Hello strangers. It's been a while, hasn't it? I feel like I say that every time. Maybe I won't next. Either because it won't have been a while or because I just don't want to be repetitive...time will tell.
Anyway, I don't think anyone guessed my favorite line from the last chapter correctly. Because I'm childish, it was "And here I was thinking only Weasleys wore hand-me-down robes." Thank you, thank you. I'll accept my Oscar now.
I personally liked writing this section of chapters so let me know if they're as fun to read as they were to write.
Love,
Cherry
"So who will we be?" Hermione asked, toying with a rogue curl. It felt so surreal to be discussing a partnership with Draco, even if it was just for show one evening. That small of her was thrilled, but predominantly, it just felt strange.
"I don't think there's all that much I can do to disguise myself." Draco noted, gesturing to his white blonde hair. "As you may have guessed since my mother naturally has black hair, there's a quite forceful spell passed through the Malfoy bloodline that ensures our hair stays light. I don't think any sort of dying charm would change my look."
"Then you'll stay you. Not to sound egotistical, but while the Malfoys are recognisable, I don't think you'll be the issue. I, however..."
"Ah yes, that Golden Trio glow is natural, isn't it, Granger?" Draco goaded and Hermione flushed, embarrassed.
"It is not by my own volition that I'm recognised. I don't enjoy it, believe me." Hermione huffed, noticing the way Draco smirked at her like he knew he'd gotten under her skin. "Monica Prewett? Is that believable?" She supplied.
"The name is vague enough. I don't think I know most of the Prewett bloodline." Draco noted, only distantly familiar with the pure-blood family.
"All right, we'll go with that then." Hermione nodded, slapping her hands on her legs. "And you're you, so you're a businessman with very particular clients."
"If this affects the work I've done to clean up Malfoy Investments, we'll have to reassess the wealthy thing that's making this cover story work." Draco noted, clearly concerned though he veiled it in a joke. Hermione realised for the first time that this trip really could undo all the work he had done as of late. If Hermione got caught in a questionable situation, she would be given the benefit of the doubt, but that wasn't the case for Draco. She had to protect him.
"I won't let that happen." Hermione said, reaching over to give Draco's hand a reassuring squeeze. He looked at her solemnly, hardly believing her. But the sentiment was nice, he supposed.
"You have a lot of faith in a washed up Death Eater." Draco responded, noting how Hermione removed her hand from his with a tinge of sadness. He rather liked the way her small fingers clasped his with a false sense of confidence.
"Quite the contrary, I haven't much faith in a biased system." Hermione tucked a wild curl behind her ear. "But speaking of Malfoy Investments, have you made the leap yet to become Malfoy Enterprises?"
"Not yet." Draco answered trying to seem casual as he wandlessly called for two teacups. They sailed through the air into his hands and he set them on the end table between the chairs. "I've begun negotiations with the wizard I mentioned before, the one from Italy. He's agreed to head the department but has begun to make grandiose requests that I have to financially consider before I begin negotiations."
"Hm." Hermione made a noise, accepting the tea from the teapot that poured on its own. "It does sound like a fascinating project, I will admit." Hermione mused. "It will be groundbreaking. I'm almost jealous."
"Well, there's always a place at Malfoy Investments for the Brightest Witch of our Age. Who isn't seeming all that bright right now, I must admit." Draco glanced down at the fine china in Hermione's hands when she gave him a wondering look. When it hit her, she nearly burned herself on her tea.
"Oh my god!" She gasped, setting down her cup. "You did wandless magic!" She clasped her hands together to try to contain her excitement. "You've been practising, haven't you?" She smiled coyly over her fingers, and Draco sniffed haughtily at the remark.
"A Malfoy doesn't need to practice." He grinned when Hermione punched him in the arm. "All right, yes, I practised. But I did it my way."
"You only know how to lift a tea set, don't you?"
"I prefer to say I've become an expert at moving tea sets, but yes, I can't move anything else." Draco admitted, though he would never admit how hard he worked to move the tea set. It wouldn't be an understatement to say he continued to hone his wandless magic skills practically every day since he last saw Hermione. In the first few days, he tried to follow Hermione's instructions. He varied the size, texture, density, and shape of the objects he practised with, but it didn't come as easily as it had with a certain bushy haired tutor at his side. So he focussed on improving his accio command with just one object, and when he realised he might get to show off his skills to the aforementioned teacher if he chose a tea set, he spent far more hours per week on developing the skill than he'd ever admit.
"We'll have to continue your lessons when we have time." Hermione smiled pleasantly, feeling more at home than she had in weeks. That was okay, wasn't it? To feel at home with a friend? "By the way, did I hear you offer me a job?" Hermione asked, nearly desperate enough to see Draco every day that she would accept, no matter the position.
"I offered a job to the Brightest Witch of our Age. I'd be a fool not to." Draco explained, refusing to tell her he had. Ignoring the fact that he hadn't meant to say it yet, if at all, Bianchi had seemed willing to collaborate initially but now that negotiations had begun, he was expecting more money and perks than Draco was willing to offer. He was the one taking the risk, after all, it was the Malfoy name which would be tainted, possibly beyond repair, if this didn't work.
"Ah, I see." Hermione simpered, sipping on her tea. "Well, when a career change is in my future, I'll make sure I still have that title before coming to you." Neither addressed that Hermione had practically all but signed a contract confirming her transition to Malfoy Enterprises, whenever it came into existence.
With some time to kill before they left for Edinburgh, the pair found themselves slipping into a comfortable conversation about practically nothing, yet neither was bored. They discussed their favorite foods, what kind of weather made them grumpy (for Draco, it was snow when it began to melt, but Hermione made a compelling case against humid summers), and a good chunk of time was spent regaling childhood memories. Hermione clung to every word Draco spoke about his (quite literally) magical childhood, and prodded him for more information about when he knew he was a wizard. "From birth" wasn't a good enough response, so Draco detailed further the first moment he was truly cognizant of when his mother had explained to him what it truly meant to have magic in your veins. Hermione recognised the look in Draco's eyes the further he got into the story, the more he detailed the love his mother had for him, and she stopped him with a squeeze of his shaking hand before he could crumble into nothingness.
They were silent then, both resigning themselves to the fog that came when they thought about their parents. For Hermione, she let the tears come naturally as they did, welled up in the corner of her eyes. When one or two escaped, she wiped them with her sleeve, noticing Draco's solemn expression as he watched her.
"It doesn't get easier, does it?" He asked, breaking the silence between them. There was a desperation in his voice that Hermione knew all too well. She had been told by others that grief came in stages. That she would feel sadness before acceptance. Denial before anger. But they had been wrong. Grief came in waves of varying forms, but none of the emotions gave way to the next. She was still just as angry, just as sad as she had been when she'd found out; the only emotion she was still waiting for nine years later was acceptance.
Hermione shook her head, much to Draco's disappointment. He had thought he was getting better. Each month, he was eating, and sleeping, and living life better than he had the previous, but this time here made him realise how not fine he really was. And to have Hermione confirm that that never got better was a bit discouraging.
"But no two people are the same." Hermione continued to explain. "We all lost loved ones during the war, and I know my forms of grieving are different than each of those around me. Harry powers through his suffering, always looking for that next problem to solve, Ginny uses humor, while George shuts down until Angelina pries him open; we all find what works for us, and if we can't on our own, then we turn to those we trust for support. No one is ever truly alone unless they make themselves be."
"Thrump and Mimmy have been quite the pair." Draco joked. "Thrump coddles me like I'll break if he doesn't watch me close enough, and Mimmy's more of a tough love kind of caretaker. It's admittedly a little jarring to switch between the two." He chuckled and Hermione picked her teacup back up to warm her hands.
"You have me, too, you know." She pointed out, noting the way Draco stiffened infinitesimally before he relaxed again, taking a drink of his own tea. "Not that I'm as useful as 24/7 personal staff, but-"
"You're better." Draco cut Hermione off, fixing her in her chair with his sharp gaze. "You are, without any shadow of a doubt, so much better for me than Thrump or Mimmy combined. It makes me feel terribly selfish to admit it, but I don't know where I'd be right now if you hadn't come into my life. For your time and support, I'm eternally grateful."
"It's not selfish." Hermione retorted after she found her voice. She hadn't expected such a proclamation. "And if it is, then I'm selfish, too. You've helped me through a very transitional period in my life, and I wouldn't have thought it six months ago, but I think there's no one I would've preferred to spend this time with."
Draco could barely stand it anymore. He wanted Hermione more than he wanted to breathe. The ache in his chest, in his bones, it wasn't just want, it was need. He needed Hermione, and he knew he couldn't have her.
"I do suppose that if you had to break up with Weasley, I was a good person to commiserate with." He supplied weakly, unable to say what he truly wished to.
His self-deprecation bothered Hermione. That wasn't what she'd meant at all. Draco was a dear friend, a surprise, yes, but someone Hermione felt herself with, and to reduce their friendship to convenience wasn't what she'd meant to say at all. Draco cut her off before she could clarify.
"I think it's about time we prepare ourselves." Draco noted, looking out the window at the darkening sky. "Do you have anything to wear that screams 'my husband's richer than your husband?'" Draco asked Hermione, not quite willing to look her in the eye yet.
"I own a suit." Hermione sighed, aware any clarification of her statement now would look out of place. "And a dress I wear to weddings, but neither is all that impressive."
"Well, I'm sure we can scrounge up something." Draco stood and called for Mimmy, who appeared with a crack.
"Master Draco has called?" Mimmy asked, hiding her grin behind small fists when Draco answered her.
"We're going with the wealthy couple thing." He explained. "Granger needs some robes that fit the part."
"Mimmy will find her something from Mistress Narcissa's wardrobe."
"Oh I couldn't possibly wear something of your mother's." Hermione gushed. "I'm sure my suit is good enough."
"Nonsense." Mimmy interjected with a huff. "Mimmy means no disrespect, but Miss Hermione will borrow something fitting of a lady."
Hermione looked to Draco for support but he shrugged apathetically. "Go fetch something subtle, Mimmy, she'll change in the Pavo Room."
Mimmy disappeared once more and Hermione gaped at Draco, who gestured for her to follow.
"This is archaic." Hermione grumbled as they left the room. "'My husband is richer than your husband?'" She asked, though Draco knew her well enough to know she wasn't looking for an answer. "As if women can't be the provider! And what does that even look like? Diamonds and pearls?"
"Don't tempt Mimmy." Draco noted. "She was my mother's favorite house-elf, partially due to her taste in high fashion. Wizard fashion." Draco clarified when Hermione shot him a look that said 'did you not just see her wearing bright green, plastic earrings with a tweed coat?'
"I know I agreed to this, but what an antiquated world wealthy people live in!" Hermione babbled about the rampant misogyny the elite class held as the best standard while Draco led her through the manor to a set of rooms on the third floor. He opened the door to one of them and ushered her in, waiting for her to finish her tirade.
"I mean honestly, women wouldn't care what the latest makeup trend was if they didn't feel like men couldn't accept them bare-faced."
"Men are pigs." Draco shrugged. "Crude, chauvinistic pigs. Now go be a good little wife and go get dressed." He resisted patting her on the head, but the look Hermione gave him said it was better if he left now anyway. Draco closed the door and hurried to his own room, changing into a set of black robes he only ever wore if he wanted to impress a new client.
Hermione, on the other hand, waited for Mimmy with a level of irritation that only increased as she found herself trying to fix her hair to conform to how she'd seen wealthy women wear theirs. If that hadn't been enough of an annoyance on its own, it was with a huff that Hermione realised her curls were resisting the twist she'd put them back in now that they were often freed from the restricting look she'd worn only months ago. She tried several more options before there was a knock on the door. She opened it to find Mimmy, who smiled politely as she laid a bundle of grey and black on the bed. Mimmy was oddly silent, Hermione noted with query, but she thanked the house-elf, who backed out of the room as another figure came to stand in the frame.
"You still haven't dressed yet?" Draco asked, and though Hermione didn't see him as Mimmy motioned for him to back away, she hollered an insult to him about men having such a simple routine that he couldn't possibly complain that she wasn't ready yet. Draco muttered some kind of apology before Mimmy shut the door and left Hermione to herself to prepare for playing house with Draco.
If only she could get that small part of her that liked the idea to shut up so she could change her clothes.
He pushed the hand holding the undergarments down so they weren't eye level. Maybe that would keep his impure thoughts away. No. No, it did not, Draco realised as he watched Hermione unfold the suspender belt and hold it up.
