Chapter Three
After being shoved offstage, Hermione was led into a separate room from where the other witches and wizards were being kept. She could hear the chaos breaking out in the auditorium behind her, the shouts and clattering of chairs as people stood and began to react. For a moment, she was secretly pleased that she had caused so much of a stir to the Ministry's carefully laid plans. It was their own fault, after all.
The Auror that led her to the private waiting area was a man named Johnston, whom Hermione knew from work. They were not close, but it was uncomfortable for her that one of her coworkers – almost one of her employees – was the one now directing her around like she had been arrested. He left her alone in the small room, and she sat down on a chair and put her head in her hands, trying to collect her thoughts. She prided herself on her ability to be logical before all else, but her tumultuous and emotional feelings were putting a spanner in her attempt to calm down.
It was nearly ten minutes before the door opened, and she looked up expecting to see her friends or, Merlin forbid, Draco Malfoy. Instead, it was Angelica Franklin. She had watched the girl's bidding from the side of the stage, only a few people behind her, and had heard that she had been won by Blaise Zabini.
"Um, hello," Angelica said, clearly uncomfortable. "They brought me here, because Blaise and Draco are going to come fetch us I think?"
Hermione scoffed and stood. "I won't be fetched," she said sharply. Angelica blinked and then gave a little nod, taking a seat in another chair. Hermione noticed that Angelica did not seem as upset as Hermione felt – she actually seemed excited, looking to the door expectantly. Did she want this? Did she want to be purchased, to be owned? Unbelievable.
The door opened and Ginny Potter entered, flanked by Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. Ginny looked calm and collected, and walked straight to Hermione. She pulled her into a quick hug, and Hermione watched over Ginny's shoulder as Blaise approached Angelica and held out a hand to help her up. He was smiling at her, kindly, and stood close to her, bending down to speak quietly in the witch's ear. Angelica gave an understanding nod, and Hermione watched in shock as they laced their fingers together and left the room.
Then Hermione looked at Draco Malfoy, and she was angry. She pushed herself back from Ginny and rounded on him, cheeks flushing bright red and fists clenched.
"You," she snarled. "You arse. Are you pleased with yourself, Malfoy? Do you think you've accomplished something here?"
Draco felt like an idiot, because he hadn't been ready for Granger to be angry at him. He had expected her to cry, or to ignore him, or maybe even be diplomatic, but for some reason the idea that she'd be angry had not crossed his mind. He tensed up and sneered at her.
"Oh, I'm very pleased," he answered. "What a lovely addition to the Malfoy family collection – Gryffindor's Golden Girl!"
Hermione strode forward and shoved him, hard. Draco stumbled back a step before he righted himself and walked towards her, crowding into her personal space, aiming for her to back down and shrink away. She did not.
"I am not an addition to your collection," she snapped, almost chest to chest with him.
"I don't know if you misinterpreted what just happened, but I own you, Granger," Malfoy sneered, staring directly down at her. "You're whatever I want you to be."
Hermione laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. "You don't own me, Malfoy," she chuckled. "But you are now obligated to be with me. How does it feel to be forced to sully your family's bloodline? I'm sure your father will be thrilled to hear about your wife." She nearly spat the word, eyes flashing. His silence was the confirmation that Hermione needed to know that she had bested him. She took a step back and stared him down.
"Alright, are you both done now?" Ginny asked. "This is ridiculous. You're both children." Hermione whirled to look at her friend, feeling almost betrayed that Ginny was not defending her.
"Ridiculous?" Draco and Hermione both demanded. Hermione looked behind her and scowled at Malfoy, then back to Ginny. "I hardly think I'm reacting inappropriately for the situation!"
"No, not at all," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes. "You've just shouted at me and pushed me. And all that after your friends tried to kill me. Not ridiculous at all!"
Hermione whirled back around to face Malfoy. "I wish they would've," she answered shortly. "It would save me the trouble later."
"Shut it!" Ginny shouted, now angry. "Do you both realize that you will need to tolerate each other's presences? We are not in school, we are not children! You two will behave like adults!"
Ginny was right. Hermione knew that for the next two years, she would have to tolerate Draco Malfoy's presence. It seemed that Draco knew this, too, because he did not have a snarky response to Hermione's thinly veiled death threat or to Ginny's commands. He looked almost resigned. But Hermione was angry, and now she was also hurt that Ginny's support was not solely for her.
"I'm going home," she said after a moment. She hesitated, giving Ginny time to argue with her, but when she heard no objection Hermione turned and started towards the door.
"Granger, stop," Draco called. "I want you to come to dinner tonight."
Hermione stopped walking and rotated towards him, eyes flickering briefly to Ginny. Ginny gave a slight nod of her head, encouraging her to say yes, and Hermione's gaze shifted back to Malfoy. He stared at her expectantly, trying his hardest not to show the desperation he was feeling. He needed her to cooperate here. She needed to agree with him.
His stare turned pleading and he saw her stubborn façade falter for a brief moment before her gaze turned stony again and she responded with a simple: "No."
She walked swiftly from the room, leaving Ginny and Draco alone. Ginny regarded him apologetically and patted him lightly on the arm before following her friend out. Draco looked after them, then sank into a chair and put his head in his hands, threading his fingers through his hair. This was going to be an uphill battle, and one that he was not sure he was equipped for.
Hermione's annoyance with Ginny evaporated as soon as she was outside, and it didn't take much for Ginny to convince her to come back to Grimmauld Place. At the root of it, Hermione understood why Ginny was trying to coax them towards each other. They were legally obligated to partake in a two-year marriage, and there was no reason for them both to be miserable and unhappy. Trying to come to an understanding would benefit the both of them.
Not to mention the issue of a child. If they had a child and did not stay together, they would have to be amicable for the sake of that child. Hermione refused to raise a child in a household with parents that despised each other. She had had friends growing up in situations like that, and she had seen the pain it caused them.
But she hadn't even had time to process everything that had happened. The Ministry mandate and the auction had taken place in less than three days, and since she and every other single witch and wizard of age had received that owl, there had been no time to contemplate what was happening.
When they arrived back at the Potter's residence, Hermione excused herself to one of the many rooms filled with ancient texts. She had a favorite, one that had one of the few windows in the home, which overlooked the back garden. The books in this room did not emit auras of dark energy. Most of them were ancient wizarding history books, and had not been tainted by the darker side of the Black family. Once, Harry had told her this had been where Sirius had spent a lot of his time.
She sat in an oversized chair with her feet tucked up under her, facing the window with one of the large tomes in her lap. She wasn't reading, but the weight of the book was comforting. She was watching the pieces of paper she had enchanted into birds flutter around the room. She liked the way they moved freely through the air and how beautiful they looked in the beams of the dying afternoon light.
Behind her, the door creaked open. "Hermione? Do you want supper?"
It was Harry. She looked over her shoulder and saw that he was hovering in the doorway, not willing to enter the room until he knew how she'd react. She had been upset when she arrived, and everyone had strived to give her time alone.
"No." Her voice was full of stubborn determination, but Harry could hear the rivers of emotion that spun underneath the icy reply. He adored Hermione for her steadfast determination, but sometimes it hurt her more than it helped her. He sighed and stepped fully into the room, standing behind her chair and giving her shoulder a little squeeze.
They watched the birds together in silence for a while. Harry was worried for his friend. He doubted that Draco Malfoy would physically hurt her. Harry had seen Malfoy for what he really was during his trial – scared, confused, and regretful even if he didn't want to admit it. So no, Hermione was not in any physical danger. But her emotional state was another matter entirely. Two years was a long time to spend with someone, especially if you didn't want to be with them. He had no doubt that Hermione would grow to care for Malfoy because of who she was as a person. They would spend time together. He wondered if Malfoy would come around them, if he'd join them for holidays or for the weekly dinners at the Burrow.
The mental image of the cold and aloof Draco Malfoy being mothered around by Molly Weasley, unwrapping a hideous knitted jumper, and being teased and tormented by the rest of the Weasley siblings was so foreign and hysterical to Harry that he laughed aloud.
Hermione looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "What's got you amused, then?"
"Sorry," he laughed, shaking his head. "I was just imagining Malfoy at Christmas dinner with Molly. I can't wait to see what kind of hell you're capable of dragging him through."
Hermione laughed too, then. "He'll have to earn his way into my good graces first," she muttered, shaking her head. "No one comes to Christmas dinner if they don't deserve Molly's kindness."
"Oh, I'm sure he'll give it his best effort," Harry answered. "You made a dent in his fortune, he's not just going to let you run off." He squeezed her shoulder again. "Come on. You need to eat, and Cho's making mince pies."
Her stomach betrayed her, audibly growling at the mention of the pies. She mournfully set the book aside and stood, disenchanting the paper birds. They fluttered into a neat stack of smooth, uncreased papers and she smiled with satisfaction. The disenchantment was always a little harder than the enchantment.
When she and Harry arrived downstairs, her spirits lifted considerably. The smell of dinner wafted from the kitchen and she could hear the quiet voices of her closest friends talking around the table. They did not talk about the auction, or about Draco Malfoy, or about what the next few weeks would bring. They enjoyed dinner together, laughing and teasing, and they all felt a small sense of normalcy, which they clung to well into the night.
"Well? Draco?" He had barely stepped out of the hearth before Narcissa was upon him. She looked at him anxiously, brushing soot and stray hair from his forehead. He moved his head back and tried to sidestep her, wanting to disappear into his wing of the Manor and hide for the foreseeable future.
"Draco, sit down." Her tone was commanding and Draco gave up his plan to escape to his room, collapsing onto the leather sofa. His mother smiled at him and settled herself into her own chair, across from her clearly frazzled son. She folded her hands and looked expectantly at him, waiting for the news. Draco just stared at her, working his jaw as he tried to decide how to tell his mother what had happened.
"It was disgusting," he said after a moment, looking down at his hands. Narcissa frowned.
"Draco, we've discussed this. You need to abandon these ideals that your father…"
"No, not that," he cut off his mother. "It was like a livestock auction. It felt wrong, it felt demeaning. My disgust has nothing to do with blood purity."
Narcissa was quietly pleased with Draco's response. The fact that he was disturbed by this showed her that he saw these other witches and wizards as humans, something that her husband had not. It gave her hope for her son's continued growth and recovery from his confusion.
"Did you see Blaise there?" she asked, deciding not to directly ask Draco who had bid on. When he nodded, she asked, "How did it go for him?"
"He got Angelica Franklin. She went to school with us." Narcissa nodded slowly, unsure who Angelica was. She figured Angelica must be a lovely girl for Blaise to have chosen her. Narcissa had grown to be very fond of Blaise and thought that he may be the first friend that Draco had ever had that wasn't a bad influence.
"And what about you, Draco?" she broached carefully. "Who is she? I had hoped you'd bring her for dinner."
Draco laughed and leaned back in the chair, tipping his head up to stare at the ceiling. "No, Mother. I don't think she'll be at the Manor for a very long time, if you want my honest opinion." He couldn't imagine that Hermione Granger would be thrilled to spend any significant amount of time in the home she had nearly died in.
"Who is she?" Narcissa repeated her question. "And not that it matters, but how much did you spend?"
"Two -hundred-thousand galleons," Draco answered, forcing himself to look at his mother for her reaction. She inhaled and sat up straighter, eyes wide. It was not an insignificant amount of money, even for them. Unlike many of the Pureblooded families of old money with ties to Voldemort, they had been allowed to keep the majority of their fortune after they had paid mandatory reparations. The Black and Malfoy money was old money and not in any danger of running out, but two-hundred-thousand galleons was a large amount.
"On who, Draco?" Narcissa pressed.
"Hermione Granger."
Narcissa did not speak for a long moment, staring at her son. When she had told Draco to choose well, she had imagined he would have picked someone that was quiet, unknown, non-controversial. Like her son, she hadn't even considered that Hermione Granger would be an option. Hermione Granger was stubborn, hardheaded, intelligent, and not altogether unattractive. She was a force of nature. She was a prolific figure in Wizarding society.
It was then that Narcissa connected what Draco had said about bringing her to the Manor.
"Hermione Granger," she said quietly. "The same Hermione Granger that…" she trailed off, and looked to her right, out the doorway that led into the main hall of Malfoy Manor, where her own sister had pinned Hermione to the ground and brutally tortured her. Draco followed her gaze and nodded.
The Malfoys sat in silence, both contemplating the place on the floor that Granger had lain on that day. After Narcissa and Malfoy had been cleared, Narcissa had channeled her grief, embarrassment, and anger into one of the only things she could control – her home. She had begun the process of completely updating Malfoy Manor. Narcissa couldn't stand the darkness that clung to every corner of her home.
Curtains had been ripped down, flooring had been torn up, wings had been reopened and walls had been repainted. Offensive portraits had been removed and put in storage, and the dark, Gothic touches had all been taken away. While the Manor retained the antique charm it had, it no longer felt like a prison. Now the Manor was a light and airy building where Narcissa could sit happily for hours. No trace of her husband, of Voldemort, or of Bellatrix remained.
"I imagine that she did not react well," Narcissa said finally, looking at Draco for confirmation. He nodded, fidgeting with the shirtsleeve that had been stained with blood earlier.
"You'd better start groveling," she said, rising to her feet and brushing off her skirt. Draco looked up at her in surprise.
"Grovel?" he asked incredulously. "I do not grovel!"
"Oh, you do now," she said calmly. "You need her, Draco. We need her. So yes, you grovel. You bend over backwards to make her see that you have changed because you have changed, darling."
She approached her son and reached down for his hand, pulling him up so they were facing each other. She settled her hands on either side of her son's face and looked at him, seeing in his eyes the uncertainty and exhaustion.
"You have changed," she reiterated. "You need to show her that. You have been given a second chance at life that not many in your place received." With the exception of Blaise Zabini, no other children of Death Eaters as high in the ranks as Lucius Malfoy had been had made it through their trials without punishment. Many were serving sentences in Azkaban alongside their families.
"You owe that woman and her friends a debt that you can never repay," she continued, brushing her thumbs along her son's cheeks. He faltered and closed his eyes, leaning into his mother's comforting touch. "It's time to try to repay it, though. By making this as easy and pleasant for her as you can."
Draco nodded, not opening his eyes. His mother was right. His mother was almost always right. He wasn't sure where to start, but he knew that he needed to try something. If not for himself and if not for Granger, then for Narcissa.