Thanks for all the reviews! I appreciate them very much. I am still awed at the great reception my fic has received.
And thank you to Adie for all her help!
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Hermione immediately moves away from Malfoy on arrival.
"Where are we?" she demands, finding herself in the middle of a long, narrow room that is softly lit with free-floating candles.
"We are in the Apparation Room at my home in Wiltshire," Malfoy says as he pulls his cloak off with a flourish. He throws it up in the air and a ghostly hand materializes to catch it. Both the cloak and hand vanish in a whirl of blue smoke. "Your coat, Hermione?"
"It's meant to stay on, thanks," says Hermione, hugging herself. "Are we having our date here?"
"Yes. I thought some privacy would be in order."
"What's the matter, Mr. Malfoy?" Hermione asks brusquely. "Ashamed to be seen in public with a Muggle-born witch?"
Malfoy's lips quirk upwards with amusement. "Actually, I thought you would be the one to appreciate the discretion."
Hermione harrumphs, even though it is true. However, the idea of being completely alone with the man in his own home fills her with apprehension. She is quickly beginning to regret her refusal to let Harry come along as a chaperone.
"Shall we?" asks Malfoy.
She ignores the proffered arm and walks past him, through a large, stone archway that leads to the center of the house. She knows it is foolish to turn her back on Lucius Malfoy but she is determined to show him she is not afraid.
So this is Malfoy's home…
In her most wild imaginings, she has envisioned a gloomy but decadent castle littered with Dark Art artifacts and the rotting corpses of unfortunate Muggles who were unlucky enough to cross Malfoy's path.
Or, perhaps more realistically, something along the lines of Grimmauld Place.
The truth is something of a let down.
Malfoy's home is simply a very large manor house richly decorated in the ornate French style of the eighteenth century. If not for the bold touches of magic and whimsy, Hermione can just about believe she has stepped into the past, into the home of a landed Muggle aristocrat. Any second, she expects some dandy of a man in a powdered wig and brocade waistcoat to step out of one of the many rooms.
Large Wizarding paintings hang on nearly every inch of every wall. Curiously, all the people in the portraits have their backs turned although they whisper amongst themselves in both English and French.
Hermione assumes they refuse to show themselves because she is there.
"I don't think your relatives approve of me being here," she says as Malfoy joins her side.
"It's not you they disapprove of," Malfoy says dryly.
"Father! Who is she?"
Hermione jumps at the unexpected sound of Draco Malfoy's voice echoing through the halls. The painted figure of the teenaged boy rudely shoves a young witch in purple robes out of the painting closest to Hermione.
"Who are you?" he demands, sneering down at her. "You look like a bloody Muggle!"
She is momentarily struck speechless. The last time she has seen Draco, in any form, was on the Hogwarts Express at the end of their sixth year. Hermione never knew what happened to him until Malfoy joined the Order to avenge his son's death.
"Don't you recognize me?' asks Hermione.
Hermione has learned quite a bit about the nature of Wizarding portraits from Dean Thomas, who works as an artist as a side job. The levels of consciousness in each portrait varies according to skill of the artist. The Malfoys have undoubtedly paid for the best and it is obvious in this eerily lifelike Draco. He will recall her eventually, even if he doesn't at this precise moment.
"Why would I know a dirty Muggle?" he asks snidely. "Father! Why have you sullied our home with some Muggle whore? Are you going to torture her? Can I watch?"
With a white-knuckled grip on her wand, Hermione glares at the painting, aching to conjure up a bit of paint remover.
"Come along, Hermione," Malfoy says quickly, as if sensing her destructive thoughts. "Allow me to show you around my home."
"Hermione?" Draco repeats from behind them, an inquisitive lilt to his voice. "I know that name - wait a minute!"
Hermione uneasily lets the elder Malfoy lead her away. He takes no heed of Draco, who is continuing to call after them, and Hermione chooses to do the same.
As Malfoy gives her a cursory tour of the manor's public areas, Hermione is once again struck at how utterly normal everything appears on first glance. There is nothing to suggest that she walks in the home of an infamous Dark wizard.
On further thought, Hermione realizes that it suits him. Prior to having been exposed as a Death Eater, Malfoy tried to portray himself as an honorable pillar of the community. Naturally, his home will reflect that.
However, like the man, it is merely a façade of respectability. Hermione has no doubts that beyond the grand and innocent-seeming rooms there are other places here. Places full of evil and death. Perhaps it is merely her overactive imagination but Hermione believes she can feel some sort of dank darkness seeping into her skin.
Shivering, Hermione banishes the ominous thoughts from her mind. She knows she must remain alert and focused if she is to survive this night.
Hermione has always had a thirst for knowledge of any sort, and to her consternation she finds herself more than a little fascinated as Lucius shows her about, pointing out many items of historical and magical significance. She is not about to let Malfoy know that, however, and bites hard on her tongue to prevent herself from asking questions about the various antiquities.
Her little charade of detached boredom ends when Malfoy takes her to the manor's library. Shelves bulging with books have been built into every wall. Hermione cannot resist taking a quick peek at the titles, making a mental note of those books she has not yet read.
There is a massive book resting on a marble pedestal that most interests Hermione. The book is parted right down the very middle and spans longer than the breadth of her arms. Each side of it is thicker than a foot high. A large globe of light floats over the book, illuminating the aged parchment of its pages.
"What is this?" asks Hermione, bending over the book to get a closer look. Spidery, black ink crawls across the pages, depicting what is obviously a very old family tree.
She wonders if all Pureblooded families have ostentatious shrines to their lineage.
"This book contains the history and secrets of the Malfoy family," says Malfoy as he runs his fingers down the side of the book, lifting the pages slightly and giving Hermione a fleeting view of long passages of text and the occasional sketch. "It is priceless. In telling the story of my family, the history of the Wizarding world is made known as well."
As Malfoy speaks, Hermione inspects the tree, feeling very much appalled. Her mouth gaping open, she tries to trace the family lines. A most difficult undertaking given the way the lines zigzag and traverse across the pages. It is rare to see a name that is not already connected to several others.
Malfoy is so inbred that it's miraculous that he is not deformed in some way. She gives him a sideways glance, wondering if he hides any abnormalities in those voluminous robes of his.
"Very impressive, is it not?" Malfoy asks with pride in his voice, evidently mistaking Hermione's reaction as reverent awe.
"It certainly is," is Hermione's diplomatic answer.
"This book has been passed down though generations of Malfoys," says Malfoy as he tenderly caresses the book. "Every Malfoy is required to read it in its entirety. A task that takes years to complete. You see, Hermione, for a Malfoy, family is valued above all. Our loyalty is first and foremost to the Malfoy line." Malfoy pauses reflectively. "When the Dark Lord murdered my son…my heir, I had no choice but to see him destroyed. Family honor, among other things, called for it. I don't think the Dark Lord expected my betrayal. He never understood how important family could be to a man."
Malfoy's voice is cold and distant as he talks of the son's death. However, the tension around his eyes and mouth reveal that he is not as apathetic as he may have liked to appear. His fingers trail over the page, lingering ever so slightly on Draco's entry.
Hermione looks away. Her opinion of Malfoy notwithstanding, she is not surprised that he loved his son. Yet, she does not want to think of Malfoy as a man with feelings. A cold-hearted monster is what he is. A murderer of innocent Muggles who have done nothing to him but exist. A man who has preached for years that people like her are not fit to practice magic.
Better to remember him as that, and nothing else.
The tour ends in a lounge done in muted blues and greens. Malfoy motions for her to sit on a fragile-looking divan.
"We will dine shortly," he says as he positions himself behind a large, well-stocked bar. "Would you care for something to drink?"
"No, thank you, Mr. Malfoy," says Hermione, primly crossing her legs at her ankles.
"You may call me Lucius," offers Malfoy.
"I don't think so," she says curtly. "And please stop using my name. It suggests an intimacy that does not exist and never will."
"Never is an awfully long time, Hermione," says Malfoy, moving to sit in a light blue chair with thin, curved legs that look like they cannot bear the weight of air, let alone all of Malfoy.
An awkward silence ensues.
Awkward for Hermione, at any rate. Malfoy appears perfectly at ease, content to leer at her as he drinks slowly from his glass.
"How did you manage to keep your home from the Ministry?" asks Hermione, mostly to fill the silence although she is genuinely curious. As far as she knows, all Death Eaters have lost all of their holdings, including their properties.
"The Ministry had no hope of confiscating Malfoy Manor," says Malfoy. "And they were not stupid enough to try. It is heavily protected and the wards prevent any unwanted persons from gaining entrance. Hence the need for me to Apparate you here myself. Had you tried alone you have endured a very nasty death."
"Harry got in," Hermione points out.
"I remember," says Malfoy, with a small frown. "I must say, he and that werewolf are well suited. Cut from the same cloth, they are."
"And what cloth would that be?" snaps Hermione, hearing the disapproval in Malfoy's voice. "The kind that produces good, decent people?"
"Good, decent people don't make threats on others' lives."
"That's rich, coming from you," Hermione says with a rough snort of laughter. "You know nothing of goodness or decency."
"I can be decent when the occasion calls for it. Haven't I been all night? Even though you have been exceedingly rude? I normally don't tolerate such behavior. But, the situation being what it is, I am willing to forgive and forget."
"It's all an act," Hermione says as she pretends nonchalance by idly tapping her wand on her knee. "Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, how long do you plan on continuing this pretense of wanting to court me? It's becoming very tiresome."
"It's no pretense, Hermione," says Malfoy. "I once told you that you could question me under Veritaserum. The offer still stands"
"You've found a way around it, no doubt."
"Determined to disbelieve, aren't you?" Malfoy drawls lazily. "Why else would I engage you in L'Amour Contractuel?"
"You merely want to have a little sport with me," Hermione says with conviction. "This is just a game to you."
"A game?" scoffs Malfoy. "My dear girl, it is crude to speak of the financial costs of "L'Amour Contractuel but I can assure you that it is very expensive for the suitor. I am not one to throw away vast sums of money for a little game. Not only that, this courtship is a time-honored tradition of my ancestors. I would never disrespect the practice by initiating it falsely."
Hermione sighs inwardly. She is not surprised that Malfoy is unwavering in his ruse of wanting to court her. Getting to the truth will be extremely difficult. She is not so foolish to think she can outwit him by employing subtle Slytherin tactics, however, she doubts that a direct approach will work either. Malfoy likely has several lies prepared for any questions she may ask.
Perhaps it will be best to go along with everything for now. If Malfoy isn't on the offensive, he may let something slip about his true agenda.
"I can see that you are still skeptical," Malfoy says as he leans towards her, his eyes never leaving her face. "That is to be expected, I suppose. I suspect that there is nothing I can say to convince you otherwise. However, for now, your belief or disbelief matters little. I do not give up easily. The passing of time, if nothing else, will prove the sincerity of my courtship."
"I'm afraid you are very wrong, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione says at once. "If you attempt to give me another gift, I will refuse it, and the courtship will end."
Malfoy chuckles, low and deep, then relaxes back into his chair. "We'll see."
Hermione is about to protest further when a tall grandfather clock chimes the eighth hour.
Malfoy rises to his feet. "Time for supper."
He courteously helps a scowling Hermione off the divan. She keeps a wide distance from him as they walk out of the lounge.
Instead of the dining room, Malfoy leads her to a set of glass-paned doors that open to the outside.
"I have arranged for us to dine in the garden," he says. "I thought it would be more intimate."
The garden is much more in line of what she expects of Malfoy's home.
Menacing, it is. Dark green vegetation covers the vast grounds. Sinister-looking plants with spiky thorns, pulsing pustules, and creeping, crawling vines bunch up along a wide pathway. Hermione suppresses a shudder as the tendrils stretch out to languorously stroke at her bare ankles.
The path ends at an open courtyard. In the center sits a sculpture of tree made of black marble. It is a life-sized representation of the Malfoy crest with jade stone serpents twisting around its naked branches. Beneath the tree is a small, round table covered in iridescent linens.
Malfoy helps her into her chair, which isn't so much a chair but a very large marble hand that shoots up directly from the ground. She squirms as the fingers shift on her back, adjusting themselves to her shape.
It is not yet dark. The sun hangs low in the distance, casting its sunset rays over everything they touch. Malfoy's pale form takes on the color, giving him a dreamy, almost angelic appearance.
Shortly after Malfoy takes his seat, their food and place settings shimmer into existence. For their starters come miniature gougères. The elegant little cheese puffs are artfully arranged into a pyramid on a small silver plate.
Hermione eyes them dubiously.
"They've not been tampered with," Malfoy says with a small smirk, biting into one of his own. "Although you are welcome to verify that with a detection spell. Go ahead. I won't be offended."
Hermione has thought to do just that, albeit furtively, but now that Malfoy has made the suggestion himself, she can't give him the satisfaction. Hoping she will not pay for her pride with her life, she takes a tentative bite of the top most gougère.
It is unlike any cheese puff she has had before. Sharp and mellow cheeses blend with truffles and garlic, all baked to perfection. She takes another, fighting to keep the rapture of it from showing on her face.
She mustn't have done a very job for Malfoy says, "Like that, do you? It is one of my better creations."
Hermione chokes. "You made this?" she asks incredulously, once her throat clears.
"Yes," Malfoy says smugly. "I prepare most of my meals these days now that Narcissa has passed. She thought it tacky to cook for oneself and insisted on letting the elves do it. While I agree to a point, I'd rather not have a filthy house-elf touch something I am going to put in my mouth."
"And why is that?" asks Hermione, popping another cheese puff into her mouth. "Scared they might try to poison you? Understandable, considering the horrible way you treat them."
"You've been talking to Dobby," says Malfoy. "Is he still at Hogwarts?"
"Yes. He has two children now. Both girls."
"Are they like him?"
"If you mean desirous to be more than oppressed slaves, then yes they are." Hermione beams. "Dobby is a shining example to house-elves everywhere."
"Must be something bad in the blood," Malfoy says contemplatively. "I was good to be rid of him, then, if his progeny are as abnormal as he. I suppose Potter did me a favor."
"Dobby is not abnormal!" grumbles Hermione. "What he is-"
"What he is," interrupts Malfoy, "is a defective house-elf. A rarity among his kind. You'll not find many more like him."
"There's plenty more like him," insists Hermione. "They are afraid to speak out, afraid of the abuse they'll receive from cruel masters like you if they do!"
"Contrary to popular belief, I do not fritter away my days by abusing my elves," says Malfoy, his voice ringing with mirth. "Dobby was a difficult elf and required firm handling. I may have been ruthless in my discipline with him, but he was the exception, not the rule. For the most part, I do not bother with the manor's elves as long as they do their work to my satisfaction. Were you to speak with them, you'd find they are a content if not happy lot. In all honesty, they'd be more frightened of you than they would be of me."
"Why would they be scared of me?"
"Because you want to free them," Malfoy answers quickly. "The cruelest thing you can do a house-elf is to give them clothes."
"Freedom is not cruelty"
Malfoy peers at Hermione over the rim of his goblet and tilts his head. "Hermione, have you ever actually talked to an elf, other than Dobby? Or have you merely read about them in those books you're so fond of?"
"Of course, I have!"
"Then you must not have listened to what they had to say."
"I listened!" snaps Hermione. "And what I heard sickened me. Centuries of brainwashing-"
"Brainwashing?"
Hermione's heated tirade cools in the face of Malfoy's confusion. "Umm, yes, it means-"
"I get it," Malfoy says derisively. "What silly phrases Muggles invent."
"Yes, well, they have obviously been conditioned to believe that they are not worthy enough to have the rights they are entitled to."
Malfoy bursts into laughter. "Oh, Hermione, you do have an answer for everything, don't you?"
"What I have is an incredible difficulty believing any sentient, intelligent being wants to be owned."
"Why?" asks Malfoy. "It even occurs among humans. Take Bellatrix Lestrange, for example. The Dark Lord owned her completely…willingly. His will was her will. It was her singular life's purpose to serve him."
"That is hardly normal."
"It is for a house-elf. Look at your most wonderful Dobby. He has his freedom but what has he done with it? Precious little. He works at Hogwarts, serving the residents just the same as the enslaved elves. And why? Because it is his innate nature to be a servant to man."
"It is because wizards refuse to allow him to be anything else."
"Is that so?" asks Malfoy, grinning. "Ask him what he'd like to do most, if given the chance. I'd bet my last Galleon that it is exactly what he is doing right now."
"Yes, it is so!" exclaims Hermione. She tosses back her hair with righteous fury. "But I plan on changing that. It will be my life's work to improve the lives of house-elves."
"Ah, yes, I've heard all about your spew."
"It's S P E W!"
"Whatever it is, it is a horrible idea." Malfoy pauses as he indulges in a cheese puff and chews thoughtfully. "Hermione, you do realize you are merely contributing to the ill will already directed towards Muggle-borns, don't you?"
"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?" Hermione asks furiously.
"It means exactly what it means," says Malfoy, serenely. "It is always the same with you Muggle-borns. You come into the Wizarding world with your Muggle mentalities, judging everything…trying to change everything. It's as if our world isn't good enough for you as it is. Continue on this course if you wish, Hermione, but prepare yourself for a very hostile response."
Hermione glares.
"What? Would you rather I speak falsely?" he asks with a lifted eyebrow. "Would you rather I flatter you with pretty, little lies and compliment your so-called forward thinking?"
"I'd rather you not speak to me at all," says Hermione, coldly. She folds her hands together under the table and refuses to look at him, staring at her empty plate instead. A few seconds later, it disappears and new one appears. It is larger than the first with a braised lamb chop, roasted potatoes, and stalks of asparagus lightly covered in a white sauce.
Hermione would like nothing better than to throw the plate in his face and walk out of there but she doesn't think she'll be able to safely Disapparate off the premises without him. She has splinched herself once before and it is an experience she doesn't care to repeat even if it means having to endure Malfoy. She concentrates on eating instead, determined not to enjoy the delicious meal simply because he made it.
Malfoy speaks as they dine, although Hermione doesn't acknowledge him. The topics are safe and neutral initially. As the meal and Hermione's silence continue, his words become more charged, intended to provoke. He seems to take some perverse delight in angering her but Hermione will not play his game. She will not give him the pleasure of her fury.
Hermione remains closed-mouthed and calm when Malfoy tells her the new policy of making Muggle Studies a required class is a waste of valuable money and time.
She begins to fume visibly when he says the laws that will make life a little easier for werewolves like Remus Lupin are a huge danger for society.
She breaks when Malfoy pleasantly enumerates the many reasons wizards are far superior to Muggles.
"Stop now. I've heard enough."
Malfoy concedes with a nod as he waves his wand over the table. The remnants of their main course fade away and in their place come their afters, for which Malfoy has prepared a luscious-looking chocolate tort with a creamy, orange-flavored filling.
Hermione frowns at Malfoy as she tucks into her torte, but oddly enough, she prefers him like this. Although he is still frustratingly polite, and his glib attitude is grating her every nerve, he is showing himself to be more like the hateful, ignorant man she knows him to be. Now all he has to do is call her a filthy Mudblood and things will be right on track. She finds herself anticipating it, wanting it to happen.
Malfoy is supposed to hate her, revile her very existence.
And he does, Hermione is certain of it. However, for whatever reason, he is choosing to pretend otherwise. Does he think her daft enough to fall for it?
"You know, Mr. Malfoy," begins Hermione. "For someone allegedly interested in courting me, you're doing a horrible job of it."
"You are right," says Malfoy, after a very long pause. "But you must understand, I am very much out of practice. It has been more than two decades since I last had to woo a woman."
"And you've just called attention to one of many reasons this is an ill-thought venture," says Hermione. "Even forgetting our history together, and the fact that I do not wish to marry for some time, if at all, do you think I would want to be involved with man of your age?"
"You are thinking like a Muggle," says Malfoy. "Twenty-five years difference will mean nothing when we are in our hundreds."
"Well, it means something now. Besides, we'd never make it that long. If, through some ghastly twist of fate we do find ourselves in the state of unholy matrimony, one of us will surely murder the other before the honeymoon ends."
"Perhaps," says Malfoy. "But, you have to admit, things would never get boring."
"I can do without that kind of excitement, thank you," says Hermione as she brings her fork down to her plate for another piece of the chocolate torte, only to discover that she has already consumed the entire slice. She jealously watches as Malfoy slowly savors the remainder of his own.
Malfoy pauses just as he is about to eat the last piece. He then abruptly holds it out to Hermione. The tantalizing piece of cake hovers millimeters from her nose and mouth. She clamps her lips tightly together.
"Don't be ridiculous," says Malfoy, waving the fork slightly. "You want it. Take it."
To her everlasting shame, Hermione's mouth opens on its own will. Malfoy carefully feeds her the torte then taps the back of his fork against her lips.
"Good girl," he says, then rests in his chair to pat at his mouth with a napkin. He glances about the night sky. The sun has set but the moon has not shown itself. "We still have a little time before the second half of our date can commence, if you wish to freshen up or such."
"And what would the second half be?" asks Hermione as Malfoy needlessly assists her out of the hand-chair.
"The dancing."
"I don't like to dance," Hermione says quickly. Dancing means more then just touching Malfoy. It means being wrapped in his arms for prolonged periods of time. His fingers pressing into her back as he directs her towards the manor is too much contact as it is.
"That's all right," says Malfoy, with a mysterious smile. "You won't need to."
Inside the manor, Malfoy shows Hermione to the bathroom and waits outside. She is pleasantly surprised to discover that the bathroom is a fairly modern; not quite what she'd find in a Muggle home, but close. She honestly expected Malfoy to use enchanted chamber pots instead of toilets.
When she returns, Malfoy takes her to the manor's entrance hall.
"Where are we going?" asks Hermione. She hopes it's not too public a place.
"Not far," says Malfoy as he flicks his wand towards the floor. Hermione then notices that the floor is covered in beautiful Persian rugs that begin to twitch and flutter.
"They're magical carpets! They're illegal to have, you know."
"Yes…" says Malfoy, smirking. "But that is unimportant. Which would you prefer to ride?" He points to one eagerly waving its tassels at them. "That one is the fastest but is a bit unstable at times. The one at the end is the most comfortable but dreadfully slow."
"That one," Hermione says decisively. She isn't afraid of heights or flying even but if she is to be zooming through the air, she prefers it be while strapped to a comfortable seat and encased in several metric tons of metal. Naturally, she doesn't say this to Malfoy. He'll only point it out as further evidence of her Muggle mentality.
"Well then," says Malfoy as he enchants the selected rug to float just at their knees. "Let us go."
xxxxx
And there was chapter 5. I hope you all enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think. As always, any type of review is appreciated, even if it's to tell me you didn't like it.
I am very excited about chapter 6. The second half of their date is something I have wanted to put in a fic for years, literally. It's just seems like the perfect thing to do on a Wizarding date. I never got to the chance to include it in a fic until now. Here's a hint: Originally, I did intend for Remus to chaperone their date. Then, I realized it was necessary for their date to occur on a full moon night so Remus was out.
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