Chapter 30

Draco's ring finger tapped incessantly on the armrest. The house was silent, the garden outside the window was entirely still, and he was bored. Nothing, however, could induce him to leave his apartments. Hermione was in the room across the hall. Well, he wasn't sure, but there was only so far she could go.

She wasn't so much a slave as she was a hostage. They didn't have a slave/master relationship. It wasn't as if he was expecting her to do anything. It seemed petty to have her wash the floors, and they both knew this was about something else. There was a certain grace that needed to be shown to a vanquished enemy. The Malfoys didn't necessarily show mercy to enemies, but grace was perfectly acceptable. The gentlemanly thing to do—to give one's condolences as one stabbed the enemy in the heart.

The previous night had been interesting, maybe even disturbing. He hadn't been bored. The facedown with Flint had been entertaining, and then Hermione's venture into the outer zones of consciousness. In all, she'd held herself together as best she could, but she'd been lost to the world. Interesting to note she had no tolerance at all. Seriously, what had the Gryffindors gotten up to in that tower over long winter nights?

But then there was the disturbing part when she'd come out of it. Her thinking of them fucking. What did that even look like? Obviously, it was something she'd envisioned in her drug-addled brain. Was this something that was on her mind? Or had that been a very strategic sentence on her part? That was something he couldn't quite dismiss. Because she was clever. She'd definitely use it as a ploy against him. But how?

Rising from his seat, she paced in front of the window. If she'd wanted to make him ill at ease, she'd succeeded. What he couldn't quite understand was why? That women wanted him was hardly a surprise. It happened all the time, from those who genuinely did, to those who wanted something he could achieve for them. Others were turned on by the power. But Hermione. That was like challenging one of the givens in the world.

Obviously, he'd threatened her with it. But he'd never gone through with it. It would be like personally undermining one of the givens of the world. And at this point, he wasn't sure he could handle more of his reality eroding. He was running out of things that were firm and true. Was this how she was trying to undermine him?

A soft knock sounded on his door and he froze. Was that her?

"Draco, darling."

"Mother," he said too quietly for her to hear. "Enter."

"There you are," she said with a smile as she stepped into the room. "I just wanted you to know we're having some people over tonight. Just some Ministry officials. An envoy from Denmark. Largely it's Ministry business, but it would be good if you could attend."

Her voice that that carefree, light quality of when she was unsure of something. In this case, it was him—how he'd react.

"You can, of course, bring your… companion."

A pleasant way of saying whore, which he'd gone to lengths to convince his parents of. What they thought went on between him and Hermione, he couldn't begin to guess, but it was probably far racier than the truth—as the truth between them was probably much more complex than his parents understood.

"We'll see," he finally said. His answer seemed to please his mother, and she nodded her approval of it.

"Your father is trying to make a deal with the Danish, so this is important to him. To all of us," she added. Whatever it was his father wanted, coal or fish, or something the like, it was hardly important in the scheme of things. Fish stocks, the peacetime battles between countries.

In a way, he was impressed by his father's ability to put the war entirely behind him. It was as if it had never existed. As for himself, he was a fucking mess. Maybe that made his father the stronger man. But then Lucius had been clever to put himself out of harm's way during the war, while Draco had done all the unpleasant things. Maybe that made his father smarter too. But the anger Draco felt was very present. The war still held him firm. He dreamt about it, both awake and asleep. It pulled him back there like a kelpie pulling him underwater.

"Alright, darling," she said and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll let you return to what you were doing. And we'll see you downstairs at six. Our guests are arriving then."

She left and Draco stood staring at the door opposite in the hallway. What was she doing in there? Thinking about him? He stretched his chin forward to alleviate tension in his neck and shoulders. He supposed he should tell her.

He didn't knock. The politeness wasn't necessary. Plus he was curious what she was doing. He found her sitting at a desk in a dressing gown, with one of her legs folded under her. From the look of it, she wasn't actually doing anything.

"Granger," he said.

"I'm still not right from what you did to me."

"That's in your imagination."

"It's not."

"My parents are having people over for supper tonight. You will attend."

Her lips drawn together, she watched him but didn't say anything. What could she say that would make a difference?

Moving to the wardrobe, he opened it. "The red velvet, I think."

"You dress me like a doll."

"That is my luxury and prerogative. You have to do what I say."

The red velvet was the most sumptuous dress he'd had made for her. The intention had been to use it for some kind of Opera performance, but he wanted to see it tonight. The standard of dress would be high, but she would be the most glamorously dressed that night. "You're required downstairs at six."

Throwing the gown on the bed, he left. In fact, he returned to sitting in his chair, tapping on the armrest again. Fuck he was bored.

It was true that he'd drunk quite a bit by the time he made it downstairs, but then he could handle a lot. This amount of alcohol would have most people rolling on the floor, like Granger, but he was barely tipsy. Just a little more relaxed than he would be otherwise. It seemed that alcohol held him together at the moment.

Granger wasn't there and his mouth grew tight. He wanted her to be there. His parents were both there, along with official for Magical Cooperation and his wife. Technically, he was still responsible for international relationships, even as he hadn't been to the Ministry in… he didn't know how long. Someone was clearly doing his work for him. Probably his father, or someone his father trusted.

A movement drew him and she stood in the doorway in the red velvet gown.

"Miss Granger," his mother said. "Don't you look lovely. Please, join us." His mother did the introductions, as if Hermione was a cherished guest. It was all about the image they presented. What could they say—this was the mudblood girl he'd taken hostage and like to torture intermittently? That his whore would be joining them for the evening?

The gown was beautiful. The dark, rich red made her skin glow in pale comparison. He hadn't realized how pale her skin was, because she could tan. She'd always returned tanned and golden brown on the first day of school. But she was pale, her skin smooth like cream. Her hair had been done up with the curls cascading down her shoulder. Her lips as red as her gown. She shook hands with the guests, and stepped aside as more guests arrived.

Finally she looked at him. Her brown eyes warm with the color of the dress. She looked uncomfortable, but it was impossible to say the getup didn't suit her. She moved toward him. "I'm overdressed," she said quietly.

"They will assume you're the kind to try too hard with everything," he replied. "Not far off the truth, is it?"

Her skin was rather distracting, and the men in the room did like to watch her. Oh, now, he couldn't have them thinking there was opportunity, so he stepped close and leaned his head down to her exposed shoulder, placing his lips on that smooth, creamy skin of hers. Her skin was warm, and up this close, he could see a pink tint to her cheeks. This made her uncomfortable, but she knew she couldn't react.

"I think you know how I want you to act tonight," he said close to her ear.

"Like you are the sun I turn to for warmth."

"Another thing that was true from last night."

"Yes, we're all about truth."

Hmm, like the truth about what went on in her head? "They think we're devoted lovers."

Leaning closer, he kissed her shoulder again. This one, he didn't strictly need to. The message had been conveyed to all and sundry. This one, he'd actually just wanted to—to feel her soft skin to his lips again. Maybe also to make her uncomfortable, but if he were honest, this was entirely self-serving.

"I need a drink," he said when he stepped back. He needed space, because his mind was going in a direction he didn't want to go. Maybe in the direction of how white and smooth, and warm, her thighs were. Having her up against the wall in that dress, kind of direction.

Clearing his throat, he moved to the bar and poured himself another drink. This would pass. Maybe choosing that dress had been a mistake. He'd made her an object of desire, and then had gotten caught in his own trap. He smiled. Dealing with her was always going to be tricky and unpredictable. Well, he certainly wasn't bored. Now he had an image of them fucking in his head too.