Draco felt better than he had in a good long while. He felt like he could breathe. No one came, no one went. In this little bubble, he was alright. But then he was also offended by the idea that he was weak enough to only be alright locked away in his house. He wasn't that kind of person.
Hermione, however, wasn't alright. She was pacing and stressed, and he didn't understand why. He wasn't hurting her—she wasn't threatened with anything. There was calmness, and he thrived in it, and she didn't. Honestly, he couldn't claim to understand her. That wasn't true. He did, but he didn't understand her right now.
Did it bother him that she was off kilter? No, not really. Not as much as the smug and arrogant person she could be. In fact, his emotions towards her were contradictory. He both wanted her to suffer and not at the same time, as if there were two completely different parts to his personality.
The part that wanted her to suffer was perhaps not as interesting, and as obscure, as the part that didn't. But come dark, they needed each other. All notions of intention, or pretense, or whatever, were out the window. He wasn't sure he could sleep without her there now. When he dreamt, and the horror woke him, her warmth calmed him. Perhaps you needed an enemy to calm you when faced with the horror you were.
And the sex. It was unbridled. How had he not foreseen what a gift her hair was? Lush and generous, and it wound so lovely around his hands. It was something he didn't think he could live without. Hermione's plan of him getting tired on her was failing so far.
So how long could they be stuck in this house? He didn't want to leave. People were stupid and pointless, and there was nothing but aggravation out there. But even he recognized this wasn't healthy. Which meant they should do something.
Now that he thought about it, the idea grew on him. They would go away. He'd brought it up before, but Hermione had said no. Not that it matters as she had an inherent flexibility. There was always an option to be away from him, but she wouldn't choose it.
With a satisfied sigh, he wrote a note and sent it off. Then he went in search for her, and found her sitting in the salon where she stared out the window. "We're going away."
"What? Now?"
"Yes. Pack."
She looked stunned and ready to challenge him, but she didn't really have anything to challenge him about. "Where?"
"Somewhere warm."
"How long?"
He shrugged. "I don't know."
Rather than face a hundred more questions, he left. She knew what she needed to know. Instead he went and packed himself. It was obviously something he could leave the elves to do, but that never worked out well. A tactical mistake. Elves had poor understanding of what went together.
Actually, it was nice to think about something as mundane as what he should wear—something he hadn't given consideration to in years. Everything went with black, especially black. But black wasn't suitable where they were going, so this was quite a leap out of his comfort zone. Comfort zone wasn't the right word. This didn't make him uncomfortable, it was merely unusual.
He wasn't sure what he was expecting out of this, other than it was something different. Until just recently, he hadn't had any longing for anything different. To be completely honest, he wasn't sure he could tolerate this a month ago. They were changing. He was changing. Maybe that didn't mean anything other than him being able to step outside of himself for a moment. Maybe a week.
But just lately, he'd started to crave it. That craving hurt a little, like using a muscle that hadn't been used in a long time. Then again, this could be utterly disastrous. Hermione would be there to be his crutch, or his whipping boy, if needed. Whatever he felt, he could focus on her, in anger or hate, or whatever was necessary to counteract a potential disaster.
Something inside him warned him from doing this, from stepping outside of this quiet space he had here, because he'd reached a balance and now he was upsetting it. This was probably a bad idea, but it wasn't anything that could be reversed.
Lifting the pile of clothes he'd selected into a smaller trunk, he followed it with the necessaries, then closed it. The elves would have to make sure it was delivered. When he got downstairs, however, Hermione was carrying her case.
"You've forgotten how things work in the magical world," he said and took the case off her.
"Maybe I reject how things work in the magical world. I have come to your way of thinking, that I utterly and completely don't belong here."
Oh, she was in that kind of mood. "Then, let's leave."
The doorbell rang, just on time. Instead of waiting for the slow elves, he opened it himself. "Thank you," he said, taking the package. "Are you ready?" he said, turning to Hermione.
She didn't want to answer him. But it was typical that she got a bit ornery when she didn't know what was going on. That need for control made her tetchy.
"You recall the function of a portkey, I'm sure," he said tersely and she looked at him with murderous eyes. Didn't she know it had the opposite effect on him?
Unwrapping it, he put it on the vestibule table and checked his watch. "Not long. Hermione, dear, be my guest."
Steeling herself, she placed her hand on the key. It was an actual key, a nice touch. Then he placed his on hers, and felt as it activated. Portkey travel was never pleasant, but better than the alternative. Warmth and sunshine met them. Hermione looked around. "Where are we?"
"Nascostaidil," he said and looked around too. It was exactly as he remembered it. The foreign smell, the diffused bright light. Everything was different, and it felt so very far away. A different world. It was a different world. That was the point of it. "Come," he said.
The main house stood on the highest part of the island, white against the deep blue sky. Turrets and outcrops—a house that had been added to over centuries. He would have to change out of his black suit. The sun was already absorbing into the material.
The stairs led up to the carved wooden doors surrounded by glass motifs. Little had changed that he could see when he got inside. The house had a comforting feeling he remembered now.
"Mr. Malfoy," said Emil, who stood behind the reception desk. "It has been a very long time since you've visited us. And now you come on your honeymoon. Such a joyous occasion."
Honeymoon. Was that what they looked like from Emil's perspective? Well, they would be the right age.
"I have a beautiful room for you. Wonderful views. Come, come," he said, taking a key off the board behind him and walking ahead of them to the stairs leading up. This house wasn't dark and gloomy. It wouldn't suit it, but it was old.
The portly man led them down a corridor with large paintings of local sights to a room where he swung the door open. Light streamed into the hallway. A large room with a bed facing doors that opened to a balcony. The bed and walls were pale in color, the art in the color of the sea. Blues, greens, the pale yellows of this area. This was nothing like England.
Honestly, he wasn't sure why they'd come here as a child. His father hadn't come. It had always been his mother and one of her cousins. Maybe it had been her way to escape her marriage for a few weeks. It had felt like forever at the time, but he'd enjoyed it. There was much to do and explore for a young boy.
The white curtains drifted in the breeze and he could smell the salt and the warm land.
"This is stunning," Hermione said. Draco took the compliment personally.
"I wish you the most pleasant and relaxing stay," Emil said and bowed before leaving.
"Why didn't you correct him?" Hermione demanded.
"About what?"
"About us being on our honeymoon. Why would you let him think that?"
"Because it would bother you."
She stared daggers at him. "Are you saying my unsuitability isn't written all over me?"
"I'm sure it would be remarked on as unconventional."
His trunk was already there, as was her small suitcase. Draco took his jacket off and lay down on the bed. It was strange being here—utterly strange. Hermione stepped out on the balcony and he could see her through the sheerness of the curtains.
It only took moments for him to eyelids to grow heavy. Part of him wanted to go explore the cliffs and the sea, but sleep was encroaching. Maybe they would spend their entire time here with everyone around them thinking they were on a honeymoon. That amused him.