Chapter 13

The office increasingly frustrating. People were slow and stupid, and Draco hated having to be patient and courteous to their visiting dignitaries. Most of them even more slow and stupid than the office staff.

What was the point of this? Their governance was strong. Who the fuck cared what the French or Americans did? And why the hell did they need to talk about it? It wasn't as if anyone was changing the way they did things. Cooperation wasn't really in the wizard's nature, so why were they even pretending?

Even so, they still wanted him there, incessantly, to meet people. Because he was a Malfoy. Now it had become an insult for him not to be present. How the fuck had he gotten himself into this?

This wasn't him. This wasn't what he was made for, and at some point, he might lose it when some foreign minister proposes something astoundingly inane.

Looking down at his nails, he tried to cool his temper as he listened to the presentation from the Bulgarians. Something about dragon export. Well, dragons export themselves quite well on their own, Draco was thinking. It was stupid to stand in the way of dragons wanted to do what they wanted to do. Why were they messing with them anyway?

"Alright," Draco said and stood up, and the Bulgarian expert stopped midsentence. "Excellent presentation. We've gained a lot from it." With that, he stood a moment longer and had nothing to say to them, so he walked out. There was only so much he could handle of this. In fact, he left the building. Better that then having to experience his staff trying to admonish him.

The problem was, he didn't know where to go. Nothing came to mind. Pub, no, friends, no. Home, no. There was nowhere he wanted to go. But he couldn't just stand there in the street as people carefully snuck glances at him as they walked past. They feared him. He could feel it. Maybe they were right to. He wasn't right and they perceived it.

Pulling out his wand, he apparated, and didn't really know what he'd decided on until he arrived at the lake near Malfoy Manor. He'd come here when he was younger—when he'd wanted to get away. He hadn't been here in years.

The silence hit like an immovable barrier. He knew if he screamed, it would fade into nothingness. Nothing shifted the silence of this place. Nothing.

The water was black and glossy in the pale light from the cloudy skies. So still, except a fish occasionally causing ripples on the mirror like surface. He'd used to fish, but he had no interest in fishing now.

Taking a few steps back, he sat down against the pine and stretched his legs out. Closing his eyes, he drew in breath and held it. The pale sunlight had a modicum of warmth to it and it felt nice. A bird started squawking somewhere in the distance and he heard the splash of a fish's tail on the surface of the lake.

For a moment, he lingered somewhere between being awake and sleeping, but it was the first time he'd felt relaxed. In all honesty, sleep was a torture chamber. Wakefulness was awesome, but this was tolerable. Maybe he could sit here for the next five years. No, this small little interlude was temporary.

And then she came into his mind. A filthy look she'd thrown his way at some point long ago. At school. She'd been good at those. He hadn't been bad himself, but he'd preferred the cutting comments.

Memories were safe. It was the only safe space inside his head right now. Such innocent hate, he thought and smiled with his eyes still closed.

Pansy was having another thing on tonight. A venetian theme. Draco knew she would dress like the best courtesan of the seventeenth century. What it was that appealed about society girls wanting to dress like whores, he didn't understand. Maybe it was the outrageousness of it, because they could in no way be outrageous in their normal lives. Everyone wanted what they couldn't have.

Obviously, he didn't want to go, but he also knew he felt compelled to. She would be there, and he was curious how Flint would dress her up. Because out of everyone there, she was an actual whore. And she was the only other person who didn't want to be there. While they were complete opposites in most things, they had that in common.

-0-

The music tinkled out and Draco could hear a pianoforte being played. She'd gone all out with the theme. No doubt the space would be luxuriously dressed. For once, Draco had dressed up for the event, in that he'd added a priest collar to his typical black attire and was going as a church inquisitor. It seemed appropriate somehow. Hermione might even appreciate it.

The salon was busy as he walked in, immediately searching for Flint and Granger, but Pansy found him first.

"Who're you here to torture?" she asked and smile when she saw his priest collar.

"Good question."

"You can take your pick. They're all degenerate sinners. Myself included." Her dress was broadly padded around the hips and entirely made of silk. Small little bows ran down the front of the bodice. Bows decorated her hair that had been elaborately done, giving her at least another half foot in height. Pale makeup was expertly done and she looked good.

"I'll reserve judgement," he finally said and again looked around the room. He didn't see her. "Quite a turnout."

"You know how people love to dress up. I'm glad you made an effort. For you, this is extensive. Do you want a drink?"

"I can get one," he said. "I will right now."

Stepping away, he moved on. Truthfully, he was searching, but he didn't see her anywhere. Finally, he saw Flint, who was standing with a group of people, looking ridiculous in medieval Italian robes, which main purpose was to make the person look twice as big as they really were.

"Well, Malfoy," Marcus said, his eyes taking in his outfit. "You dressed up. We're honored."

"It suits my nature."

There was something in Flint's eyes. A challenge, a superiority. This went back to school days. Flint and his relationship had always been awkward. And consistently in meant that Draco wanted to smash the guy's face in. The sentiment was probably returned.

Where was Hermione? Draco couldn't allow himself to ask, but it was what he wanted to know.

"You always were the protector of the pure and decent," Flint said. Was he trying to goad him?

"Someone has to stop people from being their puerile selves."

"Always a charmer."

"Speaking of puerile, where's your companion?" Draco found himself asking, even though he hadn't intended on it.

"She's at home, where she belongs."

Could he possibly have said something more annoying? "Good. It was pathetic you dragging her around everywhere."

Marcus' eyes narrowed, but he didn't rise to the bait.

"I left my drink somewhere," Draco said and left. Truthfully, the need for being there tonight had just dissipated. He hadn't realized how much his actions were driven by her, but they were. Now that she wasn't here, he didn't see a point to being here himself. That wasn't to say he wanted to go home either, and that angered him. He was angry with himself for being like this. He was angry with Granger for meaning something to him, when she clearly shouldn't.

Draco joined in the conversation in some group, barely paying attention and he pondered how much he hated these people for their patheticness and constant need for social assurance.

A dark voice in the back of his head told him to lock the doors and set the place on fire. A voice that wasn't that easy to dismiss.

Fuck, he was not doing well. Maybe he should go on vacation somewhere and regain some equilibrium. That was what's wrong. He was off balance. Getting bored of this, especially as people sought his input, he walked out on the veranda to smoke. The dark stillness was soothing.

"Don't worry," he heard Flint's voice from the door. "I promised her I won't bring her again, so you don't have to see her."

"Promised?" Draco said.

"She doesn't like it, and I like to do what makes her happy."

Draco chuckled. "I see she has you wrapped around her little finger."

Marcus smiled when he came into view. "The thing that I understand about Hermione Granger, that you never did is that she has to love you if you want to destroy her. Nothing less will do it. She had to destroy herself, which is why you never could manage to do it."

The statement was even a little impressive, Draco had to admit. And yes, he knew in his bones it was true.

"You never could," Marcus finished. "And you never will, because once I'm done with her, there will be nothing left for you."

Flint could never be underestimated. Now Draco had to wonder if dragging Hermione around with him had always had a secondary intention in giving her the gift of being excused from it. She was desperate enough to cling onto any kindness, and Flint was pulling her in. It was clever, very clever.

Draco felt hot.

"So forget about Granger. You won't ever see her again," Marcus said.

Draco smile. Then again, maybe this was her doing. She'd said her intention was to put herself out of his reach, and now that had happened. Flint, of course, thought it was all his idea. Oh, they made a good team. But he could also see Granger softening. Beyond a doubt, they were fucking. Flint may well find he's the one stuck in her web.

But there was also an irrational concern that she wasn't quite as strong as she thought she was. Her support was entirely gone. There was only her now, and a deceitful devil whispering lies in her ear. She might not be as strong as she once was.

Everything about this was revolting. Draco wanted to grab Marcus and rip his face off. Then throw him over the balustrade in disgust. This might be as close as he'd come to losing his cool as he'd ever come, but he took another sip of his whiskey and thought about how lucky Flint was to walk back into the salon. Flint couldn't take him in a fight, and put too much stock in Draco not wanting to break the law, because, increasingly, the darkness was winning.

Unable to go back inside, Draco walked the length of the veranda to the edge of the house. He just needed to get away. Energy was burning through him, along with impulses to destroy and create total carnage. Truthfully, he wanted to get to Granger, but she was locked away in Flint's house. It wouldn't be impossible to go get her, but then what?

That was the problem. He didn't have an answer. Maybe it was better for everyone that she stay there.

Rage dogged very step as he made his way to the front of his house, seeing Flint's car. He was so damned proud of that car. As Draco stared at it, it caught fire. It had happened a time or two before, when Draco had unintentionally worked magic on something. Usually destructively. It only happened with intense emotional distress.

He laughed as he watched it burn. This hadn't been intended, but he wasn't going to do a damn thing to stop it either. The car could burn. Flint could burn. There was a satisfaction in watching the flames, but he grew bored. He certainly didn't want to be seen laughing at this. There was nothing left here to do. Fuck them.