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Chapter 2:

Draco felt a shift in the wards before he ever heard the ringing of the floo. Granger was en route. As he walked down the hallway to meet her, he looked around, amazed at what he and Nelly had been able to accomplish that morning. Malfoy Manor had come alive again. Potted paperwhites, his mother's signature decoration, were everywhere, adorning the buffet, table and sculptures by the main stairway. Fresh pine cones crackled in the roaring fire. Draco had braved the freezing temperatures that morning to gather them himself, his hands and face red afterward from the cold and exertion. Nelly had scolded him for not wearing gloves and demanded he drink a cup of piping hot coffee before moving on to his next task. He'd laughed at her indignation; it was eerily reminiscent of his mother. Or perhaps Nelly had been more influential on the young bride of Lucius Malfoy than anyone had known.
After he was done with the coffee, his next undertaking were the floors, a job his elf demanded he do since he'd been the one to slosh in a mix of snow and sludge that morning; not an easy charm to master, but his efforts had been worth it. The rich hardwoods now glowed with the pale winter light reflecting off snow banks outside the windows.
Inside the manor, delectable fragrances now filled the air, replacing the former mustiness. The clean lemon of the floors competed with the fresh evergreen of the cones and the sweet, musky fragrance of the flowers. But topping it all were the savory aromas wafting from the kitchens. Draco didn't know what Nelly had made for their meal, but it smelled divine. Thinking of his elf, Draco had been astounded at the renewed vigor and energy she'd displayed. Just the thought of Hermione coming to visit had given her a shot of hope. And she'd not been the only one who'd felt the change.

After they'd cleaned and polished up the rest of the manor with powerful spells that had Draco in awe of house elf magic, it was time for them to do the same to themselves. He jogged upstairs to his chambers, taking two stairs at a time. When had he last done that? And whistling? He couldn't remember the last time he'd bothered, but here he was now, trilling a tune he hadn't thought of since childhood. Once inside the shower, he'd made the water as scorching as he could stand it, causing the mirrors in the bathroom to fog. Afterwards, wrapped in a fluffy towel from the waist down, he took pains to groom himself. The first thing to go was the facial scruff. Next was the shaggy hair. Using his wand, he shortened the length of it to something a bit more presentable. He did forgo the gel, however. Draco had no desire to revisit his former style or remind Hermione of who he used to be. Turning his head left, then right, he finally nodded, pleased with the result. He looked as he should; like himself. A modern European aristocrat. He finished with a splash of his favorite cologne…. in for a knut, in for a galleon, he thought. Besides, it couldn't hurt.

Descending the stairs, he decided to check on Nelly to see if she needed help with any last minute chore. He smiled when he saw how she was dressed. She'd donned her best hat; a pillbox fascinator that sat jauntily between her large ears. Next, she'd chosen a scarf, a soft cashmere one his mother had given her, to wrap around her tiny frame like a kimono. He had to admit, she made quite an adorable picture in it.

"Trying to impress, are we?" he teased as he helped her move a large pot off the stove.

She merely smirked back, a saucy one that made him want to laugh. "Nelly sees she's not the only one. Master is very handsome, indeed."

Draco blushed. "Shush, elf."

"Nelly's only saying what's so."

Draco was saved from further embarrassment when the floo chimed. Hurrying to the foyer, he slowed his steps before walking into the room. Hermione was beside the hearth, shaking off soot from her cape.

"Here, let me help you," he said as he reached over to brush her back and shoulders. That close, Draco couldn't help but get a whiff of her perfume. It smelled like…well, he didn't know how to describe it. Only that it brought to mind soft silk and heavy spices and long winter nights curled in front of a fire. Images began to race through his mind; his face reddened when they took an inappropriate turn. Momentarily distracted, he bumped into her, only for his hand to become caught in her hair. Her soft, luxurious hair.

"Oh dear," Hermione murmured. "Sorry, let me help."

Her nimble fingers tried to undo the damage, but Draco's cufflinks had apparently decided to take up permanent residence in her curls.

"Ow," she whined after moving the wrong way.

Now Draco was even more entangled. "Blast," he muttered under his breath.

His arm was now entwined around her frame, Hermione's nose just centimeters from his neck. He looked down just as she was looking up and became ensnared by the color of her eyes. He'd never realized before how enticing the color brown could be. He hastily looked away. That was a mistake; his gaze landed on her lips. Soft, full lips that were begging for attention. Lips that seemed so close. Too close.

Oh Merlin.

He began to sweat.

Just at that interesting moment, Nelly popped into the room, took one look at the situation and snickered, "Master should be waiting until after his meal before he has dessert."

"Nelly," he growled.

Ignoring him, she snapped her fingers to release them both. "Nelly is so happy to be meeting you, Young Mistress," she said to Hermione. "Here; let me take your coat. Now, follow me, please. Everything is ready to eat."

Too bewildered at what had just transpired, Hermione didn't even comment on the Young Mistress, but did as she was told and removed her cape. Draco was hard put not to whistle when he saw what she had on. Hermione was a vision. The dress, a rich velvet material, reminded him of the robes worn by his mother for their annual winter galas, except that she'd never looked so beguiling. With a deep v-neck, the sheath dress wrapped around Hermione's waist and ended just above her knees. And the best thing about it? The color. A glorious Slytherin green.

"You're perfect," he breathed, not realizing he'd said it aloud. When it dawned on him what he'd done, he looked everywhere but at her. Could this day get any more humiliating?

I've turned into a bumbling sap…..and….and is she laughing at me?

Sure enough, when he ventured to peek at her face, Hermione was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Perfect, huh?"

"Yeah…well, I'm sorry." Then with a panicked expression he said, "No! I didn't mean that you weren't…..I just meant….." he trailed off when he saw her laughing. "Good Lord. I can't get anything to come out right. You are perfect….but I guess I shouldn't have said it. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Surprising him, she took his arm with her own, still chuckling. "Please, it was a compliment; what girl doesn't like those? And you didn't make me uncomfortable. On the contrary. What's more, I can easily return the praise. You look incredible. Smell incredible, too."

Incredible. Draco couldn't stop the smile that bloomed on his face.

"Master…..are you coming?" Nelly had turned to look back at them, tapping her foot; a sure sign of her impatience. "The food tastes best now."

"Yes, alright. We're coming."

As they followed the tiny elf into the dining room, Draco saw what she'd done. The draperies had been shut; the only light was coming from a candle centerpiece that was giving off an intimate ambience. Two place settings close together at one end of the table were in keeping with a romantic tête-à-tête. Draco wanted to laugh; obviously, Nelly had an agenda. She must have thought he would need all the help he could get wooing the witch who was currently hugging his arm. He had to admit, she was probably right.

"Won't you be joining us?" Hermione asked her.

She shook her head, her ears flopping comically. "No, Mistress….not for the meal. Maybe for pudding, though."

Draco helped Hermione into her seat, then took his. Once seated, he heard Nelly sigh in satisfaction at the cosy scene they made before snapping her fingers. Plates suddenly appeared, filled with succulent rib roast, yorkshire pudding, potatoes and carrots. On separate plates, side dishes of lobster salad and curried pears emerged next to their water goblets. To top it off, waiting at the buffet was Draco's favorite Victoria Sponge.

"Oh, my," Hermione said. "This looks amazing. Far better than what I served you at the mission."

"Don't disparage the stew; I thought it was delicious," he said earnestly. It had been the first meal he'd eaten since the war that hadn't tasted like ash.

Hermione took a bite of the beef and moaned. "This is superb. Nelly is a fantastic cook."

"Be sure to tell her that. She will be so pleased."

"I do hope she'll join us later," Hermione said before taking a small sip of the wine. "Um, this is good, too."

Draco glanced up from cutting his meat and nodded. "Yes, I believe it's a premium vintage."

After taking another sip, Hermione took a bite of her salad before confessing, "I admit, I know next to nothing about wine. By the time I was old enough to drink it, I was surrounded by nothing but butterbeer and firewhisky."

"Your parents never had any when you were home?" Draco asked before remembering what she'd told him about her mother and father. Wincing at his thoughtless question, he hurriedly said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…."

Hermione placed her hand on his forearm. He wondered if she knew it was resting right over his dark mark. "It's fine, Draco. I don't want you walking on eggshells around me. And to answer your question, no…..I don't think they ever cared for wine. To be honest, they didn't drink often. I can only recall them doing so at holidays or on special occasions; but when they did, my father preferred a good, stout ale; my mother was more of a gin and tonic kind of woman."

"How odd….my mother loved gin and tonic, too. Father didn't approve, as he said it was a muggle cocktail, but she never listened to him. Tasty was tasty, she would always say, and if he complained too much about it, she made him have a glass with her. Sometimes I wonder if he kicked up a fuss just so he would have an excuse to have one."

Hermione chuckled. "Well, I agree with her assessment. It is tasty. Far better than Ogden's, if you ask me."

"Ah, that tells me you've never had Ogden's Special Reserve. Believe me when I tell you there is nothing better than it."

"Really? Now you've made me curious. Perhaps Nelly can bring us some to go with our dessert."

The meal went on in a leisurely fashion, both Draco and Hermione desperately wanting to learn who the other really was; both wanting to move from their painful past. Both hoping that something positive would come of their time together.

In the background, Nelly watched. The old elf was pleased with what she was hearing. Young Mistress was exactly what her Master needed, not that she ever thought she wouldn't be; after all, the purest forms of magic couldn't lie. Her own magic was singing with joy at their growing harmony; she could feel it getting stronger with each minute the couple spent together. Nelly closed her eyes, reveling in the bliss it brought. It felt so good to feel the thrumming of power again.

When it was time to join them for the last course, she brought with her a small crystal decanter.

"Nelly heard what her Master said about his father's whisky," she said as way of an explanation. Pouring a finger's worth for each of them, she held up her glass for a toast. "To my Master and Young Mistress….may this be the first of many happy new years for you both."

Draco's eyes darted to Hermione's, hoping she wouldn't be offended, but all she did was blush prettily and said,"Thank you, Nelly. And may the same be said for you as well."

Together, they clinked their glasses and drank the strong but delightful beverage before digging into the cake. Hermione gently included Nelly in the conversation and drew her out, asking her many questions but always framing them in a way that made her sound interested rather than intrusive. Draco watched Nelly preen with pride that Young Mistress would be so keen to know all about her. But he wasn't fooled; he knew what Hermione was doing. In learning about Nelly, she was also learning about him. How he'd been as a toddler, as a young child. His likes and dislikes. His hopes for the future.

She was interested in him, too.

He laughed at his elf when she poured herself another helping of Ogden's, smacking her lips in satisfaction while excusing herself saying, "Nelly's throat was quite dry, Master. Nelly's not used to talking so much."

"Quite right, Nelly; take what you need," he said while refraining from mentioning the untouched glass of water next to her dessert plate.

"I feel like I need to move after a meal like that…. or either take a nap," Hermione chuckled.

A brief picture of the two of them cuddled together for an afternoon kip flashed through Draco's mind, making him quickly suggest a tour of the house.

"Ah….well…"

For a second, Draco didn't understand her hesitation until he recalled the 800 pound gorilla in the room. During their luncheon, he had actually forgotten. Now, he felt like an idiot. Of course, she wouldn't want to see where she'd been tortured. Who would? It wasn't as if he couldn't understand; he'd been abused in that room, too; many times, in fact and went out of his way to avoid it whenever possible.

"Not every room," he hastened to assure her. "I mean….I would never….."

It was Nelly who cut to the heart of the matter. "Mistress shouldn't worry about the drawing room. Nelly vanished all of the dark that remained there. It's gone now. Only the Mistress's blood remains."

Well, that was hardly helpful. Draco grimaced when he saw Hermione blanch at the word blood.

"Thank you, but I think I'll still pass on seeing it. Maybe I could see the gardens instead?" she looked to Draco, silently begging for help.

In the snow? he thought to himself, but only said, "I know what you would enjoy." Taking charge of the matter, he placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her down the hallway to the library.

"Thank you," she murmured when they were out of earshot.

"Not at all. I think you'll find this warmer than the gardens, at any rate."

She grinned at his teasing until he opened a massive wooden door, carved with images of magical beasts. "Ladies first."

"Oh, wow," Hermione breathed when she entered the room. Easily the largest space in the manor, the Malfoy private collection was massive.

"I don't think I've ever seen this many books in one place before," she said, whirling around to take it all in. Gesturing with her arms, she excitedly asked, "How were you ever able to leave all this to go to Hogwarts?"

Draco laughed. He'd forgotten how adorable she was when she was enthusiastic about something.

"I told you I was spoiled."

"Huh. No kidding," she muttered as she walked around, touching a book here and there. Some of the titles had her laughing. "A Wizard's Guide to Mardi Gras? Who in your family was interested in that?"

"I believe it was my grandfather. He'd always wanted to travel to New Orleans, ever since he'd heard it was haunted. So why not go during carnival?"

"I'm sure he would've been right at home wearing a feathered mask."

"As long as it was a peacock one," he quipped. He watched as she stopped in front of another bookcase, looking intently at the shelves. A few moments passed before she pulled out two of the books, balancing them in her hand.

His curiosity got the better of him. "What are those?"

Hermione looked up at him. Biting her bottom lip unsurely, she hesitated before saying, "Zhāng's Guide to Magical China and Dragons Through the Ages. Could I….I mean, would you mind if I -"

"Borrow them?"

She nodded.

Draco walked up to where she was standing and took the books from her hand. "Where do you live?" he asked.

"What?"

"Where do you live, Granger?"

"Hampstead. Draco what are you doing?"

All he said was, "Just watch."

She did just that, paying careful attention as he opened up a panel within the wall. Inside it was a little box where he put the books. Then with a quick tug on a pulley that was attached to the box, he said, "Granger's House, Hampstead." Immediately the books disappeared in a flash of white.

Behind him, Hermione gasped. "Is that….that's an old dumbwaiter? That you just basically used as a floo?"

Winking, he said, "Now you are learning what pretentious purebloods do when they want to update their homes. Yes, it used to be a dumbwaiter. I think it's more useful this way, don't you?"

Hermione's jaw dropped.

Not waiting for her to reply, he next turned to a sliding door that had at first glance looked like a bookcase. Seeing it made Hermione think of James Bond and all the spy movies she had watched with her father.

"Whenever my mother wanted to slip away from my father's friends, she used this hidden exit to escape. Come on….I want you to see."

Hermione walked to where Draco was standing and waited for him to press the lever. The door slid to reveal a room made mostly of glass. Obviously, the conservatory, if the overabundance of flora and fauna was anything to go by.

"Now, this room is special."

"Oh? Why is that?

"It was my mother's favorite," he said as he let her through to explore the various plants.

Hermione's tender heart ached at the wistful tone he used in uttering Mother. Sensing how deeply he missed her, she recognized the trust he was displaying by sharing with her his mother's favorite refuge. She felt a sudden urge to take his hand; resisting it, she began to look around. The room, although not as big as the library, was still large, filled with cushy-looking chairs, tinkling wind-chimes and a plethora of benches that circled the perimeter of the room, housing the various greenery. A fountain in the middle of the room acted as an anchor, bathing the plants continually with a warm mist. The soft, splashing sounds it made were soothing to Hermione. She could easily understand why Draco's mother had loved this space.

"Did your mum have a herbology mastery? These are exquisite," she said as she made her way around, inspecting the various species. Some of the magical plants were floral, strange blooms emitting aromatic scents; some she recognized as healing plants and others she didn't know at all. Still others were normal muggle varieties.

"What kind of plant is this?" she asked, reaching out to touch an exotic vine with rubbery-looking leaves.

"If you want to keep your fingers, you'll stay away from that one," Draco cautioned. "That plant came from the Black family and who knows where they got it. They thought it was a good joke to display one of them every summer when their home was open to the public. I can't tell you the number of times the NHS and CID showed up, trying to figure out why so many emergency crews were called to the same location. And always for the same reason."

Hermione quickly stepped away from the plant. "They opened their home to muggles?" was what she asked, but Draco could hear the underlying shock in her tone.

He instantly realized his error in telling her the story and wanted to kick himself for his stupidity. Unable to meet her appalled expression, he picked a flower to dissect instead. "Not their ancestral home," he clarified as he pulled the petals, "but another estate they purchased from one of the landed gentry. It's why they bought it; so they could pull pranks like that on unsuspecting muggles. Said it proved their inferiority to be taken in so easily. But if you ask me, I think it showed how barbaric and savage they were."

Hermione's face paled alarmingly.

Pranks. That's what they'd called it. Muggles, families, children losing their fingers and hands had been a joke to Draco's family. Hermione shuddered, suddenly feeling faint; she couldn't help it.

"Pranks…..right," she said weakly before sinking to the floor. Her breath was coming out in raspy gasps. Her eyes watered, seeing nothing. Draco looked up at the sound; seeing her distress, he immediately recognized it for what it was. Hermione was caught in the throes of a panic attack. Cursing himself and the family he'd been born into, he tossed the mutilated flower to the ground and hastened to her side.

A moment later, strong arms gathered her close. Hands began to rub up and down her back. Soft whispers reached her ears.

"Shhh, I've got you," he whispered, gently rocking her like one would a frightened child.

"Draco," she whimpered. She asked the only question she could. "Why?"

"I don't know why," he answered brokenly. "I wish I did. I'm so sorry, Hermione. For every single thing."

For a few moments, there were no other words other than the unspoken ones made up of trembling limbs, shuddering breaths and sighing. Finally, Hermione calmed enough to ask, "Did…you ever laugh about it?"

He pulled her closer. Hugged her tighter. "No. Neither did my mother, if that helps. She was sickened by it."

"And your dad?"

Draco felt a bitter shame but wasn't going to lie. "He thought it was hilarious."

Hermione shivered, horrified that a man like that had actually been a father. That the sweet toddler Nelly had earlier told her about had been at the mercy of that kind of parent.

It made her wonder as to what kind of secret abuses Draco suffered as a child. Children were meant to be nurtured, not exposed to such…evil. She couldn't imagine what his childhood must have been like, even with the privileges he'd had. No wonder he had been such a little turd when he arrived at Hogwarts.

He could have easily been so much worse.

She instinctively wound her arms around him, hugging him close. "I'm so sorry."

I'm sorry you were surrounded by monsters.

Draco nuzzled her curls, touched by her sympathy. "I am, too."

"He….did he hurt you?"

She felt him stiffen at the question. Still, she held on, praying she hadn't angered him. Finally, he said, "Not in the way you mean. I was too valuable; the only heir of two ancient houses."

"I feel there's a but coming."

Draco sighed. "Honestly, if I hadn't had my mother, I might have never known the difference, but because of her, I did. She loved me, Hermione. My father didn't. Not real love. To him, I was a commodity…..a valuable one, mind you…but still something that could be bartered or sold. It took me a long time to see it. I didn't until I was forced to take the mark. While my mother cried, he was urging me on, because it would help him. That's when I connected the dots. My pain, my needs would never be as important as his."

Hermione pulled back a little to look him in the eye. The panic that had consumed her mere moments ago was rapidly dissipating in the presence of her growing wrath. A righteous anger began to blaze in her eyes. "That is….ugh. That is so wrong. How could a father just…sacrifice their child like that?"

Draco's heart warmed at her concern. Nevertheless, he answered, "I think it may happen in life more than we care to admit. And to be fair….although I know you'll have a hard time believing this…my father was better to me than his was to him. At least, he did that much."

Not good enough, Hermione thought, but wisely didn't say it. Instead, she let the soothing bubbling of the fountain have the last word and snuggled back into his arms, feeling a comfort and safety she hadn't felt since she'd last been hugged by her father. Which was odd that it was Draco who was engendering those feelings, now that she thought about it, but she wasn't going to worry about that now.

As for Draco, he wasn't about to disturb the silence, being quite content to cradle the witch to his chest. And for a time, they were both at peace. Needing care. Giving it. However, it eventually dawned on the two that they were holding on to the other as if the end of the world was in sight.

"Sorry," she said as she clumsily stood back up.

Draco gave her his hand to steady her. "I'm not."

Hermione looked surprised. And a bit hopeful. "You're not?"

He stood up, his movements graceful and fluid. She couldn't help but be envious. "Not even a little. Come back over here and I'll prove it."

She laughed and blushed, obviously thinking he was teasing, but he hadn't been. Draco couldn't help but be disappointed when she didn't take him up on it.

"I suppose I've overstayed my welcome."

His face fell, but all he said was, "Oh. Well, no…..you haven't really. But if you're ready to go, I won't keep you."

The smile she gave him was wistful; a sad bittersweet thing that made him wonder what she'd experienced in the past that would cause her to have that reaction.

"Maybe…..that is, if you would like…..maybe we could see each other again?"

Hope flared hard in his heart even while he mourned her lack of confidence. Perhaps, though he could do something about that. "I would love it."

She nodded, her smile genuine now. "Will you call me?"

"I will."

Then in a moment of mad impulsiveness that surprised even him, he moved impossibly close and cupped her face with his hands, staring into her eyes with an expression that was so raw and humble, yet so earnest, it brought tears to her eyes. Lowering his head, he kissed her, a soft tender pull that was equal parts apology and desire.

"Tomorrow?" he asked afterward, his lips still touching hers.

Please say yes. Please don't hex me for kissing you.

He felt her breath against his skin before she answered.

"Tomorrow."