Chapter 14: Patience
19 May, 2018
Clarence House
An Enduring Heart
Owing to the unlikely betrothal between Hermione Granger and Prince Draco is perhaps the distinct fascination the public has with the couple, which has compounded to an interest so magnified the likes of which have never been seen before. While the marriage between King Abraxas and his Queen, Adelaide, a Danish princess in her own right, was cordially accepted as a match for political gain, there was little grand romanticising of a relationship between two political figures whose duties were to country first. In contrast, Princess Narcissa, as Prince Lucius' bride of choice, was beloved as one of this country's own, a young woman of twenty who was adored for her English blood and admired for her beauty and her warmth as a public figure.
Hermione, known for her temperance and intelligence, is said to be quietly discerning and poised in person, which is perhaps her saving grace given her unconventional background. Prince Lucius' prior relationships—including one with the eccentric Lady Bellatrix Lestrange—were, albeit passionate, rejected on the basis that his future wife must meet the royal family's standard of propriety. Lady Lestrange, who was then Lady Bellatrix Black, was notorious for her lascivious behavior among older men, which, along with clamoring suspicions of extramarital affairs, excluded her from consideration as a bride.
Hermione, while spirited, maintains an exceptional grace and painstaking care for her reputation, endearing her to King Abraxas. Despite patiently waiting several years for acknowledgment,
This is… difficult to stomach. I suppose it's better if I just stop. I've spent enough of my life being narrated by Rita Skeeter to know perfectly well that when she says 'enduring' and 'patience,' she isn't listing virtues.
People seem to think I'm not aware of this—or that I might not know the mockery the press applied to Hermione while I was being accused of fading interest or even cold feet—but of course they couldn't have known the full story. Sometimes I wonder whether Hermione herself knows the whole of it, though if she doesn't, that's entirely my fault. Among the many lessons in being so close to the throne is, first and foremostly, not to be too sparing with truths. Anyone who sees us, sees our vulnerability, can ultimately diminish us. It's important, or so I was taught, that no one ever understand who and what I really am. It makes me look cold, makes me look distant. It makes me look selfish, and perhaps I am. I've never seen the advantage in being honest, as it only seems cause others pain, and though I'm more than capable of suffering myself, I've never been permitted to let it show.
But I suppose, since I'm about to begin sharing my life with someone else, it's never too late to start.
23 November, 2011
London, England
Hermione: omg slughorn is telling us about some floral arrangement you allegedly sent him in your absence
Hermione: theo and I can't stop laughing
Hermione: omg I think… I think he actually bought himself flowers
Hermione: yep. wow. he even wrote himself a card this is tragic and hilarious
Hermione: update: he's weeping
Draco bit back a laugh.
"Draco," Lucius sighed, "are you listening?"
"Yes, of course I'm listening," Draco muttered in reply, tucking his phone back into his pocket and looking up at his father and grandfather. "I had a message, Father, and I worried it might be something urgent. After all, if this issue had any urgency, I imagine you might have found time to tell me over the past—oh, give or take twenty-one years," he remarked drily, to which Lucius replied with a narrow-eyed glare.
"If you're not going to take this seriously—"
"You've been skirting an answer for nearly an hour," Draco shot back. "I simply wanted to know what was wrong with Mother and you've done nothing but make excuses, as far as I can tell."
"It's not an excuse," Lucius said irritably. "I'm trying to explain that I have tried to get your mother the help she needs—"
"What exactly is wrong with her?" Draco demanded. "You said she's sick, fine, but this certainly doesn't seem like an illness. Not one that keeps her bedridden, anyway—"
"Draco, it's very complex and hardly requiring your involvement—"
"Lucius, please," Abraxas cut in, shaking his head and turning his attention exclusively to Draco. "Your mother has what's called histrionic personality disorder," Abraxas explained to him, and Draco shot a see? it's not hard glance at his father. "As far as we understand it, it's a condition which can only be treated with rigorous therapy—which of course your mother has refused several times over the last decade. I'm afraid it's gotten quite out of hand."
"That—" Draco frowned. "That doesn't sound right. Histrionic, that sounds like hysteria, doesn't it? Which isn't a thing." He stopped himself, amending the statement with a shake of his head. "No, never mind, it's definitely a thing, but a rather sexist one, isn't it?"
"It's her mother," Lucius said, and despite Draco's fervent disinterest in whatever his father had to say on the topic, he reluctantly turned to him. "I understand that when the mother is narcissistic and distant—difficult to please," he clarified, clearing his throat, "it's quite likely the offspring will then be prone to outbursts. Attention-seeking behaviors," he enumerated, "sexual provocation, some degree of paranoia—"
"You sound like a textbook," Draco said.
"I should," Lucius said drily, "as I've certainly read enough of them."
"She's a person," Draco reminded him, openly bristling, and Lucius scowled.
"Draco, do you think for some reason I'm not aware that my own wife—"
"Narcissa has repeatedly refused treatment," Abraxas cut in gently, easing the tension between them and stepping forward to place a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Believe me, Draco, I wish there was something more we could do, but this sort of illness is not readily treated without the patient's consent. I've tried reasoning with her myself, but it's something of a lost cause." He glanced pointedly up at Lucius. "I'm afraid she considers me the enemy."
"But that's ridiculous," Draco said, shooting a hard glare at his father. "It's not like you're the one who betrayed her, Grandfather."
Lucius was, by then, too accustomed to that particular accusation to flinch. "Draco, you really must move on from the past," Lucius told him stiffly. "Your mother blames me enough for the both of you, I assure you. For all three of you, I imagine," he added, and though he would never have scowled at his own father, there was an element like it; a sour twist of his lips. "And it's not as if she's entirely innocent."
"That," Draco scoffed, "is an immensely childish way to look at things—"
"Lucius," Abraxas cut in carefully, hand tightening on Draco's shoulder, "why don't you let me speak to Draco alone?"
This, Draco knew, was Lucius' least favorite thing. He loathed being cast out of the room, and unlike Draco, he had very little practice with it. Being the Prince of Wales meant there were very few privileges Lucius did not have, but in terms of vacancies, lacking his own father's favor was perhaps the most significant.
"Fine," Lucius said, curtly inclining his head. "Father, I'll speak to you this afternoon. As for you, Draco—"
"He'll join us this evening," Abraxas said firmly, and Draco blinked, unaware until then that he wasn't going to be able to return to Hogwarts within the hour. "The Royal Navy Children's Fund is having a benefit this evening and I will need both of you present. May I presume you can both manage to be in better spirits by then?" he asked, sparing a glance between them. "The effervescent Ms Skeeter is, predictably, said to be in attendance."
For once, Draco and Lucius agreed on something, which was a loathsome glance at the mention of Rita Skeeter's name.
"Fine," Lucius said again, bowing his head. "Thank you for your time, Father."
He left the room without another word, and Draco turned to his grandfather, who had fallen into one of the leather chairs and beckoned Draco into another.
Draco, who was a bit too agitated to sit, stared moodily at it.
"Come now, Draco," Abraxas said, tutting quietly. "You mustn't be so angry with your father. It's not his fault he's so… whatever he is." He gestured beside him again and this time, Draco fell into the chair with a sigh, leaning his head back against it. "The truth is your mother is unwell, Draco."
"Why can't I see her?" Draco asked. "Maybe I could help."
"Maybe you could," Abraxas agreed, "but she's had outbursts like this before, I'm afraid. She is," he began, and stopped himself. "Well, you know I think the world of her," he conceded carefully, reaching out for his glass of scotch. "She's a vivacious young woman, always has been—but she is a rather accomplished liar. And perhaps you wouldn't remember this," he added, taking a sip, "but when you were a child she tried to abduct you several times."
"What?" Draco asked, startled, and Abraxas grimaced in reply.
"I realize you probably think it's unfair, but it's really for your safety that we kept you apart," Abraxas said. "You were too young for us to explain what was happening with her, and now, I'm afraid it really is in her best interest to be removed from the spotlight." He shook his head. "She was always rather worse when she was required to be in public. I think it was too much pressure, expectations too high." Another sip. "She simply lost control."
"But," Draco said, unable to put his convoluted feelings into words. "But Grandfather—"
"Tell me about your Hermione," Abraxas beckoned tangentially, half-smiling at him. "I regret I wasn't able to speak to her much. She must be quite special." He paused again. "I certainly haven't seen you like this about a girl before."
Draco, who'd wanted to speak more about Narcissa, forced himself to hold his tongue. There was never any use in trying to persuade the King of England to stay on topic, particularly when the subject was something as apparently controversial as his mother. A troubled suppression of but she's clearly not okay! lodged momentarily in his throat, forcing him to swallow hard, but he knew there was no use in insisting.
"I haven't felt like this before," Draco eventually managed to admit. "Hermione is… unlike anyone I've ever known."
Abraxas' mouth twitched slightly, quietly amused. "You haven't known many people, Draco. Not closely, anyway—which is rather by design, unfortunately."
"Well—" He felt his face heat. "A poor choice of words, then. She's brilliant, Grandfather, she's funny and clever, she's kind and thoughtful. She does things not because they benefit her, but simply because—" He shrugged. "Simply because they are what's right. I admire her," he confessed. "I admire her drive, her ingenuity. Her persistence." He shook his head. "I could not speak more highly of her."
"She sounds wonderful." Abraxas took another sip, drawing out the silence. "I'm sure you do not need me to list the obstacles."
Draco stiffened. "Grandfather—"
"No, no, listen. It's not what you think," Abraxas said, leaning forward. "It's not out of the question that the laws which currently prohibit you from being together might change," he said slowly, which was, in fact, not at all what Draco had expected him to say. "There's no reason to continue as we have always done. But," he emphasized firmly, setting the glass down, "you must be very, very certain this relationship is what you want."
"It is," Draco said firmly, leaning forward in his chair. "I love her, Grandfather, truly—"
"I know you love her, Draco, that much is clear. But you are still very young." On this, Abraxas' voice was firm. "You're twenty-one, and were you anyone else, you would have a long time yet before you were required to think of marriage or commitment. You are only twenty-one, and as with any love at this age, perhaps she is the one, or perhaps she isn't."
He paused. Draco waited, feeling the weight of a shoe that hadn't yet dropped.
"But if she isn't," Abraxas continued, as Draco had known he would, "you must understand, Draco: You are not like other people. You are a magnifying glass. If your relationship were to go public, she would be connected with you for the rest of her life. There would be nowhere she could go without being photographed. No place she could go without being recognized. Her privacy would be stripped from her, and if your relationship did end, believe me, her connection to you would follow her around, whatever she did." He rubbed wearily at his eyes. "You do not have the privilege of error, or even simply experience, and it pains me to tell you, Draco, the rest of the world will not consider this what it is: two young people falling in love and perhaps, if the two of you are not especially lucky, then drifting apart, as young people often do. They will blame one of you, perhaps both of you. Certainly she will be blamed," Abraxas pointed out. "She's an American, a commoner, and do you know what they will call her the moment her identity is known?"
Draco didn't answer. He knew well enough.
His other girlfriends were members of aristocracy; they were public faces to begin with. They'd been recognizable well before he'd entered their lives, and yet still, there would be annotations about them for the rest of their lifetimes: Once connected with Prince Draco of Wales. Once seen with His Royal Highness here. Once accompanied him there. Once held the attention of the Prince for one single summer only to have the pictures from a single, unimportant garden party posted with a reference to his name every time she's seen stepping outside her house.
No matter what his girlfriends accomplished after him, Draco knew with a sinking feeling he would always be the asterisk next to their names. His presence in their lives would always diminish them, and for something as utterly ridiculous as their alleged failure to share the crown he'd been unwittingly born to.
"The doctors say your mother's illness is based in trauma," Abraxas said, interrupting Draco's (admittedly spiraling) thoughts. "The result of too much public criticism while she was too young. She was far more fragile than any of us realized."
"Hermione's strong," Draco said, alarmed to discover his voice quite difficult to find. "She's confident, she's brave, she's independent—"
"So was Narcissa. Or so we thought."
"But I would help her," Draco argued. "I'd take care of her. You heard my mother, Father left her alone, he wasn't—" He broke off, stumbling in his frustration. "It was different with them, he didn't—"
"Didn't love her?" Abraxas asked, arching a brow. "Is that what you think? Draco, I may not understand my son very well, but I do not believe he is completely unfeeling. He is, however, the Prince of Wales," Abraxas said firmly, "and he owes a duty to me and this country which must occasionally overshadow his other interests. You will have that same duty someday," he added, "as you already know. You have it now, in fact, and I regret that I have such great need of you while you are still so young—but it is what it is, I'm afraid."
"But I could do less," Draco suggested. "For a time, at least. Ease her in? There's no reason Father and I both have to be there tonight, is there?" he asked hopefully, and Abraxas shook his head.
"Unfortunately, Draco," he sighed, "there rather is."
Abraxas steepled his fingers at his mouth, contemplating something.
"In Ms Skeeter's latest achievement as this country's paragon of truth," Abraxas attempted wryly, "she once again called for a very familiar opinion poll."
Draco's stomach twisted. He'd seen it before, or versions of it: Prince Lucius' history of misbehaviours are emblematic of a dynasty which is unjustly celebrated. Does the monarchy have a place in modern government, or is it the mark of an antiquated time? Is it, perhaps, little more than a reminder of our failures as a nation?
"The end of the monarchy again, I take it?" Draco asked wearily, and Abraxas nodded.
"Odd, seeing as your parents' marriage alone must account for her mortgage," he remarked, "but this time, the results were different." He sat up stiffly, sparing Draco a firm glance. "You are of age now, Draco. Young still, but old enough for people to see how you might be as a man."
A pause, and then, slowly, "As a king, in fact."
Draco blinked. "People have always looked at me that way, Grandfather. It's not as if I haven't known my entire life what people expect me to be—"
"Yes, but now they see in you a future which appeals to them. Perhaps more so, even," Abraxas added slowly, "than the alternative."
Draco paused for a moment, disbelieving.
"Are you saying—" He shook his head. "No, they wouldn't want me to replace Father, would they? That's ridiculous, he's far more experienced. He has relationships with all of our allies, and I would only—"
"I didn't say I would do it," Abraxas assured him. "Lucius is my son, and much as I might prefer a… different heir," he said, with a slow sidelong glance at Draco, "I would never put him aside. However, I need you, Draco. Your father needs you. And the more beloved you become, the more widely publicized your appearances, the more you will be open yourself up to be criticized—as will your eventual partner," Abraxas finished, and Draco grimaced, making the connection between the subjects his grandfather had clearly planned to bring up.
"Tell me the truth," Draco said bluntly, and to that Abraxas leaned back in something of an invitation, apparently agreeable. "Did you intentionally keep my from my mother, like she says you did?"
"Yes," Abraxas said simply. "Initially because we were concerned you would become part of a publicity stunt. We thought perhaps if she got the treatment she needed, then we could gradually increase your visits. That, as you can see, did not happen."
"I'm an adult," Draco said, suddenly irritable again. "She can't very well kidnap me now, can she?"
"No," Abraxas conceded, "but people had finally tired of discussing her absences. If you were to start visiting her again, speculation would resurge—or so we feared." He shook his head. "Now that that has happened," he said carefully, "I'm sure you can see why we'd hoped to avoid it."
He could. PRINCESS NARCISSA'S TRAGIC HEARTACHE had been the cover of the tabloids following the gala, featuring an old picture of his mother in the midst of some sort of decade-old tearful rage next to a picture of his father, cold and unfeeling, and her sister, who was laughing. It was unflattering at bestw, if not entirely humiliating.
"But you must have known having her out in public would result in something like this," Draco began, and Abraxas nodded.
"I did know, yes. Your father disagreed with me. I think he still has hope they will reconcile, that he will be forgiven his misdeeds." Abraxas looked doubtful. "It did not surprise me what happened."
Draco was quiet for a moment, his phone buzzing in his pocket. "What about Hermione?" he asked, and for a moment, Abraxas didn't reply. "Tell me the truth, Grandfather," Draco urged him. "If you have no intent to permit my relationship with her, then just—"
"I'm not a monster, Draco. I trust you." His grey eyes landed with their usual subtle fondness on Draco, no different from any of their less-fraught conversations. "If you say she means something to you, I believe you. I am King of England," he added with a low murmured laugh, "and I do have some sway with Parliament, I think, to update some of our more archaic laws to suit the times. But I'm afraid everything I said earlier still stands."
Another pause.
"Do you love her?" Abraxas asked.
For once, there was no need for hesitation. "Yes. I do."
Abraxas nodded. "Then I'm afraid it comes down to the question of what sort of life you want for her. Perhaps, also, what life she wants for herself. Will she be content to sit quietly beside you?" Abraxas asked plainly, and Draco hesitated. "You tell me she's accomplished, intelligent. Her role would require her to put many of her own interests aside."
Draco wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. "Surely her attributes would reflect well on us, wouldn't they?"
"Maybe. But will she want to be used that way?" Abraxas asked, picking up his glass again. "I simply ask, Draco, because I want you to be very, very sure. It's not out of the question," he said again, "but I must ask you to consider this decision carefully. There will be no going back. You must be very certain."
"I am," Draco said firmly. "My feelings about her will not fade, Grandfather."
"I don't mean certain of your feelings," Abraxas said. "I mean certain of hers. Of her desires for her life, for her future. Otherwise," he began, and faded off, glancing momentarily into nothing. "Otherwise you will cause a great deal of pain for a very good woman."
Draco felt a dull blow of disappointment, realizing his grandfather was probably right.
"And what happens," he asked quietly, "if I decide the only life I could possibly give her would not be the one to make her happy?"
"Then you love her," Abraxas said simply, shrugging. "You support her. You admire her. You give her every advantage you can. You make concessions for her happiness."
Draco braced himself.
"But you do it from afar," Abraxas finished, and Draco flinched.
So much for being the most eligible man in Britain.
He sat in silence for a moment until he could no longer stand the lack of motion, leaning forward in his chair and suddenly feeling an intense need to sprawl face-first across the floor.
Which he resisted. As always.
"Right," Draco said, swallowing hard. "May I be excused, Grandfather?" he asked, and Abraxas nodded, clearly sympathetic. "Thank you."
"I'll see you this evening," Abraxas said, and added, as he always did, "Please do try to be on time."
Draco forced a smile. "I'm punctual, Grandfather. If nothing else."
"You are many other things," Abraxas assured him, and beckoned to the door.
The moment Draco had left, pulling the door shut behind him, he pulled out his phone, checking the new message and hoping it would bring him some relief.
Hermione: slughorn may be a complete buffoon but the lecture today was so interesting, I can't wait to talk to you about it
Hermione: you know how theo can't sit still long enough, he's got the attention span of a fruit fly
It worked, as it always did. Draco smiled down at his phone, dialing her number.
"Oh my god," Hermione said the moment she picked up, "can I just emphasize they were roses you allegedly sent him?"
Draco let out a laughing groan. "They were not."
"They were, and okay, so, I've been itching to talk to someone about this—do you have a minute?"
"I definitely have at least five," he said, glancing down at his watch, "which is probably enough for you to get through your preliminary thesis statement, isn't it?"
She gave a little hiccup of laughter. One of her tells, when she was too excited to manage the whole sound. "Just about, yeah. You didn't have anything pressing to discuss, did you?" she joked.
He settled himself on a bench in the corridor. "Nope," he assured her, glancing at the guard across from him and angling himself away. "Just go ahead and tell me everything. I've got plenty of time."
Theo: sorry I couldn't come tonight, fleur's being her most militant self. harry's there, isn't he?
Draco: yes
Theo: …
Theo: uh oh
Theo: knock knock
Draco: come back later
Theo: UH OH
Theo: just talk to him
Draco: says you
Theo: I was irrationally cross, it happens
Theo: I HAVE FLAWS draco
Draco: I'm aware
Theo: don't be a child. anyway I have to go fleur wants to play some sort of board game
Draco: he says, maturely
Theo: I strongly suspect there's stripping involved
Draco: statement retracted
Theo: you're a gentleman and a scholar
Draco: I know. it's a curse
Theo: ok bye talk to harry xx
Draco: don't kiss me
Theo: xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Theo: one more for luck
Theo: x
Draco: i hate you
Theo: we established that code when we were five draco
Theo: I know what it means
Draco: please leave
Theo: you're so sentimental. such a soft summer prince
Draco: i'm going to have you beheaded
Theo: please. you'd cry for days
Draco: will neither confirm nor deny. goodbye
Theo: bye your royal softness
Hermione: DO NOT TELL PANSY THIS VIDEO EXISTS
"What are you looking at now?" Lucius sniffed to Draco, who hurriedly put his phone back in his pocket.
"Nothing," he said. He'd have to sneak away to look at it later. "Article I was reading earlier."
"It can wait," Lucius said stiffly.
Draco tried very, very hard not to roll his eyes.
"How's school?" Lucius asked.
"It'd be better if I had more time to study," Draco said. "I already had to ask for an extension on two of my term papers."
Lucius smiled uncomfortably for the benefit of a camera somewhere near the east side of the ballroom. That was one of the Prince of Darkness' particular superpowers; he always knew when he was being photographed.
"Did you enjoy your visit with your mother?" Lucius asked, and Draco shot a glance at him before quickly softening it, transforming it to something that might look like a laugh.
"You can't be serious," Draco slid through carefully gritted teeth. "Is this really your idea of small talk?"
"I'm simply curious." Lucius nodded politely to someone across the room, not looking at Draco. "I thought you'd be pleased. You pestered me about seeing her, did you not?"
"Children these days are so unreasonable," Draco remarked under his breath, and Lucius turned to him, giving him a warning glance.
Draco exhaled, recalling his grandfather's request to be helpful to his father.
"It was… fine," he said. "She's just very different."
He'd spent the better part of his week with her trying to talk to her and getting very little out of it. In retrospect, he figured perhaps she'd been warned not to make any sort of misstep, though he couldn't imagine what the threatened consequences might have been. He'd spent most of his visit excusing himself for no real reason, skirting Pansy's disapproving glance from across the table and disappearing into the corridor to pace aimlessly in silence.
His mother wasn't the woman he remembered, though what memories did he even have a right to claim? So much of his life seemed different now, viewed through the lens of the secrets that had been kept from him. Draco remembered Narcissa being fun, exciting, adventurous—but perhaps things he'd thought were adventures as a child were actually quite dangerous. Narcissa had often slipped (or tried to slip) her guards, taking him places they were recognized without securing any sort of protection; often she'd fed them both dessert for dinner, and though that was hardly the most terrible offense, it was suddenly all he could think about. Now that he considered it, too, Draco couldn't quite remember her without some sort of glass in her hand.
He wasn't sure at all what to make of his altered memories.
"Your mother is… worse lately, I'm afraid." For a moment, Lucius seemed to let his guard down, glancing at his hands. "She hates me more than usual."
"She's unhappy," Draco said, and then, with a sigh, "but I'm sure she doesn't hate you."
For a second, Lucius looked stunned, and then intensely grateful. Before he could speak, though, they were interrupted.
"Your Royal Highness," came the voice of the Prime Minister, a recently re-elected Cornelius Fudge. He bowed to Lucius, first, then to Draco. "Ah, both Your Highnesses, what a surprise. I thought you were in school, Prince Draco?"
"I am," Draco assured him, "but I couldn't have missed being here, of course. This is one of my grandfather's favorite events of the year. Congratulations, by the way, on the results of the special election," he added smoothly, trying to keep the Prime Minister's attention on him. His father didn't care for Fudge, and likely would be less apt at pretending. "I was very pleased to see such overwhelming support for your latest policy reforms, particularly from such a young demographic."
"Ah, yes, the highest turnout this century from the 18 to 35 age bracket!" Fudge proclaimed, which Draco very politely did not point out was hardly much at all, considering they were only eleven years into said century. "I daresay I have a bit of youth left in me."
"Prime Minister, I'd wager you have more than just a bit," Draco assured him, and Fudge laughed, plainly tickled. A camera flashed; Draco registered that as a good sign. Fudge's party had won by a landslide, so perhaps the Princes and the Prime Minister being on good terms would be a bright spot in dreary royal news.
"Well, you're quite right, aren't you?" Fudge said with a chuckle, nodding again to Lucius. "I won't monopolize your time, of course—"
"Of course," Lucius said steadily. "Though it is a pleasure, as ever."
"Quite right, quite right. Do enjoy, then," Fudge said, inclining his head and making his way towards one of the naval officers, waving somewhat maniacally across the room.
In his absence, Lucius spared Draco a glance. "That was neatly done."
Draco shrugged. "It's actual small talk, Father. Not too terribly difficult."
Lucius gave a grim smile in return.
"You can go check your phone now, if you'd like," he said, turning away. "You've already said hello to most of the guests here."
Draco didn't hesitate. He nodded, slipping away and aiming himself for the toilets, figuring that was as easy an excuse as any. Harry caught his eye across the room; Draco hurriedly picked up his pace, nodding to one of his security team with their signal for the bathroom befores slipping into the corridor.
He dug his phone out of his pocket, hitting play on the video Hermione had sent. It was initially of Daphne and Pansy in the kitchen; there was a raucous noise as he pressed play and Draco hurried to turn the volume down, holding it to his ear.
Yep. Dancing Queen, Pansy's favorite, and all three girls were singing along.
He smiled down at the video, watching it shake slightly as Hermione set the phone down and joined them, singing into what appeared to be a whisk while Daphne opted for a half-empty wine bottle as a microphone, Pansy dramatically posing beside them. Blaise emerged onto the scene wearing perfectly applied lipstick and Draco smothered a laugh into his palm, the video suddenly cutting out as someone knocked into the phone.
He played it again.
And again.
First he felt joy, fondness, nostalgia. He felt a rush of affection, especially when Hermione gave the camera a mischievous smile from across the kitchen, which he caught on the third time through.
By the fourth watch, though, he felt a stab of something else. Desperation, or envy, or longing, or—
"You're avoiding me," Harry noted, and Draco spun, quickly tucking the phone back into his pocket.
"I'm not—"
"You are." Harry leaned impassively against the wall. "What is it?"
Draco shook his head, gesturing back to the ballroom. "It's nothing, Harry. Look, I just have to—"
"You found out," Harry guessed, grimacing. "Did Theo tell you?"
Draco made a mental note to murder Theo at his earliest convenience.
"No," he said slowly, and felt his mouth tighten. "Hermione did."
Harry blinked. "She knows?"
"I don't know." Draco was agitated again. Irritable, as he'd been all day. "But she mentioned you'd told her about your parents and astoundingly, Harry, I can put two and two together."
"Draco, I wouldn't do anything," Harry assured him quickly, straightening. "You know that. If you want me to keep my distance—"
"Actually," Draco cut in, the agitation suddenly increasing to an expulsion of fury he'd been holding onto for weeks and hadn't yet permitted to escape. "Do you know what I want? I want to be you instead of me," he growled, clenching a fist. "I want to run around doing whatever I feel like doing, I want to be charming and nonchalant without worrying I'll appear irresponsible and distracted, I want to disappear whenever I damn well feel like disappearing. I want to be beholden to nobody, but that will never be the case for me, will it?" he snapped, and in response, Harry said nothing.
"I want," Draco continued, feeling his cheeks heat with anger, "to not know you'd be better for her, Harry. I want to not be aware you could probably give her what she wants, to make her happy. I want to be the right person for her, but then there's you, isn't there? You're the better option," he said bitterly. "You can give her everything I'll never be able to give."
He broke off. Harry said nothing, and how could he? Draco was right. Harry was titled and wealthy but he wasn't the heir to the throne. He could drop everything for Hermione, he could choose to put her first; his appearances, official or not, were almost never strictly necessary. Harry could decline to be a working royal. He could decline his birthright to little ill consequence. He could have declined this very invitation and instead danced with her, barefoot on the kitchen floor, drinking too much wine and laughing too loudly—but that would never be true for Draco.
Draco would always have to be here, or some other version of it. Draco would always be called away, somewhere else, watching from a distance. Draco would always be faking smiles in a ballroom and sneaking away for the privilege of watching her from afar.
But still.
But still.
"I won't give up," Draco told Harry fiercely. "If she chooses you then she chooses you, fine, I understand, but I'm not stepping back, I'm not just walking away. I'm not giving her up, Harry, not even for you. Not until she asks me to, I swear, I—"
"Draco, stop." Harry stepped forward, closing a hand around Draco's shoulder just when Draco felt ready to double over and be sick from holding things back for so long. "Just… stop."
Draco shut his eyes.
"You should have told me," he said, voice rough. Harry's hand tightened on his shoulder.
"You can see why I didn't," Harry pointed out, and Draco nodded stiffly.
"But still. Everyone lies to me." He looked up. "You don't get to lie to me, Harry. Not you." He shook his head. "Not you."
Harry grimaced. "I get it."
"Do you?" Draco demanded. "Do you understand what it's like, everything being different once you find out the truth? I trusted you," he said, feeling a rush of anguish he only half understood. "I trusted you, I believed you, and—and—"
It occurred to him this wasn't strictly about Harry.
He exhaled sharply, and Harry nodded.
"Keep going," Harry suggested wryly, and Draco swallowed.
"They lied to me," Draco said. "About my mother."
"Mm. Yeah," Harry said, considering it with a nod. "That checks out."
"I just—" Draco dragged in a breath. "I'm going to have to make all the same appearances my father does now," he said hoarsely. "My grandfather wants me around more, so I'm going to have to work more. I'm going to be gone more often. I won't be able to—to be there, and—"
"I'll do them with you, then," Harry offered, and Draco looked up, startled. "I can take an extended leave. I've already been active for three years and let's be honest, I can do whatever I want." He gave Draco a crooked half-smile. "If you want me to be here, I'll be here."
Draco shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous. No one in their right mind would want to waste time on this."
"It's not a waste if it means I can give you a chance to breathe," Harry told him. "Do you really doubt that?"
"I—" He hesitated. "No."
"Good." Harry clapped him on the back, nodding. "You're right, I should have told you. I'm telling you now, I like her, but she doesn't want me. She never did," he reminded Draco. "I had a shot with her first and she didn't pick me. She thinks the same thing everyone does about me," he added under his breath, and Draco shook his head.
"She doesn't, don't be silly—"
"She does," Harry said, shrugging. "And she's not wrong, I suppose. It's not like much has changed since meeting her. My bed's not exactly cold." He paused, and then added, "Maybe I just wanted her to think I was capable of… depth. She's, you know. Academic, smart." He smiled his brightest Prince Harry smile. "I think the idea of her falling for me would have lent me the legitimacy I so selfishly want, that's all. The idea I could be taken seriously, anyway."
Draco shook his head. "You're mad if you think what people say about you is all you are. It's a persona you invented for them, Harry, that's all. Don't let it confuse you."
"Well, perhaps while you've envied me, I've envied you," Harry informed him spiritedly. "Ever think of that, Your Royal Genius? People call you thoughtful and level-headed, and to think," he said with a grin, "if they actually knew you—"
"Ah yes, there he is," Draco sighed, and Harry laughed.
"You're my only family," Harry reminded him, shaking his head. "There's not a person on earth I'd throw that away for, it's that simple."
Draco shook his head. "It's not like I thought you would, really. It's just," he began, hesitating, and Harry nodded.
"It won't be easy, the two of you," Harry said, which wasn't precisely an answer, though in fairness, a question had not been successfully asked.
"Am I," Draco began again, still tentative. "Am I doing her a disservice?" he asked, and before Harry could protest, Draco shook his head warningly. "Don't lie to me," he said. "As someone who cares about both of us, just… tell me the truth. Tell me if I'm—if I'll ruin her. Like my father did," he finished quietly, and to that, Harry let out a contemplative sigh.
"Look, if the question is are you and Prince Lucifer the same, the answer is no," Harry said. "You're not your father, that much is clear. But as for whether you're doing her a disservice…"
He trailed off, thinking.
"I guess there's no softening it," Harry said slowly. "You might make her life very difficult. You know as well as I do what will happen if you go public." He shrugged. "Apparently Astoria Greengrass was listed as your ex-girlfriend at London Fashion Week this year," he added with half a laugh.
Draco grimaced. "Since when do you keep track of Astoria?"
"I don't," Harry said smoothly, "but the Burberry model I had dinner with last week brought it up."
Draco arched a brow. "Just dinner?"
"And dessert," Harry conceded blithely, "but the point stands. You'll have to be very sure, I think," he said carefully, echoing Abraxas' advice, "before you try to move forward."
It wasn't what Draco wanted to hear, but it wasn't a surprise. He nodded, and in return, Harry gestured back to the ballroom.
"Shall we?" Harry asked, and Draco considered it.
"Just a minute," he said, gesturing over his shoulder. "Bathroom."
Harry nodded. "See you inside," he said, and then added, "I mean it, you know. If you need me—"
"I know," Draco said, and Harry returned to the ballroom with a slightly softened expression; a smile meant for reassurance rather than roguery, which was a welcome rarity.
Draco, needing a bit more than that to lift his spirits, pulled his phone back out of his pocket, hitting play on the video again.
And then one more time.
Draco: pansy is going to murder you
Hermione: I know but I had a nice life it was worth it
He smiled.
Hermione: how is the um
Hermione: the thing
Draco: not bad. harry says hi
He hoped he could imagine her smile. It felt like a long time since he'd seen it, so he hit play on the video one more time, watching it light up his screen.
Hermione: i've had some wine i won't lie but like just so you know
Hermione: you're the best prince i've ever met
Draco: miss granger you must be intensely sloshed
Hermione: am not
Hermione: 9472g87frbb^#676
Hermione: oops
Draco: i love you
Hermione: that's good i love you too
Hermione: oh i have to go blaise is detracting points
Hermione: i told him i was texting you and then he took five for backtalk
Draco: better go, then. have a good night
Hermione: THIS IS BLAISE I HAVE COMMANDEERED NEW TRACEY'S PHONE FOR THE GOOD OF MANKIND IT'S A NEW REGIME
Hermione: ROYAL DICK PICS WILL STILL BE ACCEPTED CURRENCY
Draco: hi blaise
Hermione: HELLO YOUR HIGHNESS AS IT TURNS OUT THIS NEW REGIME IS VERY SIMILAR TO THE OLD ONE
Draco shook his head with a laugh, tucking his phone back into his pocket and heading back into the ballroom.
Pansy: I haven't heard from you in two days, Draco. Are you dead?
Draco: I don't think so
Pansy: Good. I would drag you from the Underworld myself.
Draco: was there something in particular you needed?
Pansy: You say that like I worry about you.
Draco: you're right my mistake
Pansy: So, how are you? Tell me immediately and without delay.
Draco: seems redundant
Pansy: Oh, my apologies, I didn't realize you were in the mood to be difficult. Please do not contact me ever again.
Draco: pans
Pansy: I've lost my contacts, who is this?
Draco: I'm fine. miss you though
Pansy: If this is HRH Prince Draco Wales, please tell him I need five hours to recover from his thoughtless slight.
Draco: okay talk to you later
Pansy: We'll see.
Pansy: And I miss you too.
Draco: thanks pans
Pansy: You're welcome. Goodbye.
The next few days were occupied with a state visit, a dinner with several Polynesian officials, a quick trip to Edinburgh, and a morning service complete with Sunday best. Draco noticed his grandfather was making a point to keep him as close as possible without breaking royal protocol (i.e. putting him before Lucius), which left him with a sense of unease.
That, and another tabloid came out with new evidence for the rumor he was dating Fleur, whose private plane had been in Edinburgh the same day Draco arrived.
"She'd be an excellent option," Lucius remarked unhelpfully. "People love her."
"She's currently dating my best friend," Draco pointed out, and Lucius shrugged.
"I'm sure she could be persuaded," he said, sipping his tea, and Draco fought not to roll his eyes.
His presence was perfunctory, intended for an invisible group of people (a camera lens) rather than anyone in particular. He itched to go back to Hogwarts, desperate to be back in his own bed (or Hermione's), but the Bellatrix rumors were out in full force. Were they seeing each other again? the papers screeched, noting Lucius' appearances at events Lady Lestrange seemed to find some sadistic pleasure in attending. As if even his father would be so stupid. Narcissa is nowhere to be seen! Rita Skeeter contributed giddily, which was unpleasant, to say the least.
Draco sighed, glancing down at his signet ring on his right hand and feeling especially powerless.
After a moment of contemplation, though, he signaled to Dobby, who conveniently hovered within earshot so as to most devotedly handle his father's personal affairs.
"Can you get Harry, please?" Draco requested in a low voice. "He's here somewhere," he said, gesturing into the crowd, and Dobby nodded.
"Yes, Your Highness," he said, disappearing and returning after a few minutes with Harry at his heels.
"Hey," Harry said, pulling up the chair Draco's security team had subtly provided. "Need something, I presume?"
"I'm not dragging you from a lady's attentions, am I?" Draco asked.
"No, only Viktor Krum," Harry said, "though that might be worse, honestly."
"What, the rugby player?" Draco asked, abruptly scanning the crowd. "What on earth is he doing here—"
"Focus," Harry said, laughing. "What is it?"
"What do you think," Draco said slowly, "about our usual clever escape?"
"I suppose I could be made available," Harry said with a shrug. "Where are you thinking of going?"
Draco slid him a glance, and Harry laughed.
"Ah," he said. "Prince Lucifer's going to kill you."
Draco shrugged. "He can't," he said, gesturing to the cameras. "Haven't you heard I'm beloved?"
Harry spared him a grin. "It has been a bit since the Bad Lads assembled," he said. "Suppose we could all use a reunion."
"That," Draco said, picking up his cup of tea, "is precisely what I was thinking."
Harry: edinburgh. usual spot, usual time
Blaise: THIS IS MY MOMENT
Blaise: THIS IS MY TIME TO SHINE
Blaise: THIS AND ALL MOMENTS
Theo: what's the occasion?
Blaise: THEODORE ARE YOU TRYING TO RUIN THIS FOR EVERYONE
Theo: i'm not trying
Theo: it just comes naturally
Harry: is that a yes?
Theo: it's obviously not a no
Blaise: I WAS SO WORRIED WE'D GROWN UP
Blaise: LIKE IDIOTS
Harry: seems unlikely to happen
Theo: we'll head down there now. blaise put on pants
Blaise: DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO
Blaise: but yes fine
Harry: how do you know he needs to put on pants
Theo: it's called an educated guess henry
Theo: also he's sitting next to me
Theo: draco, need us to bring anything?
Draco: no
Draco: thank you for coming
Blaise: IS THIS YOUR FIRST DAY
Blaise: MINUS TWENTY FOR DOUBTING US
Draco: don't wear the silk trousers blaise
Blaise: …
Blaise: PLUS TWENTY FOR ROYAL CLAIRVOYANCE
Theo: alright let me wrangle blaise we'll see you this evening
Blaise: I DO NOT NEED WRANGLING
Blaise: AM BEING WRANGLED SEND HELP
Harry: see you soon
Blaise: FB3II*G08)*G)U)
"I, for one, am rather pleased you've talked us into this again," Theo said, sitting down and signaling to the waitress for a pint. "We were getting so reprehensibly responsible."
"True, you're very nearly domesticated," Harry agreed, pulling out the chair next to him. "Besides, I do love a good sneak-away."
Draco, who had rather a lot on his mind, wordlessly pulled out the chair between Theo and Blaise, who smacked him lightly across the shoulder.
"It doesn't work if you don't look like you're having a good time," Blaise reminded him. "People want debauchery and will settle for nothing less."
"True," Draco said, managing a nod. "I'll have a whisky, then," he said, signaling to a waitress who blinked with surprise, cataloguing the faces at the table and then going slightly pale, rushing indiscreetly to someone across the room. "This place is so predictable," Draco said, shaking his head. "Do you think they'll ever manage not to fall for it?"
"We could at least choose a place of culinary excellence," Blaise said, sniffing disapprovingly at the menu. "Drum up business for someone actually worthy, for once."
"Worthy people don't call the tabloids," Harry reminded them, checking his watch. "What do you think, ten minutes?"
"What, on a night like this, with Abraxas in residence? Four," Theo said, starting a timer. "Over or under, Blaise?"
"I'm going six minutes, thirty-five seconds," Blaise said firmly.
Blaise, who had clearly been some sort of minor deity in a past life, was always especially good at guessing. Draco half-wondered if it was more the universe bending to his wishes than anything else, but per usual, the photographers arrived precisely at the moment he'd said they would, the first of the cameras flashing obtrusively through the windows of the pub just as the timer struck six minutes and thirty-five seconds.
"Well, that's our cue," Theo said, setting down his drink and beckoning to a waitress, this one slightly less shameless than the first one had been. "Apologies, it seems we're going to need to make a rather stealthy escape," he said to her, and beside him, Harry flashed her a wink.
"I don't suppose you might be able to help us?" Harry asked, and she smiled nervously, obviously flustered.
"You could—well, I could help you gents out the back way, if… if you wanted—"
"That," Harry said, rising to his feet, "would be perfect. I don't suppose you're done with your shift anytime soon, are you?" he murmured in her ear, and her cheeks went a violent shade of crimson.
"Er, well I—um—it's this way," she said, leading them back through the kitchen. Blaise, ever the showman, blew a kiss at the photographers before bowing deeply to the rest of the tavern's occupants, following quickly in their wake.
The process was the same every time; photographers came around to the back, and one car left with the others inside it while Draco bided his time, waiting for them to disappear so he could safely take a different car. This time, though, Theo paused beside him, Harry, Blaise, and one of Draco's security (in a blond wig) climbing into the car while Draco hung back.
Draco frowned at him, surprised. "What are you doing?"
"I'm not letting you go alone," Theo said, shrugging. "They won't wonder what happened to me. I'm the most forgettable."
"I hate when you say that," Draco said disapprovingly, and Theo laughed.
"It's true though, isn't it? I know my strengths." He glanced out into the alley, watching the photographers take off after the car Harry and Blaise had just left in. "Come on," he said, beckoning to the less conspicuous vehicle which pulled up behind it. "Let's go."
They'd gone nearly sixty kilometers before Draco finally asked the obvious.
"How'd you know?"
"What, that you were going to see your mother? Just a guess," Theo said. "Either that or predicting your movements your entire life. Take your pick."
Draco rolled his eyes. "You make me sound so terribly obvious."
"Yes, well, good intentions are quite easy to follow." Theo turned to him, considering something before saying, "It's terrible, you know, the things they've printed about her since the gala. And considering how you left things," he added carefully, "I figured it was only a matter of time."
"I'm not sure what I'm going to say to her," Draco admitted. "I just know I didn't say anything to her last time, and—" He grimaced. "I suppose I just want to know. I need to know, I think. The truth," he clarified, "or at least her version of it."
"Do you not believe your grandfather?" Theo asked, and Draco shook his head.
"It's not that I don't believe him, it's just… I want to ask her myself. That," he exhaled, "and I don't want her to feel alone." He tapped his fingers on the leather of the seat beside him. "And I have to ask her something else, too."
"Which is?" Theo prompted.
Draco glanced at him.
Theo knocked twice in the air, and Draco sighed.
"If she'd do it over," he conceded. "I just… I need to ask her if it was worth it. Or if it would have been worth it, if things hadn't gone so badly."
"Ah," Theo said.
They were quiet a moment.
"You know," Theo ventured, clearing his throat, "you would never have done something like this if you hadn't met Hermione."
"I know," Draco said, and he did.
Theo nodded. "Just thought that might help," he said, and because he was Draco's best friend, he said nothing else for the rest of the drive. Or perhaps it was because he was so good at silence that he had always been Draco's best friend, but either way, Draco was more than satisfied.
"Draco," Narcissa said with confusion, glancing over his shoulder from where she sat in her regal four-poster bed. The canopy overhead was a perfect replica of the blue of her eyes, and she looked tiny against the expansive size of it. "Is your father here?"
"No, it's just me. I'm sorry it's so late," Draco added, and she softened, beckoning for him to come in from where he was hovering apprehensively in the threshold.
"Nonsense. Come here," she said, beckoning for him to sit beside her. She'd been reading, he noted. She had a pile of books beside the bed, most of them fantasies or romances or ghost stories. He remembered she'd loved ghosts and vampires; had delighted in telling him horror stories before bed. She also had a copy of his favorite book as a child sitting on top of the pile—a simplistic translation of The Odyssey, which he'd developed an interest in after learning about mythology from his classes. She'd read it with him, both of them equally enjoying Circe's vengeful transformation of Odysseus' crew to pigs and lamenting the prideful shaming of the cyclops. If you ever blind a cyclops, Narcissa had told him sternly, for god's sake, Draco, be clever enough not to tell him your name.
An important lesson, all things considered. Draco guessed he'd learned most of his diplomacy skills from her.
"What are you reading?" he asked her, easing himself on top of the duvet next to her, and she set it aside.
"Oh, nothing. Just about a woman trapped in her house as a ghost," she said with a hollow laugh, turning to him. "What brings you here so late, sweetheart?"
"Well," he said, "it's been… bothering me, a bit. What you said."
She wasn't wearing her signature full face of makeup, so it was less difficult than usual to see her expression falter. "I'm sorry, darling. I shouldn't have said those things, I was only—"
"No, I just—sorry," he added hastily, dismayed at having interrupted her. "Sorry, I just wanted to be clear, I don't blame you for saying them, I just… wanted to know if they were true. Especially about, um." He eyed his hands. "Well, you told Hermione to run."
He felt her stiffen beside him. "Oh. Yes."
"And, um." He fidgeted. "Well, I just—I wondered if you meant that. That it would be better for her if she ran, because—" He inhaled, lifting his chin. "Because, well, I trust you, Mother. If you think I'm just going to… to ruin her life, then I think I should probably just, um. Well, not." He laughed hesitantly. "I just wondered if you might… tell me what it's like. To not be born to the crown, but to… choose it. To choose it, but then to be—" He swallowed heavily. "Disappointed."
"Oh, Draco." She shifted against her pillows, turning to look at him. "This has been bothering you for quite a while, hasn't it?"
"Not too long," he lied. "But I thought, you know. If anyone would know—"
"Well, darling, to be perfectly honest with you, I don't know that I can give you an answer that will help." She gave him a slightly wistful look. "I think," she said slowly, "the fact that you're wondering about this is quite promising for her, though." Her expression stiffened slightly. "I don't think your father ever thought to do the same."
She looked lost for a moment, and Draco cleared his throat.
"Grandfather tells me you have some sort of illness," he said, and Narcissa scowled.
"Well, he would, wouldn't he? I'm sure he thinks it's a crime, having feelings. My mother was the same way—she demanded silence, hardly looking my way unless it was to tell me my hair wasn't quite right, or that I was looking sour. My job was to be beautiful, to marry well. Not to have curiosities or to wonder about things, or to have a single thought in my head. My sister Andromeda, she was the clever one," she sighed, shaking her head. "For Christmas she got books, trips, tickets to galleries and museums. Me, I got… clothes. Jewelry. Skin care products." Her lips twisted in a darkened, humorless smile. "My mother gave me an expensive anti-aging serum when I was eighteen and was furious I didn't thank her."
"Oh," Draco said dully, unsure what to say, and Narcissa shook her head.
"My mother cried at my wedding," she said. "I thought at last she was proud of me—but then, when no one was listening, she told me I'd have to get pregnant quickly or Lucius would tire of me and go back to Bellatrix. She was right, of course." She paused. "She said as much herself. Even laughed at me when I told her." She chewed her lip for a moment, then straightened, shaking herself quickly. "Which is not for you to hear, of course. I tried to love you better than my own mother did, sweetheart, but I'm afraid I didn't quite know how."
"I—" Draco wondered if his mother had ever told anyone that story before. It didn't sound like she had. "Do you ever feel sad, Mother?" he asked her, and in answer, she went slightly rigid. "I only ask because I'd hate to think you keep that to yourself," he assured her quickly. "I don't think you're ill, but, well—" He hesitated. "Would it be so terrible, speaking to someone?"
Her face looked pale and drawn.
"If I admit there's something wrong with me," she told him slowly, "Abraxas and your father will use it against me. They'll keep you from me."
"They didn't keep me from you tonight, did they?" Draco asked, keeping his voice gentle, and she turned to look at him again, doubtful. "You're a person, Mother, and you're allowed to… need help. If you want it." He fidgeted again, scraping his fingers through his hair. "I don't know. I suppose it's not really my place. I only came to see how you were—and to ask if you had any regrets, I suppose."
"Regrets? Oh darling, no," Narcissa said, softening instantly at that. "Well, yes," she amended, "I have many regrets, and I should hope your father does, too. But whatever his reasons were for choosing me, and whatever my reasons were for agreeing, it was worth it to have you, wasn't it?" she said, taking his face gently in her hands. "You're my very favorite thing, sweetheart. I wouldn't trade any of it. Not if it meant you would not exist precisely as you are."
He hazarded a smile at her, and she smiled back, a little like her old self again.
He let them stay like that for a few moments before sighing, leaning into the palm of his mother's hand.
"Mother," he said, the sound of it muffled slightly, "I don't want to hurt her."
"You won't," Narcissa said.
He waited, once again sensing something about to drop.
"But," she continued, "that doesn't mean she won't be hurt. It's no easy life being the woman in the background. Some women aren't meant to be shadows, just as some men are not meant to be husbands." She shook her head. "Impossible to tell what the outcome will be, sweetheart, until you've already made your choice."
"So what do I do, then?" he asked, and she leaned his head against her shoulder, settling him comfortably beside her.
"I suppose you may have to wait until you know," she said.
He inhaled. Exhaled.
They sat there for a few minutes in silence.
"Want to see something?" he asked her, clearing his throat, and she nodded. "She had to do a debate in class and Theo snuck a video, you know. Because he's creepy like that." He pulled his phone out of his pocket. "This," he said, finding it in his messages and holding it up for his mother to see, "is Hermione talking about King Lear. She's making the argument that if Cordelia had simply lied to Lear and flattered him knowing he planned to give the throne to her, she might have ultimately done more goo-"
"Hush, sweetheart, I'm listening," Narcissa said, her eyes glued to the screen.
Draco, who'd already watched it several times, closed his eyes, listening to Hermione's voice. It was always in a slightly different register when she was trying to make a point, which she hated. When men get angry, that means they're passionate, she insisted, but when women get angry, they're emotional. It's RIDICULOUS, she shouted at him before kissing him in an unnecessary apology for shouting.
"Well," Narcissa said when the video cut off with Theo accidentally dropping his phone on Tracey Davis' head, "she's very well spoken. Unfortunate," she sighed, "as she certainly has a voice people should hear."
He didn't have to ask her why that was unfortunate.
He merely nodded, sliding his phone back into his pocket and looking up at the canopy of his mother's bed.
"I should probably go soon," he remarked to the ceiling. "It's a long drive and I don't want to do it when someone might see."
"True," she said. "Your father will be furious."
"Yeah," he said.
She paused.
"You know, we could always run away," she suggested. "Just disappear. Go to Bali? Or Morocco. No one would find us. I could pack a bag," she assured him. "I still have jewels, we could sell them. We wouldn't need your father's help, we could just go."
Draco swallowed hard, knowing that was perhaps the one option he would never have.
"Yeah," he said, turning to kiss his mother's forehead. "Sure, maybe next time. Theo's downstairs," he added in explanation, and she shook her head.
"Of course he is," she agreed, sighing.
They sat still for a few more minutes, the clock on the wall ticking quietly as they sat in silence.
"Five more minutes?" Draco said.
"Sure, darling," Narcissa said. "Five minutes would be lovely."
Daphne: theo was positively falling over this morning
Daphne: he looks like he was out all night
Daphne: draco wales, were you two being debaucherous without us?!
Draco: something like that
Daphne: well, I suppose I'll forgive you… IF you come back
Daphne: is that a possibility anytime soon? we miss you
Daphne: not just hermione, you know
Draco: I miss you too daph
Draco: I just have to get through this service and then I'll be heading back
Draco: promise
Daphne: well, good. lady six-names is out of control
Daphne: without you to fuss over she redirects all that mad controlling energy at us
Daphne: she rearranged my closet
Daphne: she's bullying hermione into eating raw vegetables
Daphne: I thought making her watch steel magnolias would help because you know how she loves stories about how useless men are but no
Daphne: she didn't even cry she just started drafting an emergency protocol in case she's ever in a coma
Daphne: I think neville is in fear for his life
Daphne: though that's pretty normal as far as I can tell
Draco: yes this all sounds about right
Draco: put on abba's greatest hits that usually soothes her
Daphne: we're so far past abba at this point
Daphne: she barely even did the 'a-has' in voulez-vous
Draco: try fernando
Daphne: oh I didn't even think about fernando hang on
Daphne: okay she's
Daphne: she just kind of froze
Daphne: is she
Daphne: I think she's
Draco: yeah she's going to cry
Daphne: oh my GOD
Daphne: you're the pansy whisperer
Daphne: she's totally crying
Draco: yeah I know
Daphne: wow
Daphne: WOW
Draco: all good now?
Daphne: YES
Daphne: I can't
Daphne: I can't believe what I'm seeing
Daphne: does this happen every time?
Draco: pretty much
Daphne: wow
Draco: don't overuse it or she'll catch on
Daphne: noted
Draco: should probably go find her blanket too
Draco: she'll want to nap
Draco: it's the green one with the flowers
Draco: she tucks it into her pillowcase
Daphne: she has a BLANKET?!
Daphne: omg I'm
Daphne: I'm going to have to lie down
Daphne: I've seen too much
Draco: you are sworn to secrecy daphne greengrass
Draco: she'll kill both of us if you tell anyone
Daphne: I… might have to
Daphne: it might be worth it
Draco: that's fair
Draco: okay see you tonight
Daphne: if we're still alive by then
Draco: valid point
Draco's little sleight of hand succeeded in tricking his father and grandfather as well as the photographers, all of whom assumed he'd gone out for a rowdy night with the boys rather than a jaunt to see his estranged mother. Abraxas had laughed it off, reminding Lucius nothing had come of it. "These pictures show nothing," his grandfather said, holding up the tiny, blurry square on the tabloid cover. "If they even knew for certain it was him, they'd have blown it up entirely."
Per usual, King of England and family patriarch Abraxas won that round.
"Fine," Lucius said, gritting his teeth. "But stay out of trouble until the end of term, and then I'll need you to come to New Zealand with me. Your grandfather," he added, with a slicing glance at Abraxas, "insisted."
"Fine," Draco agreed, anxious to leave. "But I can go back to Hogwarts now? I have papers due," he added hurriedly, and Abraxas waved a hand.
"Go, go," he said. "We'll see you in London in… what is it, two weeks?"
"Yes," Draco said, breathlessly backstepping towards the door. "See you then, Grandfather—"
The moment he was out of the room, he turned and ran, lifting his phone to his ear and checking his voicemails.
"Hey, got your text but just thought it'd be quicker to call—I can't wait to see you! Oh my laird, it's been ages. I say laird now because of the play which will not be named. Theo thinks he invented it, but like—nobody buys that, Theo, read the room. Anyway, I've been cloistered in Slughorn's office all day, I think I might be blending into the scenery at this point. He knocked into me yesterday like I was a house plant. Anyway, I'm exhausted so no sex olympics this time, I'm afraid I have to be very firm about th- oh god, Professor, yes hi, sorry, one second, let me just—okay," she said in an unsuccessful whisper, "so sorry, I love you, I will see you tonight I love you byeeeee—"
It was one of those distances where a plane would have been unreasonable but a car ride was uncomfortably long. Draco didn't want to bother her, instead mindlessly playing Words With Friends with Blaise (who was unfairly good, and also opted to play under the username 'WHATSAPRINCETOAGOD' which was a very nice reality check, in Draco's view) and then rushing into their building the moment he arrived.
"Hi Daph, hi Pans," he said, barging into their flat (they'd stopped locking it much since Blaise had illegally made several copies of their keys) and pausing at the sight of Roger Davies, who was sitting on the floor and massaging Daphne's feet. "What's this?" he asked, careening to a halt, and Pansy looked up with pursed disinterest.
"I'm not allowed to say," Pansy drawled, "but it rhymes with 'inadvisable nonsense.'"
"Weren't you supposed to make it rhyme?" Roger asked, twisting around to look at her.
"Oh, do shut up, Roger," she said, flipping the page of her magazine and looking up at Draco. "How was your trip, then?"
"Fine," Draco said, a little breathless. "I just have to, um. I left something in Hermione's room, so, uh—"
"Just go," Daphne said, waving a hand. "I already have all of Roger's internet passwords. He's been neutralized as a threat."
"I could always use my phone," Roger reminded her.
"2-1-0-8," Daphne replied lazily, apparently correctly guessing his password, "which is coincidentally also your bank code, and just so you know, your birthday isn't exactly the wisest choice."
"This is all very troubling, love," Roger told her fondly, and Draco turned into the corridor without waiting for Daphne's response, knocking twice on Hermione's door.
"Come in," she called, and he slipped into her room, shutting the door behind him. "One second," she said without looking up, holding a finger in the air for pause. "Does this sound right to you? 'The story laments the psychological effects of political ambition when power is sought for the sake of possessing'—no, wait—"
"The story details," Draco suggested, "the traumatic psychological effects of ambition when seeking power for power's sake?"
"Ooh, traumatic, yes," Hermione said, still staring at her screen. "How about, 'the story follows the traumatic psychological effects of ambition when power is sought for its own sake'?"
"Yes, that sounds great," Draco said, and she typed something in, nodding to herself in confirmation before turning to face him, a smile spreading across her lips.
She looked beautiful and perfect, and perfectly interrupted, caught in a moment of perfect candidness. Her hair was piled on top of her head in one of those horrific claw clips she only used while studying and pieces of it were spilling out beside her cheeks, flashing golden in the low light of her desk lamp. She was barefoot, her feet pulled up to rest on her chair so that he could see her toes were painted purple (Blaise's choice) and she was wearing a pair of yoga pants with one of his jumpers, the fabric slipping down from one shoulder. Her favorite lip balm, the holiday-flavored peppermint Chapstick she'd asked her mother to send her from California, sat out on her desk, and Draco realized with a beatific lurch in his chest that if he kissed her now, she would taste precisely like a candy cane.
"Hi," she said, and then paused. "You look weird."
"Do I?" he asked distractedly, scraping a hand through his hair. "I suppose I should have showered before I arrived—"
"No, no," she said with a laugh, rising to her feet and coming towards him. "I mean… you look like you're thinking about something," she said, snaking her arms around her neck. He leaned towards her, catching a hint of lip balm before he kissed her, and yes—candy. He pressed his forehead to hers, inhaling the reassuring scent of it mixing with the vanilla-floral concoction of her lotion, and touched his lips to hers.
"I missed you," he said softly, "so very much."
She laughed, wrapping her arms tighter around him and pulling him backwards onto her unmade bed. "I missed you, too," she said, kissing him more firmly that time. His lips tingled from the peppermint, and his fingers wandered under her jumper to find the pebbled skin of her stomach before sliding up to the (magnificently braless) curves of her breasts. "Ah, you're distracting me," she said, shoving his hand away and kissing him again. "Later. Did you bring your laptop?"
"Oh, it's around here somewhere," he said vacantly, blood having rushed to somewhere entirely not his brain by then. "Five more minutes," he said, kissing her neck, and she caught the back of his head by the roots of his hair, pulling it up for a warning glance.
"Draco Wales," she said sternly, "if you think you're going to distract me—"
She broke off, frowning a little at him.
"Something's wrong," she said, tracing her fingers carefully over his cheeks. "Everything okay?"
For the first time in weeks, he couldn't think of one thing wrong.
"I just missed you," he said, shrugging. "It's hard being away from you for so long and it's…" He hesitated, giving her something of a lopsided smile. "I suppose it's hard to put that into words without it getting tiresome, that's all."
She smiled at him, taking his face in both hands.
"How about this," she said. "We need some sort of code."
"For?" he asked.
"For when we're apart," she said. "You know, like something that means 'I love you,' but also 'I miss you,' and 'I have that sad feeling I have when you're away for too long,' but 'it's not your fault,' and 'just come home soon'?"
"Oh," he said. He tilted his head, considering it, and then blinked, something suddenly leaping to mind. "Super Trouper."
"What?" Hermione asked, startled, and he leapt back, taking her hands to pull her none-too-gently to her feet.
"Hold on," he said, reaching for his phone and finding the ABBA Greatest Hits album he kept there for purposes of Pansy-whispering. He hit play, holding out the phone for her, and she let out a peal of laughter, sitting back down and beckoning for him to sing along.
"Super trouper, lights are gonna find me—No, wait, this isn't the part, hang on—ready?" he asked, egregiously too excited, and she nodded eagerly, leaning back. "Okay, here we go—facing twenty thousand of your friends, how can anyone be so lonely," he sang, probably extremely terribly, though Hermione looked positively enthralled. "Part of a success that never ends, still I'm thinking about you only—"
"This," she proclaimed, pumping a fist in the air, "is fucking incredible."
"There are moments when I think I'm going crazy, but it's gonna be alright," he sang as she reached forward with delight, greedily gripping his hips. "Everything will be so different when I'm on the stage tonight—"
"Oh my god, you're a horrifying singer," she said, "and I love you so much—"
"Shush," he told her, "I'm not finished."
"You're right," she said firmly, unable to keep from smiling at him. "Sorry, continue."
"Yes, thank you, where was I—mm, so I'll be there when you arrive, the sight of you will prove to me I'm still alive and when you take me in your arms and hold me tight, I know it's gonna mean so much toni-"
He broke off as she kissed him, tugging him down to her and, to his entire disbelief, pulling her shirt over her head and placing his palms on top of her bare breasts.
"Okay, stop," she said, leaning forward to kiss his neck. "Turn it off, we're having sex now."
"Are we?" he asked hazily, fumbling to identify buttons on his phone. "Just because I sang for you?"
"Yes, just because you sang for me," she agreed, slipping down to tug ungracefully at the zipper of his trousers.
"But I'm not even good," he protested weakly. "You're rewarding deeply flawed behavior. This is—" He sucked in a breath as she kissed her candy-cane flavored way down his torso, her wild curls falling forward to tickle his stomach. "This is wildly counterintuitive—"
"Shut up," she said, breathless, as she slipped his cock out from beneath the band of his underwear. She slid her lips over him, the tingling mint of her chapstick sending a shiver up his spine, and glanced up to look at him. The gold snake on her finger glinted from where her hand was wrapped around his dick, the metal winking suggestively in the light, but he shook his head, pulling her up and rolling her over in the midst of the messy disarray of sheets.
"I've been waiting too long to touch you," he said, lifting her hips to pull the yoga pants down over her bum and discarding them on the floor. "Better I start things off."
"Cunnilingus and a serenade? Your Highness, you're far too generous," she said, groaning a little as he slid his tongue along her clit, saturating it through the fabric before yanking her knickers down. "Try not to overuse it," she added, "or it won't mean anything."
"What, oral sex?" he asked, glancing up at her. "I'm not sure it can be overused. At least not if your mother is to be believed."
"What? God, no—Super Trouper," she corrected him. "It's only for desperate situations, okay? Only when one of us—" She cut off with a moan, Draco by then having returned to his ministrations between her legs. "Only when we—oh my god—"
He nodded his assent, mouth still placed against her, and she let out a gasp, her thighs tightening around his head before he nudged them wider, deepening the pulse of his tongue. He still tasted a mix of mint and of her, all of it entirely sweet; her legs started to shake around him as her breath quickened, faster and faster, and she held every muscle in her body tensed, fingers balled up in the sheets.
She came with a bitten-back cry, her arm rising to drape across her forehead as she settled back limply, legs sliding weakly to rest flat against the bed. He drew himself carefully against her, listening for the telling intake of breath from the brush of his hips against the still-sensitive lips of her cunt, and paused before sliding inside her, kissing the tips of the fingers she'd set lightly against his lips.
"Okay," he said, "I promise, we'll only use it when it's strictly necessary."
"Yes," she said, tugging him closer. "Yes, fine."
When he filled her, they both let out matching breaths of satisfaction, of withheld longing, and for as many times as he'd been told to wait until he was certain, he was more certain of now than anything. He was certain of her, of the way she fit into his arms and into his life, and perhaps that wasn't enough certainty for his grandfather, or for his mother, or for Rita Skeeter, or for the country—but for Draco, he knew one thing well enough.
It was her. It would always be her.
She gasped in his ear and he leaned back to watch her face go radiantly blank, all comprehension and restraint fading away. Her lips were parted, teeth gritted and eyes dizzily locked on his, and in the moment, he imagined a life with her. A future, ten futures, an eternity of mornings with his nose buried in her hair; he thought of all the promises he would have made to her if he could have; if he'd trusted fate even one iota more. He thought of all the things he'd be willing give her—everything he'd ever have, or could ever have—and the things he'd be willing to give up if only it meant she'd be as free—as blissful, as complete and as utterly filled with perfection—as she was right then, wrapped in his arms.
"What are you looking at?" she whispered, stroking a line down his cheek, and Draco felt himself smile well before he'd given himself permission.
"You," he said, and kissed her, content enough with now to wait for what would come.
I only used Super Trouper one time after that, and as I promise her it would be, it was in a moment when I was desperate. She has only used it once as well, as of approximately an hour ago, when she sent me a text that simply said: Odysseus—I'll be there when you arrive.
People think because I don't show very much of what I'm thinking or feeling that I'm not capable of understanding what's going on around me. The truth is, though, I know more than they think.
And for the record, I think I know exactly where Hermione is right now.
a/n: FYI, it's World Ballet Day and I wrote (/ruined) ballet via the latest one shot in Amortentia: Primo, chapter 103. Thank you for being here today!