Chapter 28

"There's a quidditch match. I'm not sure if you've kept up with events," Lucius said as they sat at the breakfast table. His parents had an indelible capacity for pretending nothing had happened. It was a capacity he'd seen all his life. Even when Voldemort had been commandeering their house, they pretended nothing out of the ordinary was happening. It was also something he appreciated, because pretending was much easier than them trying to deal with things.

"You always liked quidditch," Narcissa said absently. "I think the both of you should go."

"It would be good to show our faces at things such as this."

"Well, I'm bringing her," Draco said, partially out of curiosity of what they'd do.

They said nothing. "If you insist," Lucius finally said. "We'll go come dark." Standing, he left the room, leaving Draco with his mother. Who also was lost for words right then.

"Mrs. Parkinson is coming for tea this afternoon," she finally said and took a sip of her dainty cup. "I haven't seen Pansy in a while. Not that she's coming, I expect. Have you seen her lately?"

Draco looked at her. She knew full well he hadn't been socializing lately. He'd been too busy keeping grip of his unravelling life. No, it wasn't his life that was unravelling, it was him. Or was this something Hermione had caused. It would be so easy to blame this all on her, but no, this wasn't her. Alright, part of it was her. Exactly how, he couldn't explain. "I don't think Pansy's company is what I crave right now."

His mother knew better than to follow up on that statement. "If the weather's nice, we might sit in the garden."

Was it a terrible thing that he had an urge to stab his mother right then? It was understandable. "I'm sure you can manage the elements," he said and rose. His mother always arrange things how she wanted. Never as obvious as Lucius, but she was just as devious.

He went to his study for a while and just sat there by the fire with his eyes closed, drinking. The alcohol didn't do anything for him. It didn't get him drunk. It didn't change his mood. There was a glass in his hand because he couldn't really imagine what he'd do if there wasn't.

Tonight would be the first time he'd take Hermione out in public. Lucius wouldn't broadcast it, so people probably didn't know he had her. Actually there was only one person who would really care. Marcus. Maybe Pansy.

Actually, she needed something to wear. Placing his drink down on the desk, he called an elf to find her for him. It took a while for her to arrive, and it was her doing rather than the elf having trouble. She didn't like being summoned.

Her hair was tied back with her own hair. It gave it an ordered messiness, but her eyes were sharp.

"We're going to a quidditch match tonight."

"Oh wonderful," she said flatly.

"You need to wear something."

"I don't have anything."

"I'm sure we can find you something. Bellatrix's clothes are here somewhere, I think."

"I'm not wearing that woman's clothes."

"Really? Some would say it would be a bit of a victory wearing your dead enemy's clothes."

"I'm sure I can scrounge up some of Harry's clothes if you want."

Touché. "Fine, suit yourself."

Grabbing his wand, he apparated to Diagon Alley, just shy of Madam Malkin's. "Silk," he said when he walked in.

"Uhm, Mr. Malfoy," the woman said, rushing to him. "Is there a particular occasion?"

"What's your most expensive dress?"

"Well, that would be a ball gown."

"Less formal."

"Uhm," she said and moved to a rack by the wall. Draco was aware that Hermione was suffering every moment this woman deliberated. But then she had chosen this. "This is rather fetching. It's Chinese silk."

"What about this one?" he said, picking up one what was somewhere between a burgundy and a berry color.

"Well, that one is very nice."

The neckline had angles to it. He didn't know the terms for things like that. It wasn't revealing, but it did display. "It will do. I'm sure you can manage to invoice me."

"Of course. Was there anything else?"

Draco was already out of the store and he apparated back, finding Hermione on the floor. Her eyes were glossy and her cheeks rosy. It was the prettiest she looked. That just tortured look suited her. "Here," he said, throwing the dress at her. She caught it belligerently.

"I hate you."

"Yes, I know," he said with false empathy. "We leave at dusk. I can imagine it will be an uncomfortable evening for you if you don't come along."

Another piercing glare and she slinked away. Draco sat again, and noted how much better he felt now than he had before. Messing with her made him feel better.

Time passed and it was time to go. He didn't bother changing, and found his father in the grand hall. Lucius always made an effort and wore a black velvet waistcoat under his robes. And then there she was, the silk of the dress showing off the curves of her body. The color contrasted with her creamy skin. It was tight, marginally a little too tight, but not obscenely so. She looked unhappy. A scowl on her face as she tugged on a bit of it.

There was always something strange about seeing her in grown-up witch's clothes. And technically, she wasn't recognized as a witch. Whore was more her designation now, and the dress suited that label.

"Let's proceed," Lucius said and apparated.

"Perhaps next time we should try a little makeup," he said. The truth was that she didn't need it, but he wasn't about to compliment her. Instead, he held his elbow out for her to take, which she did reluctantly.

It felt strange them arriving as a pair. Whatever complex relationship they had, they could hardly be described as a pair, but here they were, her arriving on his arm, as if she was precious to him. As much as whores were regarded as precious.

The stands were busy, people screaming and laughing. Nothing else created this kind of mood in the wizarding world. Pure, rampant energy. Not quite as much as it had been, but people relished an opportunity to unleash.

Of course they went to the ministerial box. The best seats in the house. Lucius was already there with people he'd invited to join them.

Hermione walked away from her to the balustrade and looked out. From what he knew, she'd only ever been to one real quidditch match—one which had ended badly.

"Better seats than you've ever had," he said from behind her.

"But insufferable company."

"Oh, come on. Something in you always wanted to be in these seats. An opportunity to prove you're better than me. If you'd won the war, you probably would be here right now, at this very game. Where do you think I'd be?"

"In Azkaban."

"My father would never have let that happen. He'd have left enough crumbs to support a sob story good enough to keep us out. He always has a backdoor, and he would have had then too. Ways he would have worked against Voldemort, enough to make people think he was working behind the scene to thwart him. Perception and money will create whatever reality you want."

"It doesn't really work, though, does it?"

"It only has to create doubt. People want to believe in good. Didn't you know that? Show them an inkling and they'll take it, particularly if there's money on the line."

The energy of the crowd was building, streamers floating down to the ground, and fireworks lighting up patterns. The noise was overwhelming. In some ways, it felt a little as if the last few years had been wiped away. Society was restoring itself, happy now to put the past behind it.

Moving over, he leaned back on the balustrade next to her and crossed his arms. "Admit it, you'd have happily been in here then. Me up in the cheap seats—which wouldn't have happened anyway. What would you have given to see me come down a peg or two?"

She couldn't really deny it, because that would be disingenuous, and Hermione wasn't a liar. Equally, she couldn't admit she'd have relished it, because that gave him power—and it made him right.

"I don't want to be here," she said.

"Neither do I."

"I mean, I don't want to be a part of any of this. I don't want to have any part in this society."

"I know what you meant."

They looked at each other.

"Well, well," a terse voice said. "Look who's turned up with my property."

Of course Marcus would turn up eventually. That was more than predictable. As always, he had terrible timing, because it felt as if they were leaving a conversation unfinished. "Flint," Draco said. "Not sure I follow your argument. You lost your property. She wasn't taken—she ran away. I happened to find her. On the other side of the world too. You didn't find her, so I'm not sure you have much claim."

"That's not how property works, Malfoy. You should know what. Granger, come."

"Here's the thing, though," Draco continued. "She doesn't want to leave me."

"I'm pretty sure she does. Granger."

"Well, maybe we're both right. She doesn't want to be with either of us, but she won't leave me. You see, she'll be in sheer, unrelenting agony if she does."

Doubt entered Flint's eyes. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I put a proximity charm on her. And as you can imagine, it's a deep one, because she's uncommonly clever, and at some point she'll get hold of a wand. Can't have that. It's more of an oath, and it's so deeply buried in her skin, it's never coming out. So you can take her, but you'll have to listen to her scream and scream until exhaustion kills her."

"You're a fucking sadist, Malfoy," Flint spat.

Draco chuckled. "I thought you knew that about me. So, as much as I'm sure Granger wants to go with you, because she's very good at getting you to do to her bidding, she wouldn't survive it."

"I'll take you to court."

"I still won't take it off. You know, and I think you suspect this, but I have this irrational thing going on with Granger. Nothing, and I mean nothing, will induce me to take that charm off."

"Unless you die," Flint said menacingly.

"Yes, well. Then again, she might not survive that. I certainly am the kind of demented arsehole who'd ensure we go together. Somehow it seems fitting."

Flint didn't know what to do. There was the possibility that he'd take her out of spite. Would Draco if the tables were turned? Flint, however, didn't have the stomach for torture. Then again, he would never go so far as to imbue a proximity charm into her very body.

"You're fucking deranged, Malfoy. This isn't over."

Flint left with his tail tucked between his legs.

"Seriously, what is wrong with you?" Hermione asked.

Draco sighed. "I'm sure they have a name for it." Where was the bar?

"If that's true, and you put a charm like that on me, it would kick back on you too. Even if you undid it, it would leave remnants."

"Yes, I am aware, Granger. We are tied forevermore."

"They're going to lock you up one day."

"No, they'll lock us up. You and me in a padded cell. Ah, this is the moment you realize that even killing me won't get you out of this. I can see that shock and disappointment in your eyes, but not complete surprise, I suspect."

"You can still undo the charm."

"Most of it. Probably. But then, didn't we just have this 'cannot induce me' discussion a minute ago?"

"Nothing lasts forever," she replied.

"Death does."