Chapter 3: Lip Gloss Kit
24 December 1924
BELOVED BACHELOR MISSING: A REFLECTION OF HIS LIFE AND LEGACY
By Rita Skeeter
In the many instances in which the Daily Prophet and myself had been privileged enough to sit with Mr. Malfoy for an interview, he was always adamant that his success at such a young age was to be highly attributed to those surrounding him. His moving words, in one of our earliest interviews, must be quoted: "Without my close friends and mother by my side, I wouldn't be where I am today. I would not be the man I am today. Their cleverness, loyalty, and confidence are irreplaceable."
As a wealthy and extraordinary young man, it is no surprise to the public that his closest friends are equally as ambitious and amiable as he is. His best mate, Mr. Theodore Nott Jr., was also a decorated war veteran and entrepreneur – owning nearly half of the pubs in London alone – and is often seen accompanying Mr. Malfoy to society's prominent events with an unremarkable brunette on his arm.
On Mr. Malfoy's arm was either Miss Pansy Parkinson or Miss Daphne Greengrass – or both! – when they were not studying at a prestigious university in Scotland. There has been much speculation among which of the two women held Mr. Malfoy's interest and would be the next heiress to the Malfoy company and fortune. The public is eager to know, naturally, but would be pleased to see either one as his wife-to-be since they are both women of affluent families and extremely adored in society.
Hmm, notice something missing?
Me.
I suppose that I should be grateful that Rita didn't find me very interesting and didn't bother wasting her time trying to identify me, even with how often I accompanied Draco and Theo to various social events (more than how many Pansy or Daphne attended in case you were wondering). If she had done her due diligence and bothered to investigate the 'unremarkable brunette' she probably would have blown my cover as Penelope Clearwater.
Still. I'm a bit miffed that she thought I was just some boring floozy there for Theo's entertainment. Which was definitely not the case. In fact, I'm not even his type.
She spent quite a lot of time highlighting Pansy and Daphne's better qualities which is laughable because the so-called speculation she referred to was her very own commentary on the two women. Her commentary was slanderous at best, which is probably difficult to imagine given how sickly sweet she sounds in this particular article. Again, Rita either didn't bother to do her research or didn't care (I suspect the latter). The papers – and several horrific articles written by Rita – constantly pinned the two women against each other and took any outing they made as some clever cover-up for their hidden animosity at trying to win Draco's heart over one another.
Which was obviously a load of fucking rubbish.
I wasn't bothered by any of the articles since I had enough sense to know that Draco's primary interest when it came to women was only ever in me. Well, minus this one other woman who was interestingly enough not mentioned in this article. But she's not a problem anymore. Although, I do owe a lot to her since without her I probably wouldn't have realized how inevitable my ending up with Draco really was.
17 March 1921
Hermione took Theo's proffered hand as she stepped out of the car and lingered beside him as Draco strolled ahead of them toward the entrance to the Kempton Park racetrack. She started to walk behind him, keeping her hat low to avoid her face being photographed by the hoard of paparazzi outside. Theo kept a hand hovering over the middle of her spine and, unlike Draco, did not broadly smile or wave at the cameras or reporters. Instead, she saw him offer a tight smile – if one could even call it that – as he made his way toward the entrance.
Once inside, the three of them handed their coats and hats to the doorman and were ushered to a secluded booth in club level. Theo immediately gave Draco a militaristic nod and left them. Hermione turned to Draco, "Is it just the two of us, then? Did Theo only attend for the sake of the cameras?"
He spared her a glance and poured himself a double shot of whiskey. "Something like that," he said.
She thought back to how he'd mentioned Kempton Park was where the Order hit this Karkaroff person the hardest, and she wondered if Theo's disappearance had something to do with that particular fact. Feeling the need to do something with her nervous hands, Hermione dug out a cigarette and stuck it between her lips.
Before she could even find the box of matches in her clutch, however, Draco was slamming an empty glass on the table between them. He stood and buttoned his suit, then looked down at her; his eyes silver and playful. "Do you dance?" He asked her.
Hermione took the cigarette from her mouth slowly, placing it on the table and leaning back to cross her arms and raise her eyebrow pointedly at him. Whenever he appeared to be in high spirits, she knew he liked to be flirted with. Taunted. Teased.
"If I'm asked correctly," she toyed. As she had expected – and painstakingly hoped – he laughed.
Then, Draco bent forward a little bit, crooking one hand behind his back and holding out the other for her to take. "Miss Penelope Clearwater, will you dance with me?" A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and she let one pull at hers as well. It was always a game of chess between them; he set the mood of the game, and she obediently returned it.
Wordlessly, she inclined her chin upwards and took his hand, letting him lead her out of the intimacy of their private booth and into the loud and lively main floor. It was perfectly packed; there was just enough people to create a fun atmosphere filled with music and laughing, but not too many to make it hot and unpleasantly overcrowded. It was exactly what she expected a VIP lounge at a popular racetrack to be like.
The first song they danced to was a charleston. The jazz filled her ears with beautiful sounds of trumpets and saxophones as they skipped around the dance floor with the many other couples. The next song, however, was much slower.
Draco's hand slid from her shoulder to the small of her back, pulling her closer to him. Even in her tallest heels, Hermione was shorter than him; her eyes were level with his mouth which proved to be quite the test in self-control, especially when his eyes were hooded, mysterious, and focused intently on her.
"You look lovely," he whispered in her ear.
Hermione pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth and tried to fight the heat rising to her cheeks. She took a moment to collect herself, to will the defiant and flirtatious version of herself to take hold of the wheel. "Well," she replied. "You did tell me to wear red."
"It suits you."
Hermione tipped her head back enough to be able to read his expression. When it seemed sincere enough, she let the hint of a smile display across her face. He, of course, looked as devilishly handsome as always. He three-piece suit tailored to perfection, and the charcoal color complimenting his complexion in a way that made it seem as if the color itself had been created for his likeness.
"You look nice, too." She told him. "I don't recall seeing you in this suit before. Did you buy it for the occasion?"
Draco chuckled, turning her expertly around the dance floor. He tipped her back, then brought her back up with such a careful and methodical maneuver that seemed so perfunctorily him. His ballroom dancing – like all of his other aristocratic skills – were flawless.
"I don't buy my suits, Penny," Draco said with a cheeky grin. "They're on the house, or the house burns down."
"Oh," she muttered dumbly.
"Tell me about yourself." He phrased it like a question, as if it was optional although Hermione knew very well that it wasn't. Her brows furrowed, confounded by his sudden want to get to know her. They'd been a part of each other's lives for over a year now and in all that time he had not once asked her anything even remotely personal. At her perplexed expression, he supplemented, "Your dreams, desires, fears, favorite authors…"
Hermione blinked.
Shacklebolt had thoroughly unprepared her for what her mission actually entailed. While his creation of Penelope Clearwater as Hermione's undercover identity had been expertly crafted to include very minute details of her work history, it had severely lacked any personal facts, requiring her to make them up as she went, trying to keep them as close to reality for her to remember accurately without being precise enough to identify her as Hermione Granger.
Last month Theo was having a lengthy discussion with Draco regarding their astrological compatibilities (which were apparently astronomical resulting in an incredibly dynamic friendship that were largely due to the implication that Theo – as an Aries – loves putting Draco's – as a Gemini - brilliant ideas into practice with the latter egging the former on to glory) and why it should be considered a weighty argument in why Draco shouldn't have had Karkaroff's messenger killed while Mercury was still retrograde.
It had eventually led to Theo prodding Hermione for her – or rather Penny's – birthday. She had told him primly that astrology was not a real science, in which Draco nodded by way of grunting and pouring himself a new drink. Eventually, she had given in and told him it was five days earlier than when it actually was, and he seemed immensely satisfied with the information.
He had sat back smugly and shook his head, chuckling through puffs of smoke. "This explains so much," he told them, wagging his finger in Hermione's direction. "You're a bloody fucking Virgo." The three of them were sitting by the fire with Draco and Hermione trying to get through more than five lines of their respective novels before Theo interrupted them again.
At that point, Hermione felt offended enough by his commentary to do some research on the proposed personality trait of her astrological sign as well as its compatibility and with that of Theo's (which was shockingly constructive and based in their mutual eagerness to serve others) and of Draco's (which was distressingly positive as well and suggested that they even had a lot in common including their high intelligence and dependence on collaboration).
It was why now, looking Draco in the eye as he twirled her about the dance floor, proved especially difficult for Hermione to muster her usual sense of practicality and develop a lie that he would believe. Instead, she decided to answer his questions truthfully, giving him a slight insight into the woman he'd been spending so much time with the past year or so.
"Those questions are hardly fair," she informed him tartly. "Though if I was forced to answer them right now…" She trailed off in the hopes that he would drop his inquiries. His fingers clenched against her lower back threateningly. No such luck. "Right… Well, then. The Nobel, to be trusted, inadequacy, and Brontë."
Draco laughed at her. His chest vibrated against hers and although his voice was light and teasing, she could see that the glint in his eyes was not. "I have to presume you would pursue the promotion of peace for your impractical dream."
She pursed her lips at him, but in another instant the flash of danger had dissipated, leaving him to be the picture of gold and glory. When he smiled down at her, full and bright, she didn't find it very difficult to return the sentiment. Soon enough they were both beaming idiotically at one another. It reminded her of the day they had met, before everything had turned wicked and treacherous.
"Which sister?" He pressed.
"Emily," she breathed in response, noting the subtle nod of approval he gave her. Then, by some act of stupidity, she felt obligated to get to know him better. Not for the sake of the mission, either, with questions that would enlighten her as to why he even needed his successful gang and their illegalities when he was otherwise wealthy and adored. But for herself. To get to know the man she was finding herself irreparably attracted to. "What about you?" Hermione asked him. "What are your dreams, desires, and fears?"
He checked his pocket watch – not for the first time since they took to the dance floor – and he gave her a twisted smirk. "We haven't enough time for me to even scratch the surface of any of those."
He began leading her away from the crowd and toward a side service door. Hermione panicked for a moment and tugged at the hand he still had intertwined with hers. "What about your favorite author?" She half-shouted over the blaring jazz. "Can't you at least tell me that?"
Draco didn't glance back at her as he muttered, "Tolstoy."
Hermione didn't need to see his face to know that his response had been genuine. The choice of author was telling enough. Spending so much time beside Draco and being constantly shown two sides of the same coin felt very much like war and peace to her.
"Nice dress," Theo commented as he stepped through the service door and into the lounge, carrying several heavy bags with him. He winked at Hermione, "You can wear that to my pub, Penny."
Draco growled, "Nott." Then he sighed. "How did it go?" The other boy nodded wordlessly, giving Draco a wink of his own along with a mischievous grin. He reached out to grab Theo by his chin and angle his face toward the yellowed lights. "You alright?" He asked gruffly, observing a minor cut across Theo's cheekbone.
"Eh," he replied, shrugging out of Draco's grasp and following him through the busy room. "Few cuts and bruises, but the boys are fine. On their way to get a drink as we speak."
"Good."
Theo and Draco barged into to one of the other private booths with Hermione trailing helplessly behind, unsure of what was about to happen but knowing the murderous glare on Draco's face well enough not to question him about it. Theo interrupted the accented chatter among the four men in the booth by dropping seven overfilled satchels on top of their table, spilling their liquor and shattering their bottles.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Snapped the oldest among them. His black hair was peppered with white streaks and his withered skin looks as if it had seen better days. The younger man beside him – looking so dissimilar that he could not have been of relation – grunted unintelligibly but said nothing. The two remaining men sitting on either side of them immediately stood upon Theo's grand entrance.
Theo took one of the satchels, ignoring the ongoing accusations and threats made by the elder man, and dumped out its contents. Hermione resisted gaping, but felt her eyes widen at the sheer amount of coin. She quickly did the math with how many bags there were and peered up at Draco; his eyes were narrowed but other than that he seemed quite relaxed. She took after his demeanor and willed herself not to hyperventilate.
The two men that had evidently been guarding the others – though rather poorly, she mused – pointed revolvers at the three of them standing in the doorway but neither Draco nor Theo produced their own weapons. Hermione felt her chest rising and falling rapidly but schooled her face into an apathetic expression.
"What the fuck is this?" The man roared.
"Your money, Mr. Karkaroff." Draco replied calmly. At the man's – Karkaroff's – sneer, he continued. "Rescued from the Order… and returned to you with a request for a fair hearing." He eyed his opponent closely as he reached into his pocket and procured a cigarette. He handed one to Hermione without asking her if she wanted one or even glimpsing in her direction.
"You have a lot of fucking nerve, Malfoy," Karkaroff spat. "Showing up here, after that fucking stunt you pulled in Notting Hill?" He grimaced at Theo and Draco. "Did you not get the fucking message I sent you?"
"Oh, we received your message." Draco acknowledged. He nodded to Theo who unwrapped a bloody ear and tossed it onto the pile of coins. Hermione swallowed bile that rose up her throat at the sight of the severed body part.
"What the fuck?"
"As you can see," Draco said. "I didn't particularly care for what he had to say, and well… when I told him to tell you as much let's just say he didn't want to listen. Instead of returning to you, interestingly enough, he said he would rather take his talents elsewhere."
"So, am I to believe that traitor works for you now?" Karkaroff seethed, knuckles flushing white against his furious reddened skin as he gripped his glass.
"No," Draco scoffed, lips twitching into a merciless smirk. "He's currently discovering how deep the Thames is." At the younger man's obvious confusion, he went on with an evil, little smile stretching across his lips. "Let me spell it out for you, Krum. Unlike your boss here, I don't hire men who can be so easily bought or who so readily give up information on their previous employers. I prefer loyalty."
"You are a fucking ferret!" Karkaroff yelled. He slammed his glass on the table, lips pulled back to bare his rotting teeth. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have my men blow your fucking brains out right now!"
"You need me alive," Draco shrugged.
"Like hell I do!" Karkaroff screamed.
Hermione watched the two of them glare at one another, and between them the younger man – Krum – with the constantly confused and brooding expression suddenly caught her eye. Or rather, she caught his. He was staring at her intently, making her very uncomfortable. She quickly averted her gaze.
"Your own protection is failing, Mr. Karkaroff." Draco stated, nodding at the two men in the room aiming guns at him. "Your boys here are taking cuts from the Order." At Karkaroff's sidelong glare at both of them, they stiffened and lowered their weapons. "I want to suggest that you hire out your racetrack security to the Death Eaters, instead."
Draco exhaled a final puff of smoke and distinguished his cigarette butt on of the satchels. Hermione dropped hers – only half finished – onto the floor and rubbed her heel on top of it.
"Why should I do that? You bloody Death Eater's don't have half the numbers that the Order has. How am I to expect that your protection will be any better than my men now?" He frowned, twirling the glass in his tensed hand anxiously.
"For starters, like I mentioned before, my men cannot be as easily bought. They answer to me and only me." Draco supplied. "As for the Order… Let's just say that I have an ear to the London underground and know when and how they are going to strike at any betting shops or racetracks. It makes them predictable, and therefore vulnerable."
Karkaroff narrowed his eyes, his gaze flickering back and forth between Draco and Theo. His eyes were that of a wild animal by the time they settled on Draco's steady grey ones. "Why the fuck do you care who I employ to protect my money?"
Valid question, Hermione pondered, considering what the possibilities might be. The smug blond standing beside her gave a chortled cough. He didn't bother to answer the old man, instead sliding his hands in his pockets casually. "I want ten percent of the profit." He told Karkaroff plainly. "In addition to two legal betting pitches at every race for each of my men, with the fixed numbers. If we are all satisfied with the services after one calendar year, then it will raise to three and so forth."
Krum turned expectantly to his boss, awaiting a decision along with everyone else except for Theo and Draco who exchanged a knowing glance and indiscernible nod. "Fine," Karkaroff grumbled. Then, Krum leaned in and whispered something in his ear. The elder man sighed and eyed Draco with great disdain. "My friend here has a request as well… a clause of sorts."
Draco nodded diplomatically, "Of course. I'd be happy to sit and discuss it with you both, if you wouldn't mind ushering your ex-guards out of the room?" In which it was evident by his tone that he didn't give a single fuck whether or not it bothered Karkaroff or Krum. The former nodded to the two butch men, waving them off with a final scowl of disapproval.
Theo took Hermione by her elbow, gesturing for her to leave the room as well. He followed behind her, angling himself directly toward the drinks table. She took a tall glass of champagne from him and let him clink his own glass against hers before tipping to his lips and draining the entire thing in one breath. He immediately reached for another.
A few moments later, Draco sauntered out of the booth and sidled up beside her, resting a hand on her lower back. Hermione sincerely hoped he didn't feel the sudden shiver that shot up her spine at his touch.
"Penny," Draco said to her, eying Theo over her shoulder in a way that almost looked sheepish if she didn't know him better. "We're going to go to Karkaroff's for dinner. All of us. I have some business to settle with him first and Theo has to go check on the rest of the boys, so you go on ahead with Krum."
Hermione finished her drink, wincing as the bubbles settled unevenly in her stomach, and looked at him. "Do you think I'm stupid?" She hissed at him under her breath. "I'm not a whore."
"Everyone's a whore," he replied, jaw clenched. "We just sell different parts of ourselves, that's all." He dragged his hand down his mouth and chin, then looked at her with an exasperated expression. "You wanted to work for me. You wanted me to give you more responsibility in the company, to trust you more. Well, this is your rite of passage. You want to be a Death Eater one day, Penny? You have to make sacrifices."
He turned and left her to go back to the booth, and a second later Krum walked out. Hermione inhaled a deep breath, imagining all of the lovely perks she would stand to gain from surviving her mission and giving Shacklebolt all he needed to rid London of every single bloody Death Eater, then painted a sweet smile on her rouge lips and took Krum's arm.
One hour.
That's all she had to avoid Krum's advances for, and in the grand scheme of things, that wasn't too terrible a task, was it? She could do this. Hermione Granger was a bright and brave woman. She was clever as the devil and twice as pretty. She could withstand an hour with a man who couldn't even pronounce her name correctly.
"Penne," the brute said as he led her into a spacious sitting room.
Hermione smiled through a grimace, and walked briskly through the room, wanting to put as much distance between herself and his hungry eyes as possible. She tried to talk to him whenever he got too close to her. There wasn't much for them to talk about, though, especially since his English was abhorrent.
Eventually, he turned on some music and started dancing with her. Hermione recoiled at his touch but couldn't figure out how to say no without making her rejections so obvious as to insult him and provoke him further. She was stuck.
He leaned down and Hermione immediately craned her head away from him. Then, much to her disgust and immense displeasure, he inhaled the scent of her hair and whispered in her ear, "So beautiful." When his tongue slipped out to curl around her earlobe, Hermione leapt back and scampered out of his arms.
That did it.
His eyes were blazing; his fists clenched at his sides and his breath huffed hot and heavy in her direction, like that of a bull, and her brain unhelpfully reminded her that she was wearing a crimson dress. It didn't take long for his more animalistic instincts to kick-in. He charged at her.
Hermione reached out for something, anything, to defend herself with. She saw a silver vase in her peripheral vision and dove for it. His hands were on her before she even made it close, slamming her harshly back against a grand piano. The keys echoed horrifically through the room as he turned her on her stomach and pinned her down. One arm was pressed against her spine while the other reached for the hem of her satin dress, tearing it and fiddling with the stockings and clasps at the top of her thighs.
Panic settled into her veins, pumping adrenaline through her and sending shockwaves to all of her nerves. She could feel the rough padding of his thumb grazing her knickers like a thousand knives. Hermione couldn't extend her arms far enough to reach any item in the room, but she was able to slam her hands down on the cover of the piano keys, crushing the arm Krum had snaked across her stomach, pulling her toward him.
Once he yelped and let go of her, she swiftly turned and sent the tip of her heel flying toward his crotch. In less than an instant, he was down on the floor, cradling his groin and swearing in a language she didn't understand. Hermione kicked him again, and then spat on his face for extra measure. "Fuck you," she growled, clutching her purse and heading towards the door.
Draco stood in the doorway, pushing past the butler and halting the moment he took in the scene before him: a frazzled and furious Hermione standing over a crying and injured Krum. He blinked.
"I should've known," he said. She thought for a minute, based on the gleam in his eyes that he hadn't realized what a monster Krum really was when he set her up to go with him, but then he opened his stupid, entitled mouth again. "I wanted to make a bet with Theo that you would make it at least twenty minutes before needing rescuing, but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you didn't need it at all." He let out a single laugh at Krum on the floor. "Theo wouldn't even take the bet, if that makes you feel better."
Hermione fumed. She wasn't even sure where to begin with that, so she snapped, "No. It doesn't make me feel better," at him and then kept her mouth shut and eyes diverted the entire length of the drive back into the city.
"Penny," Draco tried once they arrived back at the manor.
"You are a fucking bastard offering me up like that!" She screamed, rounding on him as they made their way through the dining room.
Dobby, who was the only one present in the room before they showed up, instantly desisted prepping the table for dinner and scurried into the kitchens. Draco's jaw clenched, and his eyes – dark and stormy – narrowed at her. Hermione didn't back down; she was too riled up from fighting Krum and too bottled up with all kinds of other emotions to have to stomach her anger at him right now.
"How dare you," she hissed. "How very fucking dare you."
Biting back tears – of anger, frustration, hurt – Hermione let out an exasperated wail and focused her emotions on the primary matter at hand: the fair-haired devil with his shoulders tensed and eyes daggered down at her.
"What the fuck was that?" She screamed. "I knew you were vile and calculated, but seriously? Setting me up, offering me like some common whore, to that disgusting man as some kind of clause in your precious fucking agreement?"
Draco inhaled, opening his mouth to reply, but Hermione swiftly cut him off again.
"No, you know what? Perhaps I should have known better. You've nearly killed me yourself twice or so now, so why should it matter what another man does to me as long as I'm still breathing to come up with my clever little ideas to further your company? Hm?" She paced back and forth in front of him, throwing her clutch on the floor.
"You weren't in any real danger," Draco started, rigid and tense and defensive.
"Like hell I wasn't!" Hermione laughed through a choking sound. "I was nearly – I would have been – Well, I'm untouched but with no thanks to you." She finally spat.
By then, not that either of them had noticed, but a small crowd had gathered to watch the interaction with peaked interest. There were small murmurs made by the onlookers as Theo supplied an adequate backstory which passed through them like wildfire.
He sighed, "He wasn't going to touch you. I was coming back for you."
Her eyebrows skyrocketed and she turned sharply to look at him, truly aghast. "Don't tell me how you were coming to save me. Don't start with that fucking bullshite, Draco. You wanted to place a bet on how long I would last without your intended rescuing."
H nerves stung, strung out from all of the excitement; her lungs filled with the stifling air of the dining room and exhaled shakily as she let the adrenaline in her blood, fueled by rage, energize her argument.
Hermione jabbed her index finger at his sternum, intent on pushing him the way he always, always pushed her. She wanted him to scream, to cry, to break the way she'd been trying not to do over the past year undercover. Not that he would ever know how doubly hard his lifestyle was for her. She didn't choose it, not really, and she definitely would not have stayed in it after she'd fought for her life if it wasn't for the fact that other people were counting on her.
Not that Shacklebolt or any of his other, precious Aurors had so much as given her an indecipherable nod from the other side of the street to let her know that she was still being looked out for, valued for her sacrifices, and singularly important to them and their mission above all else. No. He had stayed true to his absurd promise and had not contacted her at all in all the time she had been deep undercover.
There was a moment of collective silence as Hermione huffed out her indignation at Draco and twisted to leave him and the room for some much-needed solitude and reflection. But then he had to go and say something exceptionally stupid again.
"You're overreacting, Penny."
Hermione, still half-way turned, spun on the ball of her foot and mustered up as much momentum as she could. The sound of her palm against his cheek made a deafening sound, and Draco recoiled sharply from the slap. "Fuck you," she seethed.
His eyes blazed at her, finally giving her the level of emotion that she had been searching for in his face during their entire argument, and she pursed her lips defiantly at him. Did he dare strike her back? No. Draco raised his own hand to his cheek, a nasty red welt already forming, and said nothing else as he stormed out of the room. For the first time in what felt like hours, Hermione took a deep breath. Her muscles buzzed with energy, but her mind went numb from the laborious fight.
Theo was the first person to walk up to her after Draco's exit, and she closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose as a headache started to form at the nape of her neck. "Don't," she sniffed.
He handed her the clutch she'd pelted at the floor and gave her an apathetic shrug. "It's about fucking time, Penny."
At that, her eyes snapped open and peered up at his; they were their usual shade of icy blue but there was a key element of his disapproving gaze that was missing. It morphed his entire expression into one she didn't recognize and was too exhausted to riddle out.
"What?" She croaked, disbelieving that none of Draco's beloved followers and friends had yet to throw her in some medieval torture room for treating him the way she did.
Theo's shoulders lifted marginally, and she caught the traces of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Her gaze slid across his over his shoulder to where Narcissa stood. The woman stared intently at Hermione and raised her glass of wine to her lips. The look of contempt on her face was clear as day, but there was something else present as well. It took Hermione by complete shock when she finally placed what it was: pride.
It wasn't at all the reaction Hermione had expected to receive from either of them. From Narcissa especially. However, it was infinitely better to what she presumed would happen, with Narcissa aiming a gun at her head for raising a hand to her darling son.
Less than a week later, the Order retaliated.
Draco paced the length of the main sitting room, muttering to himself, "Where the fuck is Theo?"
In one of the velvet armchairs, Hermione was curled up with one of Austen's works. After the tumultuous week she had, she needed a bit of light-hearted romance to settle her temper. Being in Draco's presence had not been enjoyable after their argument to say the least; there had been a lot of averted gazes, stiff postures, and using Theo as a go-between for any commands and successive responses.
He checked his pocket watch for the tenth time in half as many minutes and finally stopped his incessant pacing in order to retrieve his newsboy cap and overcoat. He met her curious expression as he adjusted his cuffs. "Get your coat. Looks like you'll be coming with me since Theo doesn't seem to be perceptive to the concept of time today."
Hermione sighed and took an old crossword puzzle clipping – one of the many she completed in silence over breakfast, thoroughly avoiding speaking to any of the men – tucking it in to hold her page. Then, she stood and took her sweet time crossing the room and taking her best coat and hat from Winky, who looked scared as hell to be in the same room as them.
Half an hour later, Draco pulled into one of the private sections of the harbor and stopped the car. When he didn't order her to stay in the car, Hermione promptly followed him to where he met Blaise in one of the holding centers. He was leaning against a crate and smoking a cigarette with a carefree smile splayed across his handsome face. The lapels of his coat were pulled up in such an effortless sense of fashion that Hermione felt a flare of envy spike.
"Any problems?" Draco asked him, eying the shipment with mild scrutinization.
Blaise scoffed, rubbing his hands together before slipping the cigarette from where it hung precariously between his lips. "No," he replied. "There never is though, is there?"
Draco nodded, content with the response. "Make sure your coppers are taken care of, and offer them double to transport it to the warehouse for Theo's pub."
"Not the Manor?" Blaise frowned.
Draco shook his head, "No. Best that we keep this container far away from the watchful eye of the men who haven't been on our payroll long enough. I don't want any of them getting the brilliant idea to report it."
There was a startled neigh from outside of the building, causing all three of their heads to turn at the unusual sound. "Are you expecting anyone?" Blaise asked Draco. The latter took of his razer-embedded cap as way of answering and headed briskly towards the door. Blaise followed suit, also removing his cap as well as grabbing an iron bar lying on a nearby bench. He turned wordlessly and handed it to Hermione.
She swallowed.
When the three of them emerged from the building, there was a young boy huffing and puffing as he tried to settle the horse he rode. Draco immediately took to shushing the horse and whispering reassuring sentiments at the white stud.
He cocked a silver brow at the young boy, "Oi, what's the matter?"
Blaise relaxed his grip on his cap, and Hermione took the signal from him that this boy was one of their non-initiated members. "It's Theo, Mr. Malfoy." The boy supplied.
"Well, it's about bloody time." He waved a hand in Hermione's direction. "Either ride back and tell him to come pick her up straight away or take her back yourself." Draco instructed.
"No, it's not that. It's – Mr. Nott is in trouble!"
Draco's shoulders tensed. His head whipped around to stare at the dirty boy, "What the fuck do you mean Theo is in trouble?" He narrowed his eyes threateningly. "Be very clear and very concise."
"They – They cornered him," the boy stuttered. "He's outnumbered and – it's bad Mr. Malfoy."
"Who?" Draco demanded, venom dripping.
The boy looked pained, glancing nervously between the two men. He finally said, "The Order," and that's when Blaise and Draco sprang into action.
Draco barked orders at the boy, instructing him to alert the other members, as many as he could gather, and lead them to The Cavalier – one of the bar's Theo owned and where the Order had supposedly jumped him – and then beckoned Hermione to get back in the car. Blaise hopped in behind her and the three of them tore through the city.
"Fuck," He swore, his hands gripping so tightly onto the steering wheel that Hermione was surprised it didn't break. "Fuck, fuck!" He slammed his hand over and over again. "Fucking Theo," Draco howled. "I bet it was Potter. I bet Theo fucking provoked him, and here we are – here I am – saving his bloody arse for the millionth time."
Tires screeched as they pulled up to the pub, and Hermione could see through the slightly tinted windows that there was a full-on brawl going down inside. Draco pulled his cap over his slicked back hair and gave her a vaguely irritated look. "If I asked you to stay in the fucking car, do you think you could manage to do that this time?"
She opened her mouth to tell him that she would feel much safer not being left alone outside in case any more Order members showed up, but she didn't have to say anything. He gave her a once-over and then glanced at the darkened street before yanking her out of the car and hauling her into the bar with him and Blaise.
The door swung open and Draco's fist immediately connected with a tall bloke's nose, sending him stumbling backwards. His cap was in his hand by then, aimed at the lanky figure warningly. Blaise pushed forward and took the iron bar from Hermione's grasp; it connected with the man's forearm with a sickening crunch.
Draco opened a hidden door – a well-obscured private booth – and shoved her in the small room. "Fucking stay here," he snapped at her. "Alright? Just stay in the fucking booth. Don't do anything fucking stupid, Penny, I don't need to be worrying about you too."
Hermione wanted to protest that she could handle herself, thank you very much, and even if she was in trouble she certainly wasn't going to wait for him after what happened last week, but before she could even open her mouth, Draco was shutting the door and joining the fight. She slid the latch shut, locking herself in. Then, she peered out of its peephole and gaped at the horror of the pub.
There were at least two Order members for every Death Eater – except for Potter who was fighting Theo on his own.
Hermione was thankful that any given time Theo went off on a tangent about how much he despised Harry Potter, she had prompted him to give her details on other Order members. Luckily, the Death Eater's – and thus Hermione – didn't actually run into the Order too often. However, that made it extremely difficult as she surveyed the room and tried to put faces to the names and descriptions Theo had provided her with over the past several months.
Graham had just thrown an older man across a bar table, shattering glass everywhere. At the same time Blaise, to his right, threw punch after punch after iron bar at a shorter, far more nervous man. She suspected the man wielding a newly broken bottle of whiskey at Graham to be a man known as Diggle, and the man looking ready to flee from the pub to be the infamous Fletcher. There was a third man that Graham and Blaise took turns cutting with their razors, and he hardly needed a second glance to identify him. There was a nasty, jagged scar covering what would be his left eye if he still had one. The portly old man – Mad Eye Moody – though was giving Graham and Blaise the best fight among their three Order members.
Marcus was kicking at one of the ginger twins, then breaking to elbow and cut at the other twin and the youngest Weasley brother. Ron his name was, Hermione recalled. Marcus seemed to have no trouble fighting him and was clearly putting most of his effort into fending off the twins. Their punches were no match for his newsboy cap and the wooden dagger he wielded, breaking off one of the legs of a nearby bar chair.
Vincent and Greg stood back to back, swinging punches and knives out toward their assailants. Among them were the remainder of the Weasley clan; the men at least, because Hermione didn't see the women – or any women – anywhere in the pub fight. A massive man, towering over everyone easily like some kind of half-giant, roared and broke a wooden chair over Greg's head. Vincent screamed as his best mate crumpled to the ground and countered by sinking his knife into the oaf's leg, behind his knee. When he fell with a thunderous crash, Vince jumped on top of him and started screaming, "They're going to kill me, they're going to kill me…" while sinking his knife into the man over and over again.
Hermione's attention was immediately pulled away from Vince and Greg – who was slowly righting himself as the patriarchal Weasley approached him – as there was a loud crash from nearby her hiding spot. Potter had shoved Theo against the bar and shattered half of the bottles in the process. Theo reacted by lifting a shattered bottle and aiming it towards Potter, who landed a blow to Theo's forearm and caused him to drop the makeshift weapon. Then, Theo pushed at the disheveled, green-eyed boy and both of them went down over a table, breaking it in to and continuing to roll around throwing elbows and fists at one another on the dirty bar floor.
Among all the chaos, Hermione worried about her Death Eater's welfare because, against her better judgement, she had come to care for them in a strange way, or at least enough to value their wellbeing as opposed to that of the ruffians they were fighting against.
Per usual, her focus was drawn to Draco.
He was taking on two older members, one lean and lanky and cornering him in the far end of the pub. The other man he was fighting was worse for wear than his fellow Order friend; half of his teeth were black and crooked – as the daughter of two dentist's it was difficult for Hermione not to notice something like that even from her distance – and his greasy black hair stuck to his face. He wore an especially personal look of hatred as he came up on the other side of Draco, blocking him in.
There was a flash of silver as a daggered blade slid out from under his tattered sleeve. In an instant, he had Draco in a headlock and his knife against his throat.
"No," Hermione screamed. She undid the latch and bolted out from the safety of the hidden room. The bar had become a battlefield and was immensely difficult to navigate; Hermione struggled at avoiding punches, shattered glass and Order members reaching out a dirty hand to try and take hold of her. "Let him go," she huffed as she skidded to a halt at the two men – Lupin and Black, she recognized up close – that were threatening to kill Draco.
Hermione lifted her hand and leveled a revolver at Lupin's head.
By then the commotion of the bar slowly quieted down as the followers of both gangs realized their leaders had reached a stalemate.
Lupin chuckled, fixing her with a derisive smile. "Where did you find that, sweetheart?"
"One of your pathetic weasels," she noted. "Your men should be more careful where they leave their weapons." Hermione clicked the bullet into place and tilted her head to the side, "and I'm not your fucking sweetheart."
The man holding Draco, Sirius Black, laughed maniacally. "Oh, this one's got some balls, Remus. Or tits, I should say." He tightened his grip on Draco, producing a strangulated sound from him. "My dear cousin, you always had a taste for the better things in life… and she is exquisite."
Draco shoved the heel of his shoe into Black's leg and then elbowed him backwards into the wall, knocking his head back and freeing himself from the man's grip. Lupin stepped forward to help his friend, but Hermione shifted into his path and sent a warning shot out to the side of his face, then cocked her brow at him as she clicked the next bullet into place.
Black went after Draco with his knife out, but Draco dropped to the floor and slid along the floor with his cap out kicked the other man's legs out from under him. When Black fell harshly to the floor, Draco clambered up on top of him, straddling him firmly into place. He bent the man's wrist until it snapped, then took hold of his knife and pressed it against his windpipe.
"Don't you dare fucking touch her," he hissed. "Don't even look at her, you hear me? Your vendetta is with me, not her. It's for my mother's sake that I don't cut your throat right here, understand?" He backed off the other man and stepped back to Hermione's side.
She eyed his warily, trying to decipher the blank expression on his face, to no avail. He was unreadable and even his eyes betrayed nothing of what was going on in the inner workings of his mind.
"Give me the fucking gun, Penny." He said between gritted teeth. She reluctantly handed it over. He took it and pocketed it, then slid her a sidelong glance. "I thought I told you to stay in the fucking room." He shook his head. "You never bloody listen, do you?"
Hermione didn't have a chance to answer because Potter was wailing and causing a scene on the other side of the bar. The fight had been over the minute Draco had Sirius pinned and Hermione had a gun to the apparent leader of the Order's head. It took entirety of both gangs by surprise, and every head swiveled to see Harry Potter angrily flushed and being hauled away from the giant man by the youngest Weasley brother. Theo, slack-jawed and indifferent, watched silently as he made his way over to stand on Hermione's other side.
"You killed him!" Potter spat at a cowering Vince. Greg stood protectively in front of him. "I'll have your head for this, you Death Eater scum. I'll kill you! He was a good man. He was a good man!"
Hermione didn't want to point out that the boy screaming about murder and good men was incredibly hypocritical but no one else seemed eager to continue fighting over the dead man so she tore her gaze away from Potter's spluttering figure as his friend dragged him out of the pub.
Lupin narrowed his eyes at Draco. "You know we're going to have to have retribution for that." He tilted his head toward the fallen Order member – the remarkably only serious casualty of the fight – and said, "Hagrid was a good man. Even I can't look the other way for this one."
Draco sighed, "I know."
He didn't look away as Marcus and Graham joined Greg in trying to calm Vincent and help him out of the pub. Eventually it was just Black and Sirius staring down the three of them. Hermione sighed inwardly wondering why it was always the three of them left dealing with the trouble.
"Let me be the one to handle it." Draco said. "Vince is a good man, too. He's been through a lot in the war. We all have." Black cackled under his breath, but Lupin nodded empathetically.
"Alright," conceded the other man. "But we need to be there. None of your usual tricks, Malfoy."
"Fine," Draco replied soberly.
A few weeks later, the entire gang, including Pansy and Daphne who were home for a school break, were gathered around The Cavalier. It had been newly renovated and reminded Hermione of the posh London speakeasy she had expected it to be and less like the dirty pub it used to be. Perhaps the fight with the Order had done the pub a service in the long run.
"Nott," Pansy said, lifting a glass of wine to her lips. "I know you didn't decorate this all by yourself, who did you hire? Narcissa?"
Narcissa appeared behind the girl, scoffing. "Please, Pansy." She sparked a match and lit the cigarette hanging between her lips. After exhaling several rings of smoke, she added, "I haven't the time for that sort of thing anymore. Haven't since all the men went off to war."
Daphne nodded her agreement, refilling both her and Pansy's glass. "That's true," she nudged Blaise next to her conspiratorially. "I can tell you had a say in the drapery."
"I haven't the slightest idea what you mean, Daph," he winked, pressing a friendly kiss to her cheek, then leaning back to finish his whiskey. "Oi, Draco," Blaise called out, turning to face the smug blond inclined against the chrome bar counter. "The crate's been moved from the Cavalier's warehouse like you asked. The boys and I moved it this morning,"
Draco nodded his approval, "Cheers, Blaise." Then, he finished his glass and set it down, fishing out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and scowling when it was empty. "Fuck," he swore under his breath.
"Here," Hermione said, shifting from further down the bar. She left Marcus and Graham to argue amongst themselves and moved to stand beside him. She offered him a bud and a light.
"Penny," he greeted amicably. In return, her lips twisted into a small smile.
The two of them had been in a weird place lately. He had very clearly set her up as a sex worker for furtherment of his contract with Karkaroff and she still – rightfully – hadn't forgiven him for it. However, she had also saved his life in the bar fight and so… there they were. He didn't know where she stood with him, not that she really knew either.
Either way, they hadn't talked about what happened. Instead of the distance and cold shoulders she'd given him before, Hermione had taken to quietly resuming her role as his assistant with polite nods and small acts of kindness (like the one she was currently engaged in) and, in return, Draco had refrained from bluntly threatening her life or accusing her of being too soft.
"I don't mean to pry," she began, pulling her bottom teeth between her lips anxiously.
"By all means." Draco said, cutting her off. "Pry."
She swallowed, afraid of tipping their precariously stable relationship toward the wrong end. Still, she had to know. It had been in the back of her mind all evening and this was the first real opportunity she had to ask about it.
"Why are we celebrating?" Hermione questioned, glancing around the lively pub. "I thought today was a sad day and - "
"And it is," he stated, sparing her a frown. "In more ways than you know, but does that mean we can't celebrate the good ways as well?"
Hermione sighed. "I just don't understand."
Draco put out his cigarette in an ash tray, grabbed a bottle of Irish whiskey and crossed the room to where Theo sat next to Narcissa, laughing at something she was saying. Hermione sighed again. It felt like Draco was always running away from her these days; he was continuously out of reach and whenever she thought she'd gotten close enough to get a hold of him, he slipped through her fingers.
"Oi, Nott!" Draco beamed, coming up behind his friend and pouring copious amounts of dark liquid down his open mouth from behind him. "Atta boy!"
He procured several glasses and filled them with whiskey, then ushered everyone in their group around the table. Draco raised a glass, then nodded toward the others and motioned for everyone to take one. Hermione took hers with a tight-lipped smile forced across her face.
"I want to make a toast," Draco said clearing his throat. Silence. "To Mr. Theodore Nott," he began. "Thank you for being the best mate a bloke can ask for, and for owning half the pubs in London!"
Theo flushed furiously and someone, Daphne most likely, called out "The good half, at least!" There was a round of laughter from the close-knit group of friends, and even Narcissa appeared to be thoroughly enjoying herself.
"As most of you know, today - "
Theo stood and called out loudly over Draco's next words, "Hey, hey!" He slapped Draco on the back a couple times and shook his head at him, gripping his lapel between his fist and pulling him in to whisper something in his ear before pushing him away theatrically. "Bloody bastard!" Then, he raised his glass to the rest of his friends, "Today is not about me. Today is about Greg and Vince," he nodded to the two of them, a smirk pulling at his lips. "We'll miss you gentlemen. Cheers!"
"Cheers!" Everyone called out before draining their glasses and slamming them all loudly on the table.
"I finished first!" Graham called out triumphantly.
"Oi, like hell you did, Montague!" Blaise retorted.
Pansy rolled her eyes, "Will both of you shut the fuck up?" She pinched at Daphne's rosy cheeks affectionately. "Daph bested both of you. Per usual."
"What the fuck do you mean, per usual?" Blaise crowed half-mocking. "I want a rematch, Greengrass. You and me."
"Oi, I want in, too." Graham protested.
Blaise waved him away, claiming that he had no right to a rematch because he hadn't even finished his first glass when he put it down. Embarrassed, he turned away to consult with Marcus while Daphne and Blaise downed another full glass of whiskey in some attempt to prove who was better than the other.
Hermione sat quietly nearby but after the several shots Theo had sent her way throughout the night, claiming that he did for scientific purposes (to see what her drunk stages were supposedly), her bladder demanded immediate attention. She murmured her excuse and disappeared into the dark corridor at the back of the pub.
She stared at herself in the mirror for several long minutes, splashing cold water on her face to sober herself up. She was afraid of what she might say or do if she had to keep pretending Draco's presence hadn't affected her all evening. All she needed was a slight push, and then she knew she would be brave enough to see if his lips still tasted as delicious as she remembered.
"Draco, you fucking prat," Theo was saying. Hermione hurriedly put her ear to the door, listening intently to what the two of them were saying in the hallway. "I told you not to say anything."
"It's your bloody birthday, Theo." He replied. "I know it's a hard day for you because of your mum, but that doesn't mean it shouldn't be celebrated. You deserve to be happy."
"So do you, you know," Theo responded suggestively.
"No," Draco disagreed. "I don't deserve it. I definitely don't deserve her, and she's made that quite clear."
Theo scoffed, "You're brilliant, Draco, but you're also a bloody fucking idiot." Then, his voice sobered up and took a more serious tone as he went on. "You sure you don't want me to go with you tonight?"
"No. I can go alone, and I don't want anyone else to have to be there. You all stay here and enjoy the party," there was the sound of Draco clapping Theo on his cheek. "Go back in there and get properly fucked, you hear me, Nott?"
Theo, a bit muffled by his retreating distance, called out, "Is that an order, Major?"
"Yes, it is," Draco responded, letting a laugh escape his lips. Hermione stayed behind the door, careful not to let her heavy breathing reveal her eavesdropping. "Come on, Vince," Draco said as new, heavier footsteps padded down the hallway. "Let's go out the back way, shall we? There's no need to make a scene."
"Yes, Draco." Vincent replied dispassionately.
Hermione's brows furrowed, and when there was a deafening thud of a closing door, she slid out from the toilettes and exited out the back door. Draco and Vincent walked past the row of family cars and horses and they continued walking down the dark London streets. She followed from a safe distance with her eyes peeled for any sign of danger around every corner.
They walked all the way to the harbor and Hermione's feet ached from walking so far on cobblestone in her heels. She ducked behind a crate of barrels and watched as Draco and Vincent came up to the river's edge.
"You might as well come out and join us, Penny," Draco said loudly, his back to her. Hermione huffed and did as he instructed, nodding sheepishly to Vincent and avoiding Draco's hooded eyes as he adjusted his cap and looked down at her.
"You're not going to punish me?" She asked tentatively and in a hushed voice so that Vincent wouldn't hear her.
Draco's lips twitched upwards into a teasing smirk, "Maybe… if you ask nicely."
She bit back a cough and quickly busied herself with straightening her dress in order to obscure her flushed cheeks at his crude comment.
"Gentlemen," came a low voice. The three of them turned to face Lupin and Black. The night was dark and foggy, but the cruel grin on Black's face was unmistakable.
Draco pulled Vincent aside, whispering to him where the other men couldn't make out their conversation. "Listen," he said. "You killed a member of the Order. If I let them do this, Vince, they would cut off your manhood, strap you up by your ankles and let you drain. Then they would let the rats have you and by the time I found you, there would be nothing for your mother to bury. That's how those fucking bastards do things."
Vincent took off his cap and clutched it to his chest. He nodded solemnly.
"To save you from their barbarity," Draco went on. "I told them I'd relieve you myself. They're here to witness."
Vincent bit his lip, "I died over there anyway, Draco." He shuffled his feet like that of a disciplined toddler and it broke Hermione's heart to see him in so much pain. "I left my fucking brains in the mud," he sniffled. "In the trenches."
Draco sighed, then backed away and spoke up a bit more so that Lupin and Black could hear him. "You have any last requests, mate?"
"Yeah," Vincent nodded sheepishly. "Look out for my mum, will you? Make sure she stays safe and happy… and make sure no one else's mum has to go through what she is about to go through. Especially yours," he added. "Narcissa practically raised us, all of us, when our mums shut down after our father's died. She's twice the man of any of us."
Draco looked at him blankly, only nodding along.
Then, Vincent stepped up to the edge of the river and eyed a boat coming towards them. "Is that for me?" – "We have to get your body out of the city," he replied. – "Don't." Vincent strained, his eyes flashing at Draco. "Don't bury me anywhere that there's mud. Let me mum know where I am, yeah? She'll want to visit on my birthday, I know she will."
"You're a good man, Vince." Draco finally said.
"It was a pleasure serving you," the man replied between sniffles. He put his cap back on and faced the river, the boat coming into position.
Hermione watched in horror as Draco lifted a gun to the back of Vincent's head and readied it for fire. He murmured something Hermione couldn't quite make out, and then a loud bang rang through the eerie and quiet night.
Her hands rose to cover her mouth and to stifle her scream. Vincent's body fell onto the sacks of coal and the boat made its way down the river, manned by one of the potential Death Eater's that Marcus was always hanging around with. Draco wiped the blood spatter off of his face with his pocket handkerchief and then tossed it into the Thames.
Beside her, Black had come up to whisper in her ear, "Terrible thing for a lady to witness," he said. His eyes slid up and down her figure with palpable want. "Though, perhaps you aren't a lady. I imagine one mustn't be to get along with Draco. He can be a bit rough around the edges despite his godly demeaner." Hermione shivered from his proximity and tried to back away from his touch. "I can be rough to," he taunted with wagging brows.
She gasped as a hand slid around to grip her elbow. Draco shifted to stand between her and his estranged cousin. "What the fuck did I tell you, Black?"
The man laughed maniacally at Draco's veiled threat and retreated to Lupin's side, all the while never taking his dark eyes off of Hermione.
Draco led her away from them quickly, messing around with the wiring of a car on the side of the nearest street until its engine purred to life, and then he ushered her inside and drove away from the river as fast as he could. Hermione tried to control her ragged breathing.
"You just – You killed Vincent!"
He didn't look at her, instead focusing on the dark road ahead. She could tell from the direction they were going that he was taking her back to the manor and not to the pub where everyone else was likely still downing whiskey and wine like it was just another Tuesday.
"What the hell?" She snapped. "You just killed your friend – You just shot him – and no one else even blinked when you volunteered to do so. What the fuck is wrong with you?" Hermione shouted over the roar of the wind, her curls whipping furiously around her face.
Draco gripped the steering wheel, "I didn't kill him."
"Draco, I'm not blind." She retorted, intent on pushing him until he told her something useful. "Don't lie to me. Why did you do it?"
He shot her a mean glare, "I didn't kill him, Penny. Fuck. I shot him, yes, but with a shell full of sheep rags. It'll knock him out for a bit and it'll hurt like hell when he wakes up, but it won't kill him." She blinked at him, bewildered. "Every one of our people were in on it, except for Vincent."
"Why – Why didn't you tell him?" She asked quietly, searching his face for signs of a lie. There was none.
"He had to believe it was real," Draco replied. "Otherwise, he would have given it away and then Lupin would have happily started a bloody and unrelenting war that we would not have won. The Order may not have the skill, the money, or the finesse that we have, but they do have the fucking numbers."
"Well…" Hermione paused. "He can't come back to London. If the Order sees him or even gets word - "
"He won't be coming back to London." He stated, turning into the manor. He helped her out of the car and then directed her into a small sitting room, pulling at one of the bookshelves until it slid halfway across the floor. There was a false door behind it and a vault behind that.
"Where the hell is he going then? He's a Death Eater, he can't just – I mean – Aren't you all supposed to be family?" She wailed helplessly. Her eyes wandered over to the vault as Draco opened it, revealing a small arsenal of weapons stashed inside.
"Vincent is going to New York," Draco answered. "Greg is heading there next week anyway to help run that side of the business. He has a cousin who owns a couple bars and is willing to be our go-between man for selling liquor to the dry Americans. Vince will act as his muscle and see that he doesn't go and get himself murdered or tortured by their coppers when he starts dealing the opium, too."
Hermione stood flabbergasted and speechless. It was way more information than she expected him to divulge, but it was utterly brilliant. He had thought of everything, it seemed. His hands carefully selected a sharp, needle-like blade from the assortment of weapons, then he reemerged to stand in front of her.
His jaw was set, and his eyes were dark and stormy. Except, for once, Hermione didn't fear the danger they posed. "What's this?" She asked as he placed the knife in her open palm.
"Protection," he supplied tersely.
She frowned up at him, "From who?"
"Keep this on your person at all times," he told her, ignoring her question altogether.
Hermione slid him a teasing look, hoping to lighten his ominous expression and tone. "What?" She pressed with a hint of a smirk. "No razor cap of my own?" He let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine. Then why can't I get one of the other weapons? A revolver, maybe."
"No," Draco stated. "You need something deadly but easily concealable."
"Why?"
"Penny," he sighed. She pressed her lips firmly into a thin line and put the blade in her purse emphatically. She arched a brow for him to go on, and to her surprise, he did. "I realize that your constant presence at my side is becoming more noticeable to those of whom we pose a threat to, and your very existence is enough to tempt some of them into tempting my patience."
Hermione frowned, "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that they finally identified a weak spot of mine and plan to exploit it for either their benefit or a grotesque form of entertainment. Either way, I'm not willing to risk finding out which it is."
"So, you're willing to let me hold a weapon, now? I'm not one of your precious Death Eater's," she tested.
"I don't give a fuck about that." Draco barked. "All I care about is your safety, Penny."
She didn't ask why, but the hitch in her breath said enough for her.
"Draco," Hermione said, fixing him with a sullen glare. "What's going on? Who do I need to protect myself from exactly?"
He let out a shaky breath, "From Sirius Black." When she opened her mouth to demand an explanation, he shook his head at her, and she closed it obediently. "I saw the way he was looking at you at the harbor. I know that look of his. He's a dog and he won't stop until he gets what he wants, and by the way he was sizing you up, it's you he wants next." By then, Draco was visibly shaking with rage. "I won't let you suffer the consequences of my actions – my family's actions." He promised her.
She reached out to place her hand over his, trying to reassure him that it was fine. That she was fine. To bring him back to the moment and back to her. It worked because his eyes shifted from a dangerous slate grey to that of an iridescent silver.
"If he so much as talks to you again," he whispered. "He's a dead man walking. I don't care what my mother has to say about it."
Draco's hand pulled out of her grasp and for a second Hermione felt the sting of rejection pierce her despite his speech. But then he placed it on the bottom of her chin, tilting her head up toward his. His palm snaked around to cup her cheek, and his fingers buried themselves in her hair.
Her heart was pounding thunderously in her chest, threatening to burst out of her ribcage if he pulled away from her as he had so often these days. She missed the way he felt pressed up against her and she hated herself for it, but that didn't make it any easier. When he had asked her about her desires, she wanted to say him. As much as she tried to deny it, to push it down a dark endless rabbit hole and never let it resurface, her body yearned for him. Desired him.
"Draco," she murmured.
He responded by pulling her into him and relinquishing any space between them. His lips were hot and rough, tugging at hers with an intensity that could only have been bottled up from her interaction with Black until it boiled over. She let him press her against the storage cabinet even though a handle was jabbing into her back and sending shot of pain up her spine.
"Pen," he choked against her lips.
The electric shock the feeling of his skin on hers was exactly as she remembered it. Exactly as she reminisced it when she dreamt at night. There was a lot of talk about drugs and alcohol and cigarettes and how addictive they were, but no one ever talked about the heat of want and the plague of longing.
And Hermione wanted Draco. Badly.
Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him to her and relishing in the taste of spice and whiskey on his tongue. His arms dropped to lift her on top of the cabinet and his hips shifted between her knees. Instinctively, her hips angled forward, eager to rub against his. She gasped against his mouth as he tugged harshly at her hair. He was never gentle with her, but she loved it. Reveled in it.
Her hands slid down his arms, then his torso, exploring him. His lips were otherwise preoccupied with discovering every inch of her skin, and he hissed against her jaw when she dug her nails into fabric of his shirt, feeling his muscles tense against her touch.
There was a loud commotion from outside the room and Draco stepped away from her, cursing under his breath. Then, he looked at her a bit aggravated and said, "Looks like the cavalry has returned."
They rejoined the others and Draco reassured them that everything went swimmingly with Vince's apparent assassination leaving out any mention of Black's reaction to Hermione. No one questioned her presence.
Later that night, Hermione would close her eyes and slip her hand beneath her knickers to her slickness and dream of Draco touching her, wanting her.
A/N - Just a reminder that any nasty reviews will be deleted (I support criticism, truly, but if you are going to be mean for the sake of being mean that will not be tolerated; if you don't like Dramione, then perhaps don't read it? Disclaimers are on my page if anyone needs a refresher). On a better note, the playlist for this story has been posted on my page and can be found at the bottom of it xx
The title for this chapter comes from Ed Sheeran's song featuring PnB Rock and Chance the Rapper Cross Me from the lines know she going to slide any time you bitches talk shit / keep a little blade in her fucking lip gloss kit (aye) / no one say hi to me without her / better pay your respect to the queen