Chapter 10
"You have to show up on the funeral tomorrow."
After Hermione's fiasco of an escape attempt and killing of Bellatrix Lestrange, hours were drawing scarily long. After that sleepless night and the next weird day when Hermione got that odd message from Kate, the evening was unnaturally peaceful. Malfoy was gone most of the time but when the evening turned into a night, and then into a late, cold hour, he got back into the bedroom to talk to her. Actually, this was the first real talk between the couple after everything.
The atmosphere in the room turned chill and her loud mind got even louder when she finally gave up on reading some book and looked at him shocked.
"You'll seriously make me go to the funeral of the woman I murdered?" Hermione was proud of herself. She sounded calm, if not a little cold and couldn't even believe it herself. She was becoming a good actress. She was scared of herself.
"If you don't, it will be even more suspicious, or worse, it would only confirm the fact that you're the actual murderer." Malfoy said and looked through the window. The whole time since that catastrophe, Malfoy avoided her eyes. She wasn't sure how she felt about it, but it wasn't very pleasant. "If you're playing a game, play it 'til the end, Granger." He added and it sent chill down her spine. He was too close to the truth. He was probably oblivious, but he was close and he was right. If she was going to do this, she had to finish it.
"You're right." She admitted, voice laced with annoyance. That was when he looked at her for the first time. Bleak, tired grey eyes were now filled with wonder.
"Of course I am. I'm always right." Malfoy responded and Hermione couldn't control her raging nerves anymore. She rolled her eyes and snorted loudly and the atmosphere was shifted to some easier tone.
"Be ready tomorrow by nine. I'm going to finish all the preparations now, so good night." He turned to go, and Hermione squashed that disappointment she was feeling when they weren't sharing bed. But she suddenly remembered something. Young widow.
"Wait, Malfoy-" She jumped from the bed, unconsciously, as if she was ready to jump him if it would stop him from leaving. He looked at her questioningly when she got close and Hermione felt some weird calmness radiating off his body. She ignored her instinct to proceed and pull him to her and took a step back.
"Is there anyone else who died that night?"
He frowned at her, lines covering his porcelain forehead and making him look older, and somehow more dangerous.
"No... My people don't have a habit to die on me, Granger. We're not at war. Nobody died except Nott and now aunt Bella." Malfoy sliced his statement word by word, showing how much that question got to him, but Hermione ignored that. Nott. Of course.
"Why do you care, anyway? You got what you wanted." His eyes turned to the slits while he watched her with barely concealed suspicion and annoyance.
"No reason, it would be just easier to pretend to be shook if I knew there was someone's, anyone else's funeral tomorrow. This way I will have to keep myself from dancing on the bitch's grave." Hermione quickly lied and covered it with a dose of ruthlessness and irony. She was way past joy on seeing Lestrange's dead body, but that was beside the point. She only knew that she was lucky Malfoy didn't kill her in that moment.
His bleak eyes turned to storms and he opened his mouth to spit out something probably very vile on her behavior, buy he decided to keep quiet. He turned and left without a word, leaving Hermione alone and very apathetic to everything happening around her. She was just so tired.
Hermione chose black knee length dress for the special occasion. She even found a hat with black veil, to cover her grief-stricken eyes. As if.
She was in a very bad mood as soon as she got up, knowing what was awaiting and what was her role. The funeral of that crazy bitch was going to be anything but private and Hermione knew that she had to be a good little wife, following her grieving husband and playing his emotional support.
Malfoy was waiting for her in the hallway, wearing some expensive black suit. He even got his hair slicked and was already prepared for the day with his proud and serious stance. Hermione could swear he didn't give a fuck about that woman, no matter how close family she was. She knew that he was furious at himself for allowing Hermione so much freedom and for letting her manipulate him to become more powerful witch and that was all. Death of Bellatrix, by the look of it was just one casualty more to deal with. So Hermione didn't pity him. Not like when Nott had died.
Hermione didn't know what to do with herself but Malfoy just cast her one infuriated glance and took her hand. He apparated them onto the graveyard, probably the Black family sanctuary and there were already many people there. Journalists didn't have the decency to leave them alone the whole time but a couple of whispers from Malfoy to his men solved that, when they went to play the role of bodyguards.
Hermione stood as stonily as possible behind Draco who was in the first row with his weeping mother. She was trying to blend into the mass of people and look as ordinary as everyone else and it was going pretty well until she saw her.
Young Nott's widow, tall and proud in some black coat, with her beautiful blonde hair cascading her back was looking at her, piercing her with her eyes. Hermione nodded in recognition and made it her mission to get close to the woman.
And when everybody got busy listening to the Warlock holding the speech, she inched to the woman and the woman gave her a small smile.
"We have to talk, I have to explain something to you. I found a way, just go with the flow." Hermione nodded for her to continue.
"I've got Greengrass sisters on our side, so when I invite them, you and Narcissa for tea, you'll come. Got it?" Hermione gaped. Our side? There's.. There's finally our side?
"Understood? Good. Neville said you're very smart. Now it's clear why Malfoy isolated you so much, we couldn't find a way to get in touch with you." The blonde whispered and Hermione's heart leaped. Neville was alive and well. And it looked like he was forming some kind of resistance.
"Now go, you're part of the family. They'll want to give you condolences. Nice work of killing the bitch though. My condolences, Ella Nott.'' The girl whispered and Hermione almost snorted, but remembered herself and turned to look if someone had heard. But nobody was paying attention and Hermione quickly strolled back behind Malfoy, not missing when the girl, Ella, slowly drew a wand from her sleeve and lifted the charm. So nobody could have heard, thank Merlin. But where did she get the wand? Hermione felt a little jealous and wanted to trade places with the girl so badly.
The rest of the funeral went pretty ordinarily, and Malfoy was too busy with guests and his depressed mother to pay attention to Hermione, so she gratefully trailed behind him and managed to play her role.
The next couple of days went fairly well. Hermione was drawn mostly to herself, as the rest of the Malfoy Manor inhabitants, and she rarely saw them. Actually, now that she thought about it, she saw Narcissa only once when they passed each other on the hallway and the woman simply nodded at her, like she would upon seeing some neighbor. She didn't look very well then. She was paler than usual, her hair was up in some sloppy chignon and there could be seen black circles under her eyes. It was unusual, to see normally so gracious and collected woman in such state. Hermione even felt a little bad for being the source of woman's misfortune, but couldn't much dwell on that. She didn't want to feel guilty for anything. She did what was necessary.
The invitation for tea wasn't sent yet and Hermione was trying to be patient. She drowned her restlessness and curiosity in books and her nerves were on the verge of breaking from boredom and expectation.
She saw Draco for the first time a week after Bellatrix' funeral when he barged into the bedroom while she was getting out of the bathroom, clad in a towel, so the first words which were said between the two were "Oof!" and "Shit! Why don't you knock?!"
"I won't knock in my bedroom, Granger!" He barked and couldn't control his eyes, which were trailing down her form and appreciated the view. Hermione blushed, not knowing why since he already saw her naked and there was nothing new, but since then it seemed to her that the decades had passed.
She was so busy with killing Bellatrix, dealing with guilt and wondering about resistance that she had totally forgot about him, or about how much she missed his body. And now, when he was looking at her like he wanted to devour her, she got reminded about those facts and felt familiar ache between her legs for him.
But then she saw barely noticeable bloody stains on his robes and blood on his hands, and she noticed generally chaotic state in which was he.
"Malfoy, what happened?! Whose blood is that?! Are you hurt?!"
"No, it's not mine, Granger. Move, I have to go to the bathroom." He snapped out of his fantasy upon hearing her voice and ran to the bathroom.
But she wasn't going to let him be.
"Whose blood is it? Did you murder someone?!"
He whirled around and looked at her furiously.
"So what if I did?! This", he pointed to the discarded robe and than to his still stained hand "is one of my men dying on me. Something bad's going on out there, Granger. Well, bad for me."
"You mean like... riots?" Hermione croaked, eyes still transfixed on the last drops of blood going down the drain of the sink.
"Not riots, at least not yet. More like attacks. And I don't have a clue where to begin and how to end it." He whispered, and for the first time since being his prisoner, Hermione heard fear in his voice.
She kept quiet, not knowing what to say to him. She knew that she should feel elated, knowing that there was hope for this horror to end. But somewhere deep inside she felt terrified. Hermione's happiness was long forgotten thing, far away in the past and she got used to it. But life with this man wasn't happy, it was weird and unhealthy and... pretty much better than she expected. And no matter how much she wanted to run away from that house, she didn't want him killed. And by the looks of it, there was a chance for that to happen too.
"Did you catch the killer?" She managed to say when he turned to leave the bathroom.
"I managed to kill him before he ran away. Some half-blood child, just out of Hogwarts. The rest of them, maybe five or six people apparated as soon as I arrived. Maybe I'll be next." Hermione heard a glitch in his voice on the last part and closed her eyes in resignation, "But you'll just benefit from that. I don't know why I'm even telling you this."
"No, Malfoy, I-", he marched out of the bedroom before Hermione had the time to say anything.
The morning rays caught Hermione drowsy, moody and tired. She had another night full of poor, barely managed sleep and her nightmares were more intensive than ever. She dreamed about Harry, Ron, Ginny, Molly, her parents, everyone she loved. They called for her, begged her to come closer to them, they waved her and looked blissfully happy. And there was Draco, looking at her with his dead eyes, trying to touch her with his bloody hands and dying on her feet.
When she woke up in sweat she went to the bathroom, then asked her elf to bring her breakfast in bed. She wanted to pamper herself that whole rainy day, and she already had some very lively plans consisting of her roaming the library for hours. She knew Narcissa would be somewhere far away in the house, but she didn't have a clue where Malfoy was. Was he out there, torturing every half-blood he could find for revenge? Doubtfully. Was he at the Ministry, covering-up his own murder, or that kind of crime was forgivable for him? That was probable.
Hermione berated herself for even thinking about that man and tried to ease her mind while reading some book about potions. It was a fascinating subject for her and she finally had all the freedom to read about it without any interruption. After finishing one especially interesting article on poisons, she went back to the shelf to take some more books.
She was so deep in thought that she didn't hear the door closing behind her, she didn't hear the creak of the wooden floor from hurried steps, and she definitely didn't see the shadow looming behind her, before grabbing her around the waist.
Hermione wanted to scream, but her first reflex was to quickly turn around and face her attacker. But he held her tightly between his body and the shelve and whispered in her ear,
"Don't be afraid."
Hermione knew that voice very well. She knew those hands and that delightful scent and that warmness radiating off his body too. It made her tremble with need. It was her husband, the bearer of her darkest sin and most primal needs. She still couldn't quite connect in her brain that Malfoy from her everyday life and this Malfoy here, making her body ache and skin hum with desire.
His soft lips pressed at the nape of her neck, down her shoulder and right on the line between her skin and dress. She was wearing one casual black dress which was buttoning down on the front, so easy to take off. Like she knew.
He was now nipping at her ear while he skillfully unbuttoned the dress, looking down at her breasts and growling. He was still behind her and Hermione felt his desire pressing on her back and she knew she needed him like before, like they were wild animals trapped in their own skin. She finally managed to turn around and gain a little more control. She scratched at his shirt manically, trying to take it off him and he understood and took a stepped back to throw it on the ground, and she already missed him.
But then he looked at her, actually looked at her with a spark of life in those terrifying eyes and jumped her, kissed her hungrily and pushed her so that her back was against the shelf. She hiked her legs around his waist, not knowing what she was doing but knowing that she needed more of him, more of everything and he ground his hips against her clothed womanhood and she moaned.
That seemed to be his undoing. Everything after that was foggy for both of them, he managed to rip her underwear, managed to undo his pants and pushed into her, still kissing her lips, sending her to search for nirvana. They were moaning loudly now, he was pushing into her with abandon, she wanted more, wanted if faster and he liked it, he loved to listen to her voice. The bookshelf was rocking with his thrusts, the books were falling around them and the dust was everywhere and Hermione knew that it was her wildest fantasy, a fantasy she didn't knew she even had. And it was coming true. And she was close to coming, too.
And he sent her to achieve her nirvana. Draco held her close while she trembled and whimpered and fell into the abyss of ecstasy, and just when she started to calm down and looked into his eyes with satiated longing, he spilled himself inside her, transfixed with her subtle, yet so different and unique beauty.
That was what he wanted to remember. Her disheveled hair, her open and so pleasant face, her doe eyes glistening with satisfaction and wonder. That was his memory, only his to hold onto when everything would turn to shit.
"I wanted to do this since last night." He whispered and she smiled, still not much aware of her surrounding. He separated her from the shelf and she barely had the strength to stand on her weak legs. And she could feel her back bruising and hurting from the contact with the shelf, and she felt her muscles aching and her paint couldn't have been sweeter.
She buttoned up her dress again and looked up to see Malfoy, as disheveled as a couple of moments ago, standing on the same place against her and smiling.
He took one of her wild locks in his hand and twirled it, smiling at its bounce.
"You're pretty." He said, so simply, yet so scarily meaningfully. Something caught in her throat at his words, and she tried to smile back but couldn't. No one called her that before. No other man. Not even Ron. She was smart and exceptional, but never just pretty.
And there he was, standing before her, making it all so simple. Like he wasn't her enemy. Like he had actually meant what he said.
And she blinked, trying to cover how much it got to her, stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips softly. It was just a peck really, and he didn't have the time to deepen it because she hurried out of the library, not looking behind.