Draco tried to dine with his mother a few nights a week, if only so she wouldn't have to face one of their many over-large dining rooms alone too often. Though as of late, it seemed Draco's presence came more as a welcome surprise rather than a necessity.
She looked less the wan, solemn widow these days and Draco wondered which reason he had to thank for his mother finding her way again.
The break from carrying on with the society life charade? Or the loss of the burden of visiting an imprisoned husband? Or the newfound bond with Andromeda? Perhaps a freeing combination of all three life changes?
He could see glimpses of the smiling, doting maternal figure again. The personality that he'd sometimes thought she forced on their visits to his father took a more genuine turn now, many months after his death.
She had a request when he arrived for dinner that evening.
"Come visit your father with me?"
They'd done this walk a few times since Lucius's burial on the family plot. A winding, meandering path of stone through the lush, blooming gardens behind the Manor. They stopped at several points along the leisurely stroll so his Mother could wax rhapsodic about the new varieties of roses she had imported.
Draco nodded politely in all the right places and offered the due praise for the perfectly trimmed hedges that dotted the walking path. But his mind wouldn't relinquish thoughts of a certain other witch.
"Unstoppable," Granger had called the pair of them. In pursuit of a goal, sure, but did she also ruminate on how that might apply to other things outside the sphere of an investigation?
He dismissed the train of thought as they came to their journey's end at an ancient wrought iron gate. The Malfoy family plot dated back to the twelfth century and even with the meticulous upkeep over the centuries by elves and humans alike, many of the marble tombs and headstones were weathered with age; the names and dates crumbled away, no longer decipherable. Draco only knew them all from the well-maintained tapestries within the Manor's halls as well as the personal history lessons doled out by Lucius during Draco's childhood.
The gate swung open upon their approach, allowing them entry through the wards. Verdant, youthful grass had sprung up all around the plot of his father. New life surrounding death.
Narcissa knelt down briefly to pluck out a few objectionable weeds. She straightened and returned to Draco's side, and they observed the obligatory silence required of living people visiting the dead.
Narcissa let the quiet linger for a few minutes and as she let out a long exhale, Draco peered down at her. She smiled benignly at her husband's resting place for a moment. A secret, knowing smile, as if she'd just shared a private joke or memory with Lucius.
Her face resumed neutrality as she turned to Draco.
"How is your project progressing with Miss Granger?"
"Fine."
"Andromeda talks often of her."
"And how does your end of that conversation generally go?"
"I can't claim to know the young woman very well, or at all."
"What is it that you would like to know about Hermione Granger?"
"You spend quite a bit of time with her."
"In a professional setting."
"You spend your personal hours working on this project as well."
"Which house-elf do I need to free for being a traitor?"
Her lips twitched even as she raised an admonishing eyebrow. "Don't deflect. My sister says she talks effusively of you and you've looked rather cheerful lately if I may say so."
Draco shrugged, uncomfortably aware that parts of the real programme work weren't so tiresome. On some visits, he'd managed to form a bit of a rapport with a few inmates, with spur-of-the-moment friendly conversations about quidditch or family members on the outside Draco saw at society events throughout the year. He'd learned how to segue the casual chatter to encourage them to talk about their own interests or plans for once they'd completed their sentences. Granger would beam at him with pride in these moments.
"I'm glad to see you finding fulfillment," offered his mother.
"Even if it means I spend time with a witch like Granger?"
Narcissa, unlike Astoria or other witches of a similar pedigree, would not cower from such a conversational topic if brought directly to her attention.
"You're a grown man, Draco, and as you've long known, there are no stipulations on your inheritance, marital or otherwise."
"And what of your personal stipulations?"
Narcissa smoothed down her robes and stared out over the vast collection of his ancestors' remains.
"Andromeda will not yet allow me to meet her grandson. I believe she will eventually relent."
She turned her face up to his, with unusually bright eyes. "I would hope darling, that you would have enough faith in me to know I do not make the same mistake twice."
She moved away from him, intent on returning to the Manor.
"What do you think Father's opinion would have been?" Draco abruptly asked, stilling her progress.
"Of?"
"The choices I've made. Ones I might make. Should an opportunity present itself."
"He is not here, Draco. You shouldn't live your life as if he's standing over your shoulder."
She squeezed his arm as she passed by him.
"Don't stay out here too long."
Draco was left with a peculiar prickle on the back of his neck; the feeling of a ghostly presence despite his rational mind asserting he was very much alone.
Even in the eerie hush of a graveyard he heard her. Granger.
"I think there's probably nothing worse than carrying around regret… Especially when it concerns unsaid things."
So loud. He heard her everywhere, felt her everywhere. This time he listened.
Draco stared down at the etched letters of his father's name. He breathed in: a slow inhale of past beliefs, harmful rhetoric, lost innocence, and unconscionable decisions he'd probably make again. And then he breathed out: an exhale to banish the hurt, disappointment, and festering guilt.
This was not a place for answers.
"I think you would have an awful lot to say, most of it probably horrible. But gods you know," he let out a chuckle, "the arguments would have been highly entertaining."
Draco heard nothing but the whistling of the wind; a rustling, dry noise. Almost like a familiar laugh.
He didn't need to be in her office. But he did need to read.
Draco also needed to put some sound into the air other than her. Occluding never worked; he had to focus on the investigation and numbing his senses dulled his creative thinking as well.
As quietly as possible, and with a few surreptitious glances at her, Draco read the transcripts to himself, hoping not to disturb her.
It worked. For a short time.
"You don't have to mutter under your breath, you know," Granger piped up.
"Pardon?"
"You can read louder if you need to. I used to do that when I studied."
"It won't bother you?"
"No, it's soothing. Your voice."
"Is that right?"
Draco took a minute to rifle through the papers; an act to steady his racing thoughts and pulse. Because his mind now conjured phrases he'd much rather say, and not just to soothe her.
He suddenly wanted to offer up all sorts of words and suggestions that might instead make her blush. Or gasp. Or beg or whine or moan.
He could croon low words in her ear about hiking up her skirt. About bending her over her desk. About perching her atop his desk and spreading her legs so he could bring her off with his tongue.
Or, he could do none of that, he should do none of that, despite Pansy's backhanded encouragement and his mother's veiled approval. Granger might no longer be pining over the Weasel, but that didn't make Draco a contender for her affection by any means.
He refocused his attention on the visitors' log. Some names (Ministry ones, he surmised) had been blacked out or stricken all together from the parchment. But what they hadn't done away with, were the wand descriptions. Draco usually skimmed this part, but a particular wand wood caught his eye.
Sycamore. Eleven inches. Dragon heartstring.
The same exact components of Theo's wand.
The pieces clicked into place at such a speed that Draco's head spun.
Theo's abandoned research, the way the prisoners were sequestered last year, the inmates' odd comments about dreams and sleeping, the way Theo seemed mired in guilt...
An experiment gone wrong.
Draco spent the weekend shut in at home, poring over every piece of parchment and foolishly hoping he could draw some other less horrible conclusion. But the more he studied the evidence right in front of him, the more certain he felt about his theory: there had been some sort of study done on these men by the Department of Mysteries, without their knowledge or consent, and presumably with the cooperation of the prison administrators.
But who knew what, and when? How far-reaching was this conspiracy?
Draco had a sickening hunch of the exact way Theo had been involved. But what should Draco even do with his suspicions? Confront his friend and pray he was wrong? Deliver the news to Granger and hope she didn't immediately call in Potter to have Theo brought in for questioning?
Blaise had even invited him round for dinner, but Draco offered a vague excuse, unsure how to face either of his friends at the moment.
Granger wasn't as easy to avoid.
Another day that Draco did not need to be in Granger's office. Another day where he showed up anyway.
Today's sitting at a desk and staring at parchment was entirely performative. He no longer had need of the paper evidence. The next step in confirming Potter's suspicions and marshalling the Forces of Good to bring down some corrupt network of scandal would be to inform Granger of his findings.
But Draco couldn't summon the will to divulge his suspicion just yet. He should keep looking for alternate explanations, other clues that might discount what could very well be a coincidence. Granger didn't need to know everything for now.
She saved him from his internal battle with a welcome interruption.
"I was wondering if I could ask a small favour of you."
"Depends. I reward you with the pleasure of my company several days a week. I'm not sure what else you would need from me that I'm not already giving you."
She was supposed to roll her eyes and call him a prat. She was not supposed to blush and fidget and make Draco want to push his luck, and his flirting, further.
"I know I, I mean we, Harry and me, that is, have asked a lot of you with this whole project. And as much as part of it is a cover, this initiative will live on after you leave. And to do that it needs more support."
Granger took a breath and then strode over to his desk with an embossed envelope. "Would you… would you have time to attend the firm's annual benefit? It's this Friday."
"I attend them all the time, it's no trouble."
"I know but… well if you wouldn't mind talking to a few people about the cause during the event? This is temporary for you, but I'd like to have a larger group of people to pick up where we leave off and if you're seen as vocally supporting it—"
"I already said it's no trouble."
"You can bring a date if you like."
"It'll just be me."
"Good," she said, then appeared horrified and scrambled to recover. "I only meant 'good' because Ginny has a home match, so Harry can't make it. I'll also be solo and I think everyone else attending from work has a significant other, so you can keep me company. It'll be good to speak to potential benefactors as a unit anyway."
"Why not just attend with your boss? Seems like you two would make a good team here. The firm's namesake and his star employee."
She cocked her head to the side and let out an incredulous laugh. "Sterling won't need a date for this particular gala."
Draco frowned down at the invitation.
"It's at the Shafiq Estate?"
She gave him a confused look. "Yes. Of course it is."
"I've never been."
Her expression flipped to mischievous amusement. "What do you know of Ali Shafiq?"
"Just the name. The surname is Sacred Twenty-Eight but I've never met them."
Draco dug up a memory of studying the book listing all the ancient families, Lucius dismissing the Shafiq line as "enough gold, but not enough sense," and younger Draco categorically filed them away as "not a connection worth making."
None of the family had been involved with any Death Eater business as far as Draco could remember, and he wasn't aware of any particular causes any of the current heirs championed. Come to think of it, he couldn't name a single descendant past his own grandfather's generation.
"One more thing," added Granger. "There's a different sort of dress code. Muggle black tie."
As he stood at the bottom of a marble staircase, having just descended into the ballroom below, Draco tugged at his bowtie and for the first time in a while, had a fond thought about Theo. Merlin, if he and Blaise could see him now, feeling more exposed than fashionable in a custom black-satin tuxedo. One of his elves had secured a Muggleborn tailor on short notice and so Draco could appear in expensive Muggle fashion for the evening but at least it was properly, magically tailored.
The gala was already in full swing and Draco craned his neck around the packed ballroom in search of Granger.
Just as he'd decided to try his luck at the large, back-lit bar on the opposite side of the parquet floor, a black-haired man approached him with a wide, knowing smile in the most ludicrous attire Draco had seen in some time.
Ludicrous was probably an overstatement, but Draco had never seen a fitted, scarlet suit with a bold, black pattern of thorned roses at such a prestigious party before.
The man stopped in front of Draco, a glint in his dark eyes and Draco suspected this was his elusive host.
"Salazar strike me dead, a Malfoy on my property."
"You must be Mr. Shafiq. Draco Malfoy."
Draco held his hand out confidently and though the older man smirked, he accepted the social gesture and looked Draco up and down.
"And dressed in a bespoke Muggle tux no less? My, my, what would our fathers have to say about this?"
Unsure of how to respond to someone who seemed to hold more information cards in his deck at the moment, Draco said nothing, but was rescued by a surprising saviour.
"Ali, leave the young man alone," intoned Sterling reproachfully.
"You're no fun, I only just introduced myself and welcomed him to our home."
Draco's eyes immediately darted to Ali Shafiq's hand and noted a matching wedding band to Sterling's.
"Thank you for coming tonight, your dedication to the prisoners' programme is most appreciated," said Sterling. Granger's employer dressed crisply as usual, in a tux in a similar style to Draco's. The subdued, icy counterpart to Shafiq's sparkling, vivacious warmth.
Before Shafiq could continue this interrogation for his own personal amusement, Sterling peered at a point over Draco's shoulder.
"Ah, here's Hermione."
This was the loudest she'd ever been. A crashing, jarring, world-ending beating of a drum inside Draco's mind reverberated at a level that should have melted his brain to nothing from the sheer volume of it. The incessant pounding of sound overloaded every system in his body. Gods, could anyone else hear her like he could? Did anyone else know this resonant torture?
She chose a burgundy gown tonight. A wine he could savour with his whole mouth. A full-bodied vintage he wanted to brush with his lips, just for a taste, before letting it settle onto his tongue for a moment then sliding down his throat to sate his thirst, but only briefly. He'd drink her down and beg for more, more, more.
Distantly, he heard a teasing lilt from Shafiq. "Sterling, you really undersold the young Mr. Malfoy here. It's been a few minutes in his company and he's said all of ten words and yet I'm simply invested."
"Don't start," came the exasperated reply.
Granger spotted their group, shooting Sterling and his husband an exuberant smile. As her eyes moved to Draco her lips remained smiling but parted for a brief moment, taking in a rapid breath.
She hadn't dropped her gaze from him and so Draco had no choice but to keep his eyes up and not allow them to wander down her frame.
But Shafiq did him a favour.
"Hermione, you are an absolute vision. Indulge me with a spin."
"Oh Ali, don't be ridiculous," she protested but accepted his insistently outstretched hand. He twirled her slowly and let out a low whistle.
"Gorgeous as usual, good to see you love." He pecked her cheek.
Granger nodded at Sterling and accepted his proffered glass of champagne.
She finally acknowledged Draco verbally. "Hello. I see you had no trouble securing Muggle attire."
"Of course not, Granger."
He felt like he should say something about her dress now. But he had no idea what would be appropriate in this situation, particularly with an audience of one man who might hex Draco if he said something untoward and the other who would probably take far too much delight in anything that strayed a notch above platonic.
The neckline of her dress plunged lower than he'd ever seen on her before and Draco's height would afford him a generous view of her cleavage tonight. Office and courtroom attire for Granger was stylish, yet prim. Functional for a professional woman as busy as herself. Hardly dowdy, but certainly not the delectable sight before him of her shoulders and decolletage. Not to mention the swathe of the bare skin of her back he'd gotten to peek when Shafiq had spun her.
The wizard had definitely done that on purpose.
But before Draco could open his mouth and embarrass himself with either a remark that would be too revealing or one that would be too middling and cut at Granger's confidence, Shafiq intervened.
He slid to Draco's side and took him by the elbow.
"Let's let these two handle the boring bit for now, and you can accompany your gracious host to the bar."
"Oh, but I think Granger wanted me to—"
"Nonsense Draco darling, you're looking dashing but far too parched and I'm determined to share the spoils of my liquor collection."
He cast a worried look back at Granger but she gave him a reassuring shake of the head and Draco let himself be led away. Shafiq made several stops along their path to the bar with his arm wound through Draco's, stopping here and there to greet a guest and heartily introduce him.
He steered him away from certain groups with scandalous whispers in Draco's ear. "Oh, that's Madam Zhao, do not stand too close or you'll drown in her God-awful perfume… avoid Herberts unless you want your ear talked off about moss varieties… Sterling always insists we invite Robards, ah excuse me, that's Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Gawain Robards to us plebeians. I'll bet you 10 Galleons that at any time you walk by him tonight you'll hear the phrase 'strong justice needs strong leadership.' Do you think that'll be his campaign slogan?"
He finally released Draco at the bar and turned to him with a playful grin. He didn't seem to harbour any malicious intent, but Draco kept his guard up all the same. Old habits die hard, and with someone from a traditional pureblood line, Draco couldn't shake his wariness.
"You've no idea who I am, this is quite fun," said Shafiq. He spread his arms wide. "You're looking at a pruned branch off a cursed family tree. Except I had the good sense to marry a man so intelligent and good at his job that securing my full inheritance after my brother passed was just a regular Wednesday for him."
"Forgive my ignorance, but I've never seen you at any events over the years," Draco cautiously offered.
"Hmm, and you never will. Not if it's held in a pureblood home," Shafiq clipped, his tone slightly bitter. He nodded at the approaching bartender and held up two fingers and cocked his head at Draco. Immediately, two glasses of an amber liquid appeared.
"Cheers," he toasted Draco and they both tossed back their drinks.
It was his father's and grandfather's favoured Scotch. A subtle adherence to the "old ways" in this rarely observed tradition among the circle of sacred families: to offer your guest a sample of their preferred drink to kick off the evening.
"Sterling does the circuit and bless him for it, but it's the right move for his career," continued Shafiq, his former jovial tone abandoned. "But I've no need for that crup-and-pony show. Your contemporaries... well I suppose, the generations above your contemporaries, can all go choke. Not a few years ago they'd have murdered my husband or me without a second thought. They can rot for all I care. Sorry to say that very much included your family, until recently. I think the only other Sodding Twenty-Eight member you'll find here tonight is one of the Abbotts, since Augusta Longbottom declined."
Draco didn't know what was expected of him for this conversation. The talk of families had him indulging in a nervous tic he thought he'd shed: twisting the Black ring on his left hand followed by a twisting of the Malfoy ring on the other.
"Our families, despite their shared outlook, have never really had cause to interact. Though I had an older brother who tried to pull one over on your lot. Pardon me, that's rude," Shafiq grimaced and patted Draco's arm in apology. "My idiot brother over-promised gold or influence or both to some high-ranking Death Eater, Yaxley probably, and met the end of a wand. My sister married some boring bigot like herself and they've got a few little horrifying miniatures running about their manor home by now hearing cautionary tales of their ex-communicated blood traitor uncle who stole and defiled the family estate."
Shafiq shook his head and flashed Draco a dazzling smile.
"But I'm being a terrible host talking of such maudlin family drama. Let's discuss you. Seems you've nabbed yourself a Magbob as well? You are by far the most interesting Malfoy, even if you've unfortunately not let that gorgeous hair grow longer. Your father wore it well."
"I… thank you? Wait, sorry, did you say Magbob?"
"It's an antiquated term for Muggleborn, darling, do keep up. Sterling hates it but Hermione thinks it's funny. Such a charming girl. In need of a worthy counterpart, I think."
"Granger has many admirable qualities."
A neutral answer, and one that did not fool Shafiq.
"You're courting her, then? Observing all the proper rituals like a good, pureblood wizard should? Do you have Mummy's approval and an heirloom ring waiting in your vaults?"
Draco could tell the other man was winding him up, a different sort of vetting process than Sterling had previously conducted.
"Our relationship is strictly professional."
Shafiq let out a loud laugh. "Oh look at you, you tightly-wound little thing. Don't hurt yourself over the decision, just indulge in some expensive alcohol, loosen up, and see where the evening takes you. I assure you, it's much more fun on the other side."
"The other side of what?"
Shafiq's smile somehow found a way to grow wider and he pushed off the bar.
"Any and all of your family's expectations. I personally recommend the Muggle whisky. You'll never touch Ogden's again," and with a wink at the bartender he slid a full glass in front of Draco and sauntered off.
Draco took a reluctant test sip and found he'd been steered correctly in at least this instance.
His eyes found Granger again. She was on Sterling's arm, shaking the hand of another guest. Draco watched as Sterling subtly distanced himself and Granger took the reins of the conversation. The older man took a step back from her, letting her inhabit her own orbit, letting her pull the others in all on her own.
She'd reeled Draco in from a distance and without even trying.
Despite knowing for a fact this was not a dream, it felt like one, for a moment. When she turned suddenly in his direction, with a certainty that she could and would find him in an instant across a crowded room, Draco felt reality fall away.
Her eyes met his, like she knew how to find him, and when she grinned, as if she'd only just been waiting for him to notice her, he felt like he was dropped into a dream.
Thank Merlin there was no dancing at this gala. Just decadent food and a top-shelf bar. Magical and Muggle liquor aplenty should one be adventurous in their tastes, but Draco found himself honouring Shafiq's recommendation for the remainder of the evening.
Draco replaced Sterling at her side and it felt like too much. It felt too good to stand this close to her, to laugh with her, to hear her compliment his work, to watch her face flush when he praised her in turn.
So he drank a bit more than he should. Not enough to be sloppy or brash, just perhaps a little bolder with Granger than he should.
Maybe he let his hand rest on her lower back as he guided them back to the bar for another round. Maybe she kept her arm tucked through his elbow when she complained about her uncomfortable shoes and wasn't as confident in her heels while standing and networking. Maybe he draped his arm across the back of her chair when they took a break at a table in a darkened corner of the ballroom. Maybe she sat with her leg flush against his. Maybe his fingers played with a loose curl on her shoulder while she chatted about all the possible donors they'd secured for her programme.
Maybe she stopped talking and he stopped breathing when his fingers released the curl to trail his touch along her bare shoulder. Maybe her eyes fluttered closed as he kept his touch on her skin in a skimming caress. Maybe when she looked at him again and recovered her voice she shakily whispered, "That feels nice."
He retracted his hand and stood abruptly. The whisky liked all these "maybes" but Draco knew he'd been far too forward with her.
"Tonight was… I'd best be leaving now, if you don't think there's anyone else I should speak with."
"No one else."
She stood and followed him to the Floos. They stopped in front of the grates and neither reached for the powder.
"Good evening, Granger."
"Have a good night, Draco."
Neither moved.
"I really ought to leave."
"Why?"
"If I don't leave now, I'll try something I might regret," Draco murmured. As they had earlier in the evening when she'd first spotted him, her lips parted for a brisk inhale.
"Why would you regret it?"
"Not for the reason you think. I… I've had too much to drink for this."
"For what?"
"Granger. Please. Let me do something properly. For once."
She was standing so fucking close. How did she manage to be so loud without making a sound?
Draco let himself do one regrettable act. His eyes raked down her entire form, drinking her down as easily as that whisky earlier. When his gaze completed the slow journey back up to her face, having made several detours along the way to indulge in the shape of her thighs, hips, and breasts, he found brown eyes full of that determined fire.
"Do it soon then," she whispered and took a step back. Always the stronger one.
That night, he didn't need to fall asleep to dream of Granger.
Draco strode purposefully into her office Monday morning.
"Good morning. Would you like to have dinner with me on Friday?"
"Yes. Yes, I would."
A/N: Thanks for reading! Next chapter on July 6. Find me on tumblr: heyjude19-writing