Chapter 34

Draco wanted to go out. This wasn't something she was particularly looking forward to. The purpose of this outing was something he kept to himself. Maybe it was to goad Flint, or just to embarrass her further. That was something he seemed to delight in.

Again he'd provided her with a dress he wanted to see her in. She looked at it lying on the bed through the mirror. It was more muggle than the last one he'd brought her. What was the message he was trying to send with this one?

He was with her every night. Things had changed between them, and she wasn't sure how to define it. Something about him was calmer, but there was still craziness under the surface. At least he seemed less volatile.

And the intimacy… It felt both natural and not. It fed something for both of them, and that scared her. It wasn't possible for her to be as aloof and distant as she'd been with Flint. Draco demanded more. He wanted her presence.

Exactly what it was he wanted from her, she didn't have a grasp on. But it had removed part of the tension between them. Maybe more for him than her. Then again, he was the one who'd been adamant he'd never touch her. Now he was in her bed every night.

With a sigh, she put down the powder puff and got up to walk to her bed. Why this dress? What was his intention with this? To highlight her muggle heritage? Was that the message he needed to send when he was spending himself in her every night? But then, when had Malfoy not been full of contradictions?

Pulling the dress on, she checked herself in the mirror. It was soft and sexy, made of silk. Cut on the bias, it hugged her body. He was definitely sending a message with this dress. Again it was red. Consistently he chose Gryffindor colors. If she got cold, this dress would be even more revealing.

A soft knock sounded on the door, and she knew it was him. "Come in," she said and the door opened as she turned to him. With the light behind him, she only saw the silhouette of him as he leaned against the door. For a moment he didn't say anything, and she didn't press him. They were just silent. In a way, squaring off.

"Where are we going?" she finally asked as she turned around to face the mirror again, hearing his soft steps as he approached her. She could see his face now, but there wasn't goading or disgust that she was in his face.

"You need some sparkle," he said, and she felt cold metal snake around her neck. Like a shackle made of gold. The necklace had a huge ruby.

"Is this real?"

"Of course."

"Where did it come from?"

He didn't answer.

When he was done, he wrapped his arm around her and apparated them away to arrive somewhere dark. They were in front of a house and it was cold. Again he'd dressed her too coldly. The windows were bright and she heard music. A nice house. Someone important lived here. It looked familiar, but she couldn't place it.

Draco led her up the stairs to the main door, even so she preferred to stay in the dark and cold to whatever was in there. Why had he taken her there? What was the motive behind this?

The door opened to brightness, music and the excited murmur of people. A pureblood party. It had that undercurrent of viciousness that they so adored. What form of humiliation awaited her here? On some level, she figured the relationship between her and Draco had changed, but was he still trying to humiliate her? Or was this about something else? At home, frankly, they were fucking too much to bother about humiliation, so it'd be interesting to see what had changed with him.

The intimacy between them had made everything more raw. It had weakened her defences. It wasn't something she'd chosen, but it had happened nonetheless. Draco was harder to keep at arm's length. Maybe because he pushed so hard to get closer, blowing through her barriers and defences. But there was still an unanswered question about what he intended to do with that intimacy. And would she still crave him after he'd decimated her?

Oh good, they were all here. All the people she hated. Pansy was approaching. "Draco," she said sweetly. "I see you brought your pet. I should have specified no animals allowed," Pansy said tartly. Pansy went on to ignore her completely, trying to monopolize Draco's time. "You have to let me introduce you to Maestro Wilhelm. He's famous for his prophecies. He tells us the juiciest things."

Slipping her arm in Draco's, Pansy led him away, and Hermione followed. She saw Flint across the room, and his expression suggested he wasn't happy. Hermione would feel sorry for him if it wasn't for the fact that neither of them actually cared about her. She was a toy they fought over. So, in fact, she didn't feel sorry for him at all.

This maestro sat in a chair with a rapt audience around him, who hung on his every word. "Ah, we have some lovers," he said, his attention shifting to Hermione. An easy guess considering they'd arrived together. The declaration didn't please Pansy, however. Oops, it looked like her guest of honor had disappointed her. The maestro hadn't foresee that. Or the fact that he wasn't supposed to talk to her. "I foresaw you coming," the man continued.

"Did you?" Hermione replied. He was trying to draw her in with smoke and mirrors. That's what people like him did. Sham artists, all of them.

"Please, Maestro," Pansy said. "She doesn't exist."

That didn't seem to make him stop considering her, and Pansy grew even more sour. "Come, Draco. I have to show you this object. I knew it would tickle you. Very dark."

Draco allowed himself to be taken away, but not far enough that the proximity charm would inflict her.

"Will I marry Henry Galdeish?" a woman asked earnestly.

"Sorry, no," the man said and she burst out crying. "There's a better man for you."

"But I want him," she whined and Hermione could barely contain an eye roll. It was still dangerous for her to be too noticeable. Any of these people could turn on her at any moment, and there was nothing she could do about it if Draco allowed it. She wasn't allowed to have opinions, or thoughts in general. Nor much of an ability to defend herself. She was here as decoration because Draco had chosen it.

Turning away, her eyes sought him out, finding, he was over along the far wall, Pansy still talking and smiling, playfully touching his arm. Like the crying woman behind her, Pansy had always wanted Draco. At some point they'd been an item, or so Hermione believed. But Draco had moved on. Pansy hadn't. It had to rile Pansy that he spent his time and energy on someone so utterly beneath him.

"Certainty seems like a rare commodity in an uncertain world," a voice said and she turned to see the Maestro next to her. Now she really wanted to roll her eyes.

"People are what they are, and that can always be depended on," she said back.

"Not if you blind yourself," he continued. Alright, he was really annoying her. "Sometimes we make up narratives about who we think people are and give them no flexibility to move away from it."

"You obviously don't know these people."

"No, I don't. But I give opportunity for people to surprise me." He gave her a rose. Red with plush, buttery petals. That wasn't naturally grown this time of year. She appreciated its beauty, although she didn't necessarily appreciate receiving it as a gift. Gifts were always a minefield.

"Isn't that the literal opposite of what a soothsayer is supposed to do?"

"Correct wrong impressions? That is what we do."

Apparently there was a little snarkiness to him, which made her think a little bit better of him. He moved away.

Pansy had now walked into the center of the room, a drink in her hand. It was clear that she loved entertaining, and being the center of attention. "A little supper is served, everyone," she said with the brightest smile and a tinkling voice.

No, Maestro was wrong. Pansy was exactly as she was. Insecure, grasping and desperate to retain her position in society. How boring could a life be?

A shift of Draco head suggested he wanted her to join him, which she did. This certainly wasn't the stage on which she wanted to show defiance. Of late, defiance ended up with her in bed. Alright, there wasn't always actual beds involved.

He walked with her into the dining room and as they got into their seats, the rose in her hand accidentally scratched him with one of its thorns. He didn't notice so much, only drew away instinctively. Just a slight prick, but she noticed. How had that happened? The charm should have prevented it. Maybe the charm was based on intent, and the fact that it had been accidental had made it fly under the radar.

Moving the rose over to his hand resting on the table, she pressed the stem lightly into the back of his hand. This time he noticed the prick. "Where did this come from?" he asked, picking the offending rose out of her hand.

Never mind where it came from. Where was the charm reaction? "The maestro gave it to me."

Draco's eyes clouded over, like they did whenever a man paid attention to her. It really pissed him off. "It was a gift with the suggestion I don't take people at face value."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco said sharply. He really was aggressive to people who paid attention to her. She could see the tension in his body.

Nevermind that psycho possessiveness bullshit. Why had she just managed to purposefully scratch him? That shouldn't be. Maybe the charm had worn off. Could she hurt him? How much? Fully? Had the charm worn off completely?

Heat rose up her body. She could hurt him, and she wanted to do it again to prove her theory, but he'd notice. If this was correct, she could take this knife in front of her a slit his throat. He had no idea. Looking over at him, she watched him as he watched the German man with narrowed eyes. She could inflict violence on him, on the king of violence. That was a dangerous game. She could whack him over the head with a heavy object when they got home. She could set him on fire. Push him down the stairs. Although if she didn't do it properly, he'd come for her with the vengeance of someone who knew how to hurt people.

"You alright?" he asked. He was looking at her now. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"No, fine," she replied. "Just wishing you wouldn't lose it when a man gives me a compliment. Contrary to what you think, it happens quite often."

His eyebrows rose. Distraction served and delivered. "Oh really?"

It actually did happen quite. "Wizarding men have this belief that muggleborn women are easy, for some reason. As if we'd be impressed and so desperate for legitimacy, we'd eagerly jump into bed with them. They think it's something they could prey on, so they tried it on, quite often. Slipped in their attempts when others weren't paying attention." She wasn't surprised he hadn't noticed that not everyone had thought her as repulsive as he had. A base assumption on his part. Those attempts had changed with the war, though, because they'd become too scared to be caught doing it. Cowards all of them.

Draco was just staring at her. "What? In school?"

"Well, not in school. Dumbledore didn't hire perverts. Outside of school."

For all his observation, he'd had no idea. Then again, she hadn't told any of her friends about it either. She'd gone out of her way to sweep that under the rug whenever it happened. Tried hard not to put herself into positions where they had opportunity. It had just been something she'd had to be wary of.

She looked back at him and he was still staring at her as if trying to make out if she was telling the truth. "I'm not lying."

"Who?"

"This is hardly dinner conversation. And I don't owe you a list."

His eyes narrowed again.