Emerging from a scalding hot shower, Hermione felt mental strain crushing her from all sides; even with the soothing hot water, she felt far from refreshed. Their meeting at the Ministry the day before had only served to inform them the situation was more involved at home than they had realised—despite that the silver lining was Kingsley's support of their efforts with Avance.
Rolling out her neck, she towelled off, pulled on a silk robe, and stepped from the en suite into the bedroom where she had only slept a handful of times since they had returned home from Italy.
It was remarkable how quickly she had come to refer to the manor as home—a place to where she had once been unable to fathom returning.
Making her way into the walk-in closet, Hermione flipped through a few sets of robes, assuming they would meet with the council at some point later.
She jumped, startled, when a set of hands entwined around her from behind, a hard chest pressing firmly into her back. But in an instant she relaxed, a smile pulling at her lips when Malfoy swept her damp hair over her opposite shoulder and planted a lingering kiss to her throat.
"What are you doing?" she asked, a breathy hitch to her voice.
Squeezing one of her breasts through the thin fabric of her dressing gown, he murmured, "You don't need robes today." When she hesitated, eyes flickering to the side, he stepped back and elaborated. "I thought maybe we could do something fun. That is if that's okay with you."
"You mean, you don't think council meetings are fun?" she teased, a chill sweeping through him at the loss of contact as she turned to face him.
A wry smile crossed his face. "No," he said quietly, "I can't say I do. Not when we regularly debate ways to stay alive. We can see the council tomorrow."
Brandishing a hand at the contents of her closet, Hermione smiled. "Fine, then what should I wear for your fun day?" Waiting, she leaned against a blank stretch of wall, following him with her eyes as he shifted through her clothes, a look of deep concentration on his face. Finally he selected a soft blue summer dress with lace accents. Accepting the dress, she intoned, "Good choice."
"Unfortunately," he said with a sigh as he selected a pair of white flats to match, "we're going to have to wear mild glamours, but it seemed a small price to pay. You don't want to know what I told Ben to get him to agree to even that."
Something leapt to life in her stomach as she stared at him; if she wasn't mistaken, it was excitement that shone in his eyes. "Are you going to tell me what we're doing?"
"Soon enough. Now get ready." Flashing a grin, he ducked from the room.
Fifteen minutes later, Hermione found Malfoy waiting for her in her sitting room, his hair and eyes glamoured dark though his face looked otherwise the same. Stepping closer, he swept a hand through her straight dark hair, a wrinkle pulling at the bridge of his nose.
Lips twitching, he said, "I miss the curls already." Planting a gentle kiss to her lips, he added, "But you look beautiful all the same."
Entwining her hands around his neck, she deepened the kiss, her core flaring to life with an enticing twist when he dragged her closer against him. But he drew away, even as he gave a squeeze to her arse, and she murmured, "It's nice to see you positive."
"I'm tired," he breathed, and Hermione felt the sentiment in her soul. "And I want to do something where we don't have to worry about anything—just for the day."
He wore pale jeans and a Muggle t-shirt, and it occurred to her that she had never seen him dressed so casually—in fact, she hadn't realised he even owned anything so simple. Taking her hand into his, he entwined their fingers and Hermione felt the pull of Apparition—moments later, they landed in a narrow alley between two small stone buildings.
Ducking his head out cautiously, he tugged her from the alley, and a sudden burst of sunlight assailed her senses.
"Every summer," he began, pulling her along a meandering cobbled path, "Chippenham, one of the villages in Wiltshire, has a fair. Artisanal goods, theatrical performances, that sort of thing. Once when I was a boy, I snuck out on my broom so I could stock up a hoard of sweets. I'd gone so far as to exchange some sickles for Muggle currency when Mother had taken me to Diagon Alley the week before." His eyes sparkled as he added, "I never heard the end of it from my father once I returned home."
"That's where we are?" Hermione asked as she tittered, looking around the quiet street. But as they rounded the corner into the next block, her heart leapt to see dozens of people mingling, sampling at booths along the street, and at the far end she could see a group of dancers performing on a makeshift stage. Swallowing, she breathed, "Draco, this is lovely."
He merely dropped a kiss to her temple and said, "I thought you might like it."
It meant more to Hermione in that moment, as she took in the villagers laughing and peddling their creations, that he had gone out of his way to pull her from the chaos that had become their life, in order to indulge in something so seemingly ordinary.
Without knowing what he had been planning, Hermione hadn't brought along any Muggle money, but he was well prepared and insisted she select one of everything that caught her eye, and soon they had a number of bags and boxes. One of the craftsmen at a booth sold woodworking, and with a smile that twisted her insides into a knot, Malfoy picked out a small wooden treasure box for her that was painted like the night sky. In return, she insisted he also purchase a small chest similarly adorned with a wolf howling at a full moon above.
The gentleman had been incredibly gratified when Malfoy had peeled a Muggle note from his clip that well exceeded the marked prices of the two pieces.
Admiring the handsome chest as they walked away, he glanced her way and announced he would use it to store the tie clip and cufflinks she had gifted him.
Not for the first time, she was struck with the thought that she didn't even recognise the spoiled, petulant child he had once been.
When she had gone to Malfoy Manor that day with an agenda of her own, she'd had no idea what she was getting herself into. The way he stared at her as they explored and laughed and shared stories—it was something she had never seen coming.
But yet… hanging over it all was the cold, harsh reminder that they had such a challenging, insurmountable road ahead of them. And for all their planning and their efforts, she couldn't see the way forward.
A tightness sat in her chest, moisture tugging at her eyes as she stared at him; he gazed back, the grin fading from his face. With a furrow in his brow, his chin dropped. "Are you alright?"
Nodding voraciously, she swiped at one eye as a tear threatened to escape. Forcing a smile back to her face, she intoned, "Perfect."
His fingers twisted into hers once more.
They had nearly made it through all of the vendors when a series of dark clouds threatened overhead and everyone raced to protect their wares. Shooting Malfoy a glance, Hermione waved a hand over their purchases, casting an innocuous spell to protect them in the event of rain. His lips twitched with a smirk, and he breathed, "Maybe that's our cue to return to real life."
Sighing, Hermione tucked into his side, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer. With a resigned smile, she said, "I suppose we must."
Rain poured well into the evening—and to Draco, it felt symbolic.
His day with Granger at the fair had been one of the best he could remember. So rarely did he allow himself reprieve from the crushing weight of his responsibilities, but they had talked and laughed as if they had known one another for a lifetime. As if they weren't burdened with the weight of such heavy decisions.
And now… the rain fell in vertical sheets, even and insistent, soaking the grounds far below as Draco stood on the balcony beneath the torrent, welcoming his loss of control. His clothes and hair were fully soaked through, a chill settling in his bones, but something prevented him from returning inside to his warm quarters. Sleep tugged at his eyes, and yet he remained, his hands clenched with white knuckles around the rail of the balustrade, his bare feet cool on the wet surface of the terrace.
There were no tents around this side of the Manor—before him hung only blessed darkness beyond the veil of rain.
Feeling the presence of another, he waited, gazing into the darkness of night, before glancing behind him, water dripping from his brow into his eyes.
Granger stood on the threshold of the French doors, arms folded across her chest as she worried her bottom lip. Her voice was so soft that, with the rhythmic pounding of the rain he struggled to hear her.
"Are you going to come to bed?"
Clad in a silk camisole with matching shorts for sleep, her hair in riotous curls once more, he swept a glance down the length of her, feeling a stutter in his chest.
With a slow, infinitesimal nod, he murmured, "Soon. Go on without me."
The water reached for his soul, drawing it from within him into its fathomless depths as it poured and poured. Turning back to the darkness of the grounds below—the forest was naught but murky shadows in the distance—he felt a breath stick, harsh, in his throat.
Moments later, a nudge came at his side, and, drawn from his thoughts, a smirk pulled at his lips. Granger stood at his side, soaked to the bone, her thin sleep clothes plastered to her form.
"What," he scoffed with a hint of humour, "do you bloody think you're doing out here? You'll get sick."
Gazing out at the grounds, she replied evenly, "We'll be sick together then."
Her eyes slid to meet his, and in the dim light seeping from the bedroom, he could see the chocolate sparkling in their depths.
Huffing an incredulous laugh, he muttered, "You're fucking crazy, Hermione."
"You married me." She held up her hands, and Draco snickered, mussing a hand through her hair, melted sleek and smooth to her head with the rain. Voice dropping again, she mused, "I had a lot of fun today. Thank you for taking me out."
Nodding, he replied, "I did too." In an instant, a melancholy cloud formed within him, and he released a sigh. "I wish we didn't have to worry about any of this."
"We'll weather this storm." Draco wasn't certain whether her words were meant as irony, given they were in a literal storm, but he sobered at her expression when she turned to him. "We're going to make it through this. I promise."
Staring at her, despair and devastation tugging at his chest, he breathed, "That isn't a thing you can promise."
Sweeping a hand along his cheek and up into his hair, she pressed onto her bare toes, and her lips found his with unexpected pressure as she said against his mouth, "I'm doing it anyways."
Then she was kissing him, her other hand landing on his jaw as her tongue found his own, and on instinct he wrapped his arms around her back, his mind spinning with awareness of her. Her lips were cool and wet from the rain, and Draco could feel the drops from her eyelashes where they fluttered against his cheeks.
Kissing her with everything he could dredge up, he swept his hands down to palm her arse, hitching her legs up to coil around his waist as he backed her against the smooth surface of the wall. Gasping for breath, he dragged his lips along her jaw, nipping at the soft flesh and tasting rainwater mixed with the lingering hint of her perfume.
With a whisper of a breathy moan, her head fell back against the wall, her back flat against it as she tugged at his shirt, peeling it from his soaked chest as he made a breathless effort along her neck and collarbone, breaking only so she could toss his shirt to the floor.
Rain beat down his bare back, cooling his flesh where her nails dragged idle trails along the muscle of his shoulder blades.
Granger reached a hand towards the buckle of his belt, arching into him, her fingers dragging along the smooth leather. Heart pounding in his chest, he wrenched the thin camisole from her body, leaving her bare to his gaze, her nipples pebbled in the chill of the night air. Ducking in, he laved his tongue along her skin, drawing one peak between his teeth and then the other, basking in the sounds he drew from her.
Releasing the buckle of his belt and dropping his jeans with one hand, he kissed her hard again, delving between her lips as he held her against the wall with his body pressed against hers and reached for her shorts.
Slipping his fingers beneath the waistband, he dragged her shorts and knickers as one down her legs, too far gone to the feel of her, and she reached one hand down to palm his cock, her fingers slipping inside his pants. Clutching his length, she cried out when Draco slid two fingers inside of her and bit down on her lower lip.
With an almost silent, "Please," into his ear, her hands stilled on his back as he brought her into a rhythm with his fingers; he pushed his pants down with his other hand, kicking them free of his legs. Breathless, he met her stare for a brief moment as he withdrew his fingers from within her, clutching her hips as rainwater poured, relentless, upon them.
He didn't know how to unpack whatever it was in Granger's eyes when she stared at him, lips parted, and she arched into him with a groan, her chest pressing against his when he plunged into her.
Groaning, he dropped his face into her neck, rolling his hips in a slow, deep rhythm; her cries on each thrust were music, and his eyes fluttered shut from the feel of her. Draco kissed her again, wrapping one arm around her back and keeping her trapped between him and the wall as her hands buried in his drenched hair.
Fully lost to her, his pace escalated to something on the verge of desperation, his lips brushing distractedly against hers, tasting the rain on her mouth as she gasped his name.
Her body against his was slick with water as they moved together, her hips undulating against his as he slammed into her, abandoned of anything else.
Then with a cry she stilled, her nails dragging down his back, her quick breaths warm against his wet skin.
Thrusting into her a few more times, a quake chased through his muscles, and Draco felt release take him, his vision darkening as his orgasm crashed over him like the downpour from above.
Kissing her again, his eyes opened to meet hers as he set her down onto the balcony. His heart raced with adrenaline even as it seized with something else he didn't dare name.
A soft hint of a smile curved her lips, rainwater flowing down her bare body, and as the thrill of release faded, a chill crept through him in its place. Without a word, he wrapped her hand in his and backed her through the doors. Waving a hand, the lights in the room fell, and he dragged her to bed, into the warmth of the comforter.
Within minutes her breathing evened, and Draco felt himself slip towards the welcome edge of sleep, the pair of them entwined in one another.
Stirring awake, Hermione made to stretch before realising she was locked in a tight hold, her back pressed against Malfoy's chest. Her hair felt damp, curls wild and out of control all around her face. He shifted as she attempted to extract herself, and with a long exhale, he only adjusted his hold before dragging her back against him once more.
As her gaze landed on the glass double doors leading towards the terrace, her eyes widened in horror to see Podski collecting their discarded clothes from the night before. Jabbing an elbow into Malfoy's ribs, she hissed, making to jump up before remembering she was fully nude.
"Relax," he muttered in her ear, his voice thick with sleep. "As if Podski hasn't seen your knickers before."
Merlin, she could hear the smirk in his tone. And his words—though she wasn't certain they were meant to be placating in any way—did little to quell the flush rising in her cheeks.
Malfoy only released another soft, contented sound into the mass of her hair, dragging one hand along her stomach. "Do we get to stay in bed all day?"
Softening, she breathed, "No. We took yesterday off from real life, remember?"
"Right." Releasing her, he rolled onto his back with a wide yawn, stretching his arms out over his head. "We've had a lie-in. We should track down Elias and find out what he's learned about the situation with the French Ministry. We're going to need to plan for whatever comes next there—probably another visit."
Hermione hummed, not in a rush to face the music as she wrapped herself around him, resting her face against his chest and listening to the soothing rhythm of his heart. Memories of the night before floated fresh on her mind—the way he'd touched and kissed her. The way he'd stared at her.
Her chest clenched tightly at the thought of it.
Gazing at her, he idly tugged at some of her tangled curls, and she wondered whether he was thinking of the same things. Finally he pressed his lips to her forehead and shifted free.
Releasing a great sniffle, Hermione groaned, dropping her head back. He turned back towards her, smirking. "Didn't I say you'd catch a cold out there last night?"
Even as her eyes narrowed, she couldn't be mad at him. "Whose fault was it that I was out there in the first place?"
He rose from bed, unashamed in his nakedness, and flashed her a grin. "Mine."
Rolling her eyes, Hermione wrapped herself in the sheets before rising in the cool air of the room. "We'll get dressed and meet with Elias—decide if we ought to hold a meeting with the full council?"
With a sigh, he tugged on a fresh pair of shorts. "That sounds about right."
Ignoring the way his eyes raked her bare back, she fled for her own quarters to dress and returned within ten minutes to find him clad in charcoal trousers and a black oxford, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Staring at her, he reached for her hand, and they departed for the Nocturnus wing.
Nearing the central kitchens, Hermione halted, startled to see Ben and Elias Bergen heading their way, their expressions grim. With a sigh, she caught Malfoy's eye, and he offered only a grimace.
"Lunae Ortus," Ben said, brandishing a coiled scroll. "You have received this letter—and it set off every one of our protective filters."
Lifting a brow, he looked between the two newcomers. "Have you read it?"
"No," Bergen responded, adjusting his wire-framed glasses. "We wanted to get your opinion on it—and it's protected, Lunae. With enchantments that we fear only you can access."
"What if it's imbued with something?" Hermione asked with a flash of concern. Malfoy's hand tightened around hers. "Can we view its contents without needing to handle it?"
"Glenneth has enchanted it with protective spells of his own," Bergen reasoned. "If something is to happen, the spells will be instantly counteracted."
The four of them looked between one another and the scroll, and indecision warred within Hermione.
Finally Malfoy nodded, accepting the scroll. "Thank you." Staring at Bergen, then Ben, he said, "I will keep you both posted as to its contents."
The pair of them looked both uncertain and confused, but he turned on his heel and strode away with the letter; Hermione followed along to keep up, glancing back. "Why not open it with everyone in case something goes wrong?"
"Because," he said quietly, leading her towards the kitchen where they settled at the breakfast table. "Someone took painstaking efforts to make sure this letter finds me and that no one else can open it. Why else would it set off every protective protocol in the owlery?"
"Because it's full of dark magic?" Hermione asked, her tone dripping with sarcastic disdain.
Malfoy looked at her, a banal smile pulling across his face. "Very nice—I'm rubbing off on you."
Choosing not to respond, she merely gestured to the scroll. "Go ahead, then."
Carefully, he released the thin ribbon tying the scroll shut, and when he unfurled the roll, nothing happened. His lips twitched. "See? Someone knew this letter would find me as a priority."
Dropping her face into her palm, heart racing in her chest, Hermione muttered, "Your logic is faulty."
But he was already reading, his eyes racing back and forth across the page as his expression grew increasingly severe. He stared at it for a long moment before handing it to her.
Lunae Ortus and Lunae Amor,
Do not go back to France.
I have information for you—and an offer. Meet me at this location tonight at twenty-three hundred hours.
For the sake of many lives, come alone.
A London address she didn't recognise was written below the copy; the letter wasn't signed.
"A trap," she whispered, handing him back the scroll. Her stomach rolled and twisted with an unpleasant premonition. "There's no way this is a good thing."
"Someone knew we were thinking of returning to France," he only said, pocketing the scroll. Cautious grey eyes found hers. "Information—what if it's something we need to know?"
Sighing, Hermione sharply shook her head once. "No. This is—you're sounding like a Gryffindor. This is too dangerous."
Holding her gaze, he forced a swallow. "I can't ask you to come with me—"
"Don't be silly," she huffed. "There's no way I'm letting you go alone."
Author's Note: Hello! Thank you for reading! This was one of my favourite chapters to write so I hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to hear your thoughts. And the game is afoot :D
Love and light to my wonderful team, Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.