Chapter 7: Blame
24 December 1924
BELOVED BACHELOR MISSING: A REFLECTION OF HIS LIFE AND LEGACY
By Rita Skeeter
Mr. Draco Malfoy is an extraordinarily talented man, of that Great Britain has no doubt, but what is also interesting is that one of his skills is seeking out talent. His close friends are wonderful examples of this fact because all of the men he surrounds himself with are as distinguished and successful in their endeavors as he is.
Mr. Blaise Zabini, Mr. Malfoy's financial advisor, is one of the most hired and well-connected men in his industry. Nearly every famous or half-famous individual with any sense has used Mr. Zabini's brilliant head for numbers, and on more than one occasion has also saved them from fiscal disaster. Mr. Graham Montague owns the third most profitable betting shops in London, following behind well-known entrepreneurs Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood and Mr. Amycus Carrow. Mr. Marcus Flint owns and operates the largest home for orphaned children in London and hires many of the boys once they are of age.
Mr. Theodore Nott, Jr, however – the heir and now sole owner of Nott Holdings, the second most profitable business in Great Britain (second to Malfoy Company Limited, of course!) – is the most remarkable and most notable among Mr. Draco Malfoy's friends because of their lifelong friendship and mutual success. The pair have been constantly at each other's side and basking the public in their charismatic glow.
It is from Mr. Nott that the Daily Prophet expects to learn more about Mr. Draco Malfoy's disappearance, and ultimately to discover his whereabouts. We, as a nation, wait patiently for Mr. Malfoy's best mate and tireless protector to uncover the truth and share it with us.
I would describe Theo as more of a merciless protector, personally, but perhaps that's because I have been on both sides of his defense of Draco. He can be wicked and cruel, attacking you at your weakest point in a matter of seconds. He was always particularly gifted at that – at figuring out your weakest point.
What you wanted to keep hidden – to protect – above all else.
I would like to think we might be best mates ourselves now, but there was definitely a time even after establishing myself among the Death Eaters that I doubted that was possible, and it had a lot to do with our secrets and fragile bridge of trust.
Honestly?
There were far too many secrets among those who I thought were closest to me. Though, I suppose, that's a bit hypocritical seeing as I wasn't specifically forthcoming with truths either. Although, if anyone were to know where Draco would be right now perhaps Theo was the best guess. He was certainly the horse that the country wanted to put their money on in the race to find their missing, beloved bachelor.
Then again, I sincerely hope that I am not too far behind in the race. Otherwise, Draco will surely be dead soon, and I don't think I can stomach that. In fact, as I've likely proven more than once already, I would readily trade my life for his if the opportunity arose.
13 February 1923
Hermione was not the superstitious type.
Superstitions were irrational practices based in ignorance, a positive belief in fate or magic, and a misunderstanding of science or causality. It was for all three reasons that she chose not to indulge in the supernaturality of such behaviors.
When she won the first hand of poker the other night against Draco, Astoria and Theo, her brain did not immediately relate her novice status to her chance of winning and deem the result to be beginner's luck. When a black kitten sprinted across her feet in a hurry to cross the same road she walked along, Hermione did not suddenly fear a witch to be haunting her in the form of a starved feline eager to find food in the dirty streets of London.
However, Hermione was also not the type to believe in coincidences.
There was an odd feeling, a tingling sensation in the base of her neck, that stirred a subconscious fear in her. Fingers of ice reached out to wrap around her throat, crushing it with a frozen pressure. Hermione blinked and blinked, trying to clear her vision as it succumbed to blurriness, fading until there was nothing but a stark white light before her. In a flash, dark tendrils loomed toward her and dark, slit eyes laughed down at her.
"You are the price," they said to her, echoing and bouncing around in her empty, thick skull. "You are the price, and he must pay. He must."
The darks orbs floating above her transformed, and the tendrils surrounding them bled into a sea of red, encompassing her. The crimson color deepened to a sickening burgundy, sticking to her subconscious mind and flooded her senses, drowning her. A heavy weight buried her further and further, and she choked on the gurgling red. The blood and the pain and the crushing of her mind. Numbing her, ridding her of her senses.
"You have to make sacrifices." A low voice grumbled in her ear, scraping against it. "So beautiful. Such a beautiful sacrifice."
The pressure in her lungs increased ten-fold, taking with it her last breath, and Hermione bolted upright, inhaling the still morning air of the quiet bedroom. Terror bubbled in her veins, boiling over; she fought to regain her breath, to take control of her erratically constricting lungs, bursting against her ribcage.
"Penny?"
Draco groggily rubbed at his eyes, and Hermione's panic momentarily subsided at the sight of him wiping away the sleep embedded in his heavy lids, reminiscing the nights when it was he who woke her with screams of terror and the horrors of nightmares too close to reality to allow the body to fall easily back into subconsciousness.
"Hey," he murmured, snaking his arms around her waist and pulling her back down into the sheets, tangling their limbs together. His lips brushed across her temple, placing a gentle kiss over her eyelids as they fluttered shut. "Do you want to talk about it?"
She did not.
As much as Draco had come to trust her and confide in her, she still knew he was as venomous as a viper and as cold-blooded as well. He would not understand, and more importantly, he would think her weak if he knew what it was that she dreamt of. The blood and the pain. The violence and the murder.
"No," she sighed, burying her face in the crook of his neck and inhaling the familiar scent of him.
Much to her relief, he let it go. Normally, he pushed her. Draco enjoyed testing her limits, and under any other circumstances, she quite believed that she liked when he pushed her. When he challenged her and drove her nearly insane, practically to the point of relinquishing all control. A war raging within her; to match him – to not break – as well as to stand her ground and oppose him – to fight back.
The even rhythm of Draco's breathing returned swiftly, and Hermione lay there, wrapped in the fleeting safety of his embrace, and counted her breaths until the sun shone through a gap in the curtains. Hermione disentangled herself from him and slid out of his bed, covering herself in a heavy robe and tiptoeing out of the room.
It was a bit early for breakfast and since it was a workday, most of the Manor was emptied of its occupants. Pansy and Daphne were still in school, finishing up their last semester. Marcus was off doing who knows what with the youth of the city under the Death Eaters influence, and Graham was probably not far behind him even though he now had to split his time between the boys and the racetrack. Blaise had left for Birmingham for the weekend for one of his high-profile clients, and Astoria was away again as well, on another errand for Narcissa though Hermione still had no idea what it entailed.
Neither Astoria nor Narcissa, despite how close they'd gotten with Hermione over the last year, had been very forthcoming with information. At least, as far as Hermione knew, no one else in the household – not even Draco – was in on their activities.
Which left the dining table a rather despondent sight as Hermione swept in, dressed in a simple pencil skirt and blouse, and took her usual seat across from Theo. She murmured a quick, "Thank you, Dobby," as he scampered out of the kitchen with a fresh bowl of fruit, boiled eggs, and buttered toast.
"It is Dobby's pleasure, Miss Penny," he offered, backing away to return to the kitchens.
"You know," she said, glancing up to meet Theo's amused expression. "I think he's the only member of the staff that actually likes me." She bit off a piece of toast. "The others tolerate me. Except Kreacher," Hermione frowned. "He openly despises me."
Theo's pale blue eyes glinted as he turned the page of the morning newspaper. "Dobby likes everyone, so that's hardly surprising that he's taken with you. Especially given your close relations with his master. Kreacher, however," he went on, his lips twisting into a cruel smirk, "that is very telling of your character, Penny."
She glowered at him, "What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means," he taunted, selecting a grape from the bowl with meticulous precision. "That Kreacher has always been known to detect a bad apple among those close to Draco. He has a sixth sense for it, if you will."
Hermione grimaced, chewing on the toast and forcing it down her dry throat, reaching for her tea as she replied. "Sixth sense? Are you telling me you think he has some magical predisposition, and that you believe it?" She scoffed, willing her tone to remain unafraid. "I thought you were cleverer than that, Theo."
He shrugged, "It's not about cleverness, Penny, but about instinct."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest the validity of his argument but was interrupted by Greg and Vince making a fuss of something on the far end of the table. They quieted down at Theo and Hermione's subsequent glares in their direction, and then excused themselves and left to create noise in some other room in the enormous Manor.
"Astoria told me that Kreacher doesn't care for her much, either," Hermione noted, leaning back in her chair and cradling her cup of tea.
"Satan," Theo said, pursing his lips. "I can't say that many people in this household like her. Still, what's your point?"
"Perhaps, he's sexist," she replied coolly.
He shook his head, arching a dark brow at her pointedly. "He loves Narcissa. Would die for her, I think. So, perhaps, he's not."
"That's bias," she pointed out, her own brows lifting as he shrugged. "Kreacher used to work for her for – bloody hell, I don't know – forever, I guess."
"True," Theo admitted. "He's always been loyal to the Black family, long before Narcissa was born, but I still think it paints quite a picture that he should come to regard everyone else in this family with respect other than you and Astoria."
Hermione scoffed, "Perhaps, then, it's merely the fact that Kreacher himself is in love with Draco and doesn't wish to see anyone else on his arm."
Theo's icy blue irises narrowed, "Interesting." She waited for him to continue, knowing that he would, but wished her teacup suddenly resembled that of Blaise's usual non-tea. "Are you telling me, Penny, that you are in love with Draco?"
"I - " Hermione gaped, then sat up straighter, pursing her lips. "I was simply trying to make a point, Theodore, there is no need to take everything I say so literally."
"If you say so," he remarked, the features of his face softening as he stood and cleared his throat. He smirked at her, calling over his shoulder as he left the dining room, "Well, I have places to be and people to see, so I'll catch you around later, Penny. Give Draco my love for me, will you?"
"Fuck you," she retorted mockingly.
His smirk deepened as he turned the corner, disappearing from sight.
Minutes later, Draco came running into the dining room, slightly out of breath and with a few blond pieces of his hair falling into his forehead rather than slicking back with the others. His grey eyes darted frantically around the room, but ultimately settled on her.
"Theo?" He asked.
"Just left," she replied, gesturing further down the hallway. "If you're quick, you should be able to catch him or at the very least follow him to wherever he's going."
Draco nodded curtly, then took off a brisk pace, leaving Hermione to be the only person in the dining room once again. It was interesting, she thought, that last year all of the men were cooped up in the Manor for months and months while Draco waited for news on Neville Longbottom.
Now, Draco had declared the missing person of theirs to be vanished enough for them to go back to their business as usual, and while Hermione had said nothing – nor even hinted at the truth – of Neville's whereabouts, she lamented being stuck in the Manor most days. She missed running around for the Death Eaters; overseeing the company's legal errands with Narcissa and furthering their connections in the city, then reporting back to Draco with any significant findings at the end of the day.
Hermione still accompanied Draco and Theo on some of their activities, though less so now than when she first started her assignment, which she knew was a good thing because it meant they no longer felt the need to drag her along to keep an eye on her. But still. Of course, Hermione hardly thought of her living with them as an assignment anymore. In fact, she'd all but forgotten her initial mission and her life outside of the Death Eaters, and outside of Draco.
Her notes, still hidden in the Room Noir, had been untouched for over a year now. Not since that first night she spent enveloped in Draco's arms, relenting all control to the inevitably of them. Of him and her.
Was it really that simple?
Was it really that easy?
Hermione closed the book she'd been attempting to read and looked out over Narcissa's gardens, beginning to bloom in the early spring, and pondered her fate. She'd ultimately given in to her position beside Draco and knew that it meant she would have to relinquish her identity as Hermione Granger as well as her allegiance to the police. There was always the possibility that Neville had not taken her advice and would come back to strip her of her secrets, but that seemed unlikely.
The Death Eaters still had plenty of other enemies, but they had accepted her, trusted her, and by now she practically one of them. Which was more than she could say for Shacklebolt or Fudge, and really how difficult was it to check in on an agent who had been undercover for over three years now?
Hermione was still deep in her thoughts hours later when a loud bang boomed from down the hall. She tossed the book carelessly to the floor and took off, following the eruption of voices and telltale sounds of a fight.
She turned a corner and ran right into something, smacking into the solid form and rebounding on the floor. Hermione glanced up to see that she had not run into something but rather someone, and someone who was peering down at her with angry, slits for eyes. She gulped, "Theo?"
He bent down, folding his long limbs to help her stand, and took hold of her elbow. Her forearm cried from the intensity of his grip, and her heart thudded erratically from the stone-cold look on his face. It was a brutally horrible as when she first saw him face Potter in the streets, venom spitting from between his curled lips.
"Penny," he exhaled, leaning in close as he leaned over her sitting on the rich, carpeted floors. "Listen to me." Hermione gasped at the ice in his tone. "Listen to me. Draco is furious, murderous even. Do you hear me?" She blinked, and he shook her violently. "Do you hear me? He is looking to kill."
Hermione stuttered, "What happened – Why – "
"The Death Eaters have to come first." He said, ignoring her. "They have to come first, and they will always come first no matter what else we may want individually. The needs of the group outweigh the needs of the individual. No matter what I want – What Draco wants – that will always be true. The Death Eaters must prevail."
"Theo, I don't understand – "
"Listen to me, Penny," he hissed, gripping both of her arms and digging his fingers into her skin unkindly. "Draco does not like being taken advantage of – being lied to. None of us do, but he is the leader of the Death Eaters so – he can do what he wants, do you hear me? – he can banish one of us. Kill one of us."
Hermione swallowed, grimacing at the implications.
"He will kill one of us." Theo assured her, sending a shiver up her spine. "He doesn't take well to liars and pretenders and fraternizing with the enemy. To be guilty of any of those is a death wish. He won't hesitate to take out the perpetrator, no matter what it costs him. No matter how much it hurts him. He will do it, and he won't blink when he pulls the trigger."
"Why – "
"Penny," Theo sighed, expectantly. "You're clever, impossibly clever, and I know you know what I'm talking about. It won't matter who you are to him," he spat. "Draco won't let it go. He won't forgive any deception made against him, because it doesn't matter who you are, only what you've done."
Hermione bit her lip at the harshness of his tone and the excruciating grip of his hold on her. "Theo – " She began frantically, but he shook his head and let her go roughly. He stood and glanced briefly over his shoulder, then took off down the hall without another word.
She blinked, righting herself and shaking at what he alluded to.
"Miss Penny," Dobby said, cowering behind her when she spun around to look away from Theo's rapidly retreating figure. "Mr. Malfoy requests your audience in his study," he cleared his throat, averting his gaze. "Right now."
Hermione swallowed forcefully, tasting copper on her tongue and the bitterness of her reality.
Draco knew.
He knew.
That was the only explanation for the turn of events and Theo's rushed attempt to warn her what she would be walking into. Hermione fumbled around her pockets and resented not carrying any weapon on her for she feared what version of Draco she was about to face based on Theo's unforgiving gaze. His words rang in her ears as she trailed behind Dobby toward her certain doom.
The Death Eaters have to come first –
The needs of the group outweigh the needs of the individual –
It doesn't matter who you are, only what you've done –
How lucky could she possibly be to evade her identity being discovered twice? Not very lucky, she ruled as Dobby opened the door to let her into the smoke-filled room, whiskey and cinnamon overwhelming her senses the second she stepped over the threshold.
"Draco," she began cautiously, her gaze settling on the pale, silvery strands glowing in the setting sun.
"Have a seat," he said, turning around to face her. "We need to talk." His expression was impossible to read, and even his eyes gave nothing away.
Impassivity spread across his features, and where she would have rather seen a clenched jaw, a curled fist, or a downturned grimace, she saw nothing. At least if there was tension in his muscles, a glint in his eyes, or anything resembling the fury that Theo claimed Draco was riddled with, then Hermione would be able to gauge just how fucked she was. But there was nothing, not even a twitch of his lip, that clued her into the rage that awaited her.
He sparked a cigarette, then tossed the pack to her. Hermione's fingers twitched towards them as his eyes bore into her, commanding her to take one and join in the cloudy haze surrounding them. She did as she was silently told, and sparked a light of her own, taking a long drag.
It did nothing for the anxiety chilling her nerves, making them sensitive to every motion Draco made.
"You know," he said, the words leaving his mouth as his eyes stared at the ceiling. "I would like to believe that I'm not a stupid man." He inhaled sharply, then exhaled several rings of smoke. "I would like to believe that I am not easily fooled. That I am not easily taken advantage of, and yet, here I am." His chin dropped so that his stormy grey gaze focused on her, sitting uncomfortably erect in the chair opposite his desk.
Hermione let out a shaky breath, pinching the cigarette tightly to keep her fingers from trembling and relaying her fear for him to read and analyze plain as day.
"You believe you have been deceived?" She asked, maintaining a level tone in her voice despite the crippling dread clawing at the back of her throat. "By who?"
Draco blinked at her, saying nothing.
He sat up in his chair, unbuttoned his suit jacket and stood to lean forward over his desk. It was impeccably tidy, as were all of his spaces, and Hermione caught the glimpse of silver in his waistband as he reached for the crystal decanter and two glasses, sliding one across to her.
"It's funny," Draco said, not looking humored in the slightest. "You think you know someone," he went on, his gaze glossing over as he sipped at the whiskey. Hermione held tightly onto her glass, its contents remaining untouched. "You think you know someone." He repeated. "You get to know them, and you believe everything they tell you about them because they seem genuine. You come to trust them completely."
Hermione felt all of the air leave her lungs as his eyes darkened, pupils dilating.
Draco finished the scorching, amber liquid in his glass and slammed it onto the hard wood of his desk, and Hermione flinched at the violent movement. His face shifted then, taking on the picture of wrath – of blood and pain and hurt.
She feared it, feared what it meant, and shifted uncomfortably in the armchair, wishing there was something she could say that would make him understand. That would save her life.
"You trust them," he snapped. "You put your life in your hands, and you give a part of yourself to them. All for them to turn around and lie to you." Draco's lips curled, teeth poking out like fangs on a snake, poised to sink into their prey and instill their venom. "They lie to you." He snarled.
Hermione bit down on her lip hard to stop it from visibly trembling.
"Draco, I – "
"They lie about who they are – who they really are – and you feel like a fool. You realize at that moment that you don't really know them at all." He said, venting over her quiet interruption. "That, perhaps, you never did. That everything they told you was a lie, a mask made to conceal their true identity." Draco hissed, dabbing the butt of his cigarette forcefully into the ashtray. Crushing it unnecessarily. "They lied to you. They lied about who they are, what they stand for, and their entire being."
His grey eyes snapped up from the ash to meet her wary, teary eyes trained on him. "Don't you hate that?" He asked rhetorically. "Doesn't that just unnerve you when you discover something like that?
"I didn't – I only – "
"Because," Draco growled, cutting off her feeble attempt to defend herself. "How the fuck can you trust someone after that? After all of the lies and the betrayal and – It's just bloody ridiculous – It's fucking insane to think that the trust can be repaired."
"Draco," she tried, but he shook his head, standing up to pace behind his desk, one hand lowering to the handle of the revolver in his waistband.
"It pains me." He said, wracking a hand through his hair and spinning to face her, the gun now aimed lazily in her direction. "I loathe unnecessary violence. I don't want to have to do this. I really fucking don't, but I have to." His eyes glinted as he stared at her, tilting his head and exhaling a rush of air. "I have to."
He took a deep breath, his head dropping to inspect the heavy metal object in his grasp. "Death may be the greatest of all human blessings," he quoted.
"Socrates," she choked out.
Hermione was not the superstitious type, nor did she believe in coincidences, but suddenly she wondered if she were wrong to hold that mentality. Because she was quite sure that her luck had all but run out and the fact that it was Friday the 13th was either a cosmic joke or a seriously ill-fated date for her.
Hermione shot to her feet, "Draco, please, I didn't – I've changed – Everything has changed now and – " She stepped cautiously forward and the glass slipped from her grasp to shatter at her feet. She winced from the impact of the tiny shards into her pale skin.
"Fuck," Draco swore, reaching out to steady her by the sleeve of her blouse. "Be careful." He blinked at her incredulous expression and pursed his lips. "Wait, what were saying? What changed? What the fuck are you talking about?"
Hermione gaped at him, blinking and rolling her bottom lip between her teeth as she struggled to gather her wits. Her head was heavy on her shoulders, but the heat of his forefinger slipping under the thin silk of her blouse to hook around her wrist jolted her back to her senses.
"What – What are you talking about?" She insisted, letting him guide her carefully away from the shattered glass and to the other side of his desk where he sat her in his chair. Draco knelt at her feet and slipped her heels off of her bare feet, tending to them and searching for any lingering shards.
"Theo," he admitted, the dangerous hint of his temper flaring back up in his tone.
"Theo?" Hermione repeated, flabbergasted.
"Yes," he growled. Then, acquiescing that her legs were fine, rocked back on his heels and stood over her. His figured loomed ominously with the setting sun turning the sky from warm hues to cold, dark ones behind him. Draco leaned forward, bracing himself on the arms of the chair. "Isn't it always fucking Theo? Bloody fucking thorn in my side. We're brothers – brothers – and he fucking lied to me. I don't – I can't – I feel like I don't even know him anymore."
Then, miraculously, Hermione realized that perhaps she was incredibly lucky, and that Draco effectively had no idea of her secret, of her true identity. That, in all his frantic and foreboding phrasing, Theo had been referring to himself.
Hermione blinked, searching Draco's face. "What did he do?"
Draco bent his head, brushing his lips across her cheekbone. "Who," he murmured, his mouth hot on her ear; his stubble prickling her cheek. "The question you should be asking is who did Theo do."
"Draco," Hermione huffed, struggling to keep up with him as he tore through the corridors of his Manor. "Draco, slow down. You don't want to do this. It's Theo – he's your best mate, arguably your other half, and I know you don't want to hurt him."
"On the contrary, Penny," he gritted out, turning sharply into the foyer. "I want to more than simply hurt him. I want him to feel the sting of the betrayal that he so casually bestowed on me." He thrust out his hands and the men standing beside the grand front doors opened them up for him without hesitating to question the murderous glare on their master's face. Hermione trailed behind as he descended the stairs outside.
"Draco, stop - " But she could see that trying to reason with him was a lost cause as he stormed across the front lawn and bit her tongue in frustration. She hurried to catch up to him, eyes widening as she saw Theo pulling out of the garage in one of the family cars.
"You are a right fucking bastard you know that, don't you?" Draco roared, slamming his hand on the hood of the car. Theo flicked his wrist, stilling the engine and leapt out with his hands up in evident surrender.
"Draco," he pleaded, eyes wide and panicked. Hermione stood frozen in place as Draco didn't falter, leveling his revolver at the center of his forehead and pressing it into the skin between Theo's furrowed brows. "Draco listen to me," Theo begged, his chest heaving. "Draco, you don't have to do this."
"I do," he quipped. "You fucking know that I do."
"No," Theo replied, his pale blue eyes flickering to the end of the gun before meeting the stormy gleam on its other end. "You aren't your father, Draco. You are the leader of the Death Eaters but that doesn't mean you have to lead like him. You aren't him."
"Shut the fuck up, Theo," Draco snarled, his hand remarkably unwavering. "Shut up."
"You aren't him," Theo repeated. "You don't have to do this."
"What if I want to?" Draco countered, stepping forward to dig the cold metal further into Theo's skull. Outstandingly, the other man didn't wince; didn't even flinch. "You betrayed me," he snapped, his lip curling angrily, once again baring his teeth. "You lied to me, Theo. You fucking lied! We were brothers and now I don't even know who you are anymore!"
Theo swallowed, his Adam's apple bouncing and protruding against the fragile skin of his throat. "We are brothers," he corrected, drawing the words slowly and purposefully from his cracked lips. "You know me, Draco. I'm still the same fucked up kid who ran around the stuffy Manor with you and got into shit we shouldn't have gotten into. I'm still the same bloody mess who stood by your side – who fought in the fucking war with you – and saved your life." Theo exhaled; jaw set stubbornly. "You know me. You can trust me."
"How?" Draco bellowed. His silver brows furrowed in open distraught and his eyes flashed, displaying for the first-time what Hermione saw was anguish at the target of his intended bullet. "How can I possibly fucking trust you? You're sleeping with the bloody enemy. The Death Eaters enemy," he retorted, fingers curling and uncurling at his side. "The Death Eaters come first."
"I – I couldn't – You don't understand." Theo beseeched, sensing the shift in Draco's confidence. "I had no choice." – a strangled laugh followed by, "Are you fucking kidding me, Theo?" – "It's not like I intended for this to happen. For any of it, but you don't understand. I – I can't let it go. I can't look away. I can't pretend like it doesn't mean anything."
Hermione saw the slightest quiver in Draco's grip and took the opportunity to insert herself between the two men, slowly wrapping her fingers around the barrel of the gun. "Draco," she murmured, trying to coax him away from the edge. If his temper were to ignite – to truly go off – then there would be no going back. No undoing whatever evil ensued.
She knew this time she would not be quick enough to aide Theo in avoiding a bullet. If she could help it, which astoundingly she thought she could from the rigidness of Draco's spine and the cloudiness in his eyes, then she would stop the animal in him from lashing out.
Besides, she didn't really believe that Draco wanted Theo dead.
"Draco," Hermione said again, careful to keep her tone light and sweet. Lest he presume she was openly siding with Theo (which would be inadvisable in this situation even if she did know what Theo was guilty of). "Let's go inside. Come on," she managed to lower the gun all the way out of Theo's range and slid the heavy object from his grasp. Hermione clicked the safety into place and slid the cool metal into her own waistband. "Come on, Draco. I need to lie down. Won't you come with me?"
She was careful not to mention Theo's name or even acknowledge his continued existence beside them and was unsurprised to see that her tactic worked. The tension in Draco's shoulders slowly subsided as he tore his gaze from their friend. He blinked and the enchanting silver hue returned, flickering around the soft features of her face, settling on what she presumed was a stray curl poking out of her updo.
"Let's go inside," she murmured, tugging his stiff arm and leading him slowly, step by step, toward the front of the house.
It had almost worked.
Almost.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Theo snapped, bringing their attention back to him and toward the person he was talking to. "Did you run here? You bloody lunatic."
A head of dark, messy hair emerged into the driveway accompanied by a set of memorable, jewel-toned eyes and parched, gasping lips. "Well," Potter huffed. "It's not like I had much of a choice. The Order isn't exactly rolling in horses or cars," – he gestured to the gleaming, new vehicle Theo stood in front of – "that I could steal for a quicker getaway."
Hermione watched the two men interact and noticed a shift in their usual banter, specifically an element that was missing as well as one that had been added or was otherwise less obvious, and her jaw nearly hit the floor.
The Death Eaters have to come first –
The needs of the group outweigh the needs of the individual –
It doesn't matter who you are, only what you've done –
"You must have a fucking death wish, Potter," Draco snapped, ripping his hand from Hermione's grasp and bounding toward the two men. "This is un-fucking -believable, Theo, and if you think I'm just going to stand here and take this bullshite, then you have another thing coming!"
He stomped further down the drive, his hand instinctively flying toward his waistband. Draco stopped abruptly, spinning to glare at Hermione. "Penny," he said between gritted teeth. "Give my bloody gun," and when she hesitated, eyes flickering to the weapon in her waistband, he turned back around and pulled a blade from his sock. "Fuck it," he swore, "Fuck it all."
You're sleeping with the bloody enemy –
"Draco," Theo snarled, stepping between Draco and Potter. "Don't,"
"Oh, no, Theo," he replied coldly. "We're way fucking past that."
Theo, however, didn't move. He held his ground, slamming one hand back to push Potter behind him and holding out the other with his palm out, ready for Draco's advance. "Don't come any closer," he warned. "I don't want to hurt you and I know you don't want to hurt me, but if you so much as touch one bloody, greasy hair on his fucking head - "
I can't let it go –
I can't look away –
I can't pretend like it doesn't mean anything –
"Stop!" Hermione shouted, slipping the gun into her palm and sprinting between the men once again. She huffed, pointing the gun – its safety still on because she didn't want to accidentally injure or kill one of these idiots – between Draco and Theo. "Just – Fucking stop,"
"Penny," Draco hissed, "Lower the bloody gun and stay the fuck out of this."
"No," she snapped, stubbornly setting her foot down.
"Penny," he said again, disapproval dripping from every syllable. "This doesn't concern you - "
"Like bloody hell it doesn't!" She protested. Hermione eyed Theo, who looked poised to throw a punch but just as unwilling to do so, and then unwrapped one hand from around the handle of the revolver and shoved it against Draco's puffed chest. "Go back inside."
"Pen," he growled.
"No," Hermione replied, irate. She slammed her palm against his chest again and flicked her wrist, waving him away. "Go inside the fucking house, Draco. Now," she seethed, gesturing toward the Manor with the gun.
Draco scowled, clenching his fists as he shifted his cold, narrowed eyes between Hermione and Theo. Finally, he turned on his heel and stormed back toward the Manor. When he stormed through the front door, slamming it behind him with a thunderous boom, the tension in Theo's shoulder relaxed minutely as he lowered his hand from Potter's chest to button his suit jacket.
"Well," he drawled, glancing between the bushy-haired fury and the disheveled mess on either side of him. "That went well."
"Shut the fuck up," Hermione snapped, running a hand through her wild curls, let loose from all of the chaos. "We'll talk later, just get rid of him." she promised Theo, then sighed and looked longingly over to the Manor. "I really do need to lie down, now."
"Get rid of him?" Theo frowned, sparing a furious look at Potter before addressing her on his behalf.
"Hey, listen - " Potter began to say, stepping forward.
"Shut up," Hermione and Theo both snapped at him simultaneously.
She huffed and dug for a cigarette, lighting it and taking a long drag before settling her chestnut, tired eyes on Theo again. "He can't stay here." She told him. "He's a bloody Order member, Theo, and we certainly can't have him wandering about the Manor and getting his dirty nose into whatever happenstances occur. Not to mention Draco will kill him – and you – on sight if he sees him inside."
"He won't see him," Theo asserted, fists clenched. "Penny, he has to stay you don't understand. He – the Order - "
"I left them," Potter inputted sharply, cutting off Theo's rough attempt to relay the same information. This time, neither Hermione nor Theo tried to silence him, and from that he went on. "I left the Order. They weren't – I found out – Well, I can't trust them anymore."
Hermione scoffed, "And you came here because you trust the Death Eaters?" Her eyes narrowed as she exhaled another puff of smoke. "Why?" She pressed. "Why can't you trust them?"
Potter shook his head, "I know the way this lifestyle works. Information is key, and I don't plan to divulge it until the opportune moment."
"Bloody hell," Hermione groaned. "Would a gun to your head be the opportune moment you had in mind?" She quipped. The other boy's jewel-toned eyes – much more emerald than Astoria's paler shade – flickered down to the revolver in her waistband, and Hermione sighed impatiently. "I'm not going to shoot you. I believe I've proven that particular task of little interest to me, haven't I?"
Theo nodded along, glancing at the other man. She noticed his features softened ever so slightly upon looking at the untidy, soot-covered man. "If Penny wanted you dead, you would be." He affirmed – Potter scoffed, "Lovely," under his breath – and added, "She could have easily stood back and let Draco loose on us, so…" He turned to her then, blue eyes blazing. "Thank you, I guess."
"Welcome," she sniffed. "Now," Hermione sighed, flicking the ash away and tucking the butt into her pocket to dispose of later – not on Narcissa's precious lawns – "If you're going to be hoarding an Order member inside the Manor, then I want nothing to do with it."
"Didn't you just - "
"- so I'm going to go inside myself now and find that abominable blond," Hermione continued, ignoring Potter's outburst, "and make sure he hasn't gone and done anything extraordinarily idiotic." She turned on her heel, then called out over her shoulder, "Do with him what you will, and don't be stupid enough to hide him in your own rooms, Nott."
Theo nodded once, then grimaced at Potter, rolling his eyes. "Fucking hell, are you always this reckless?"
In turn, Potter's eyes twinkled with mischief as a smirk spread across his lips, "Only for you, Nott."
"Fuck you," Theo snapped, though the intensity of the statement was little more than affectionately reprimanding.
"You had no fucking right," Draco snarled as Hermione stepped into his office. It had taken several minutes of searching the house for her to find him, and the initial bout of exhaustion reverted to anger, bubbling in her at the near-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. "How fucking dare you."
"Why are you so upset with me, Draco?" She countered, her face hardening. "Is it because I did what needed to be done? Or is it more childish than that?" Hermione snapped, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him with equal ferocity that he directed at her. "Is it because I stole your precious little gun and ordered you back inside? Is that it? Hm?"
"Fuck you," he seethed. His lips were wet, slicked with the spiced liquid, droplets spewing from them as he spoke to her. "Fuck you, Penny."
"You want to be angry with me, Draco?" Hermione taunted, stepping towards him and wrestling the bottle out of his hands, slamming it on the mahogany desk. "Then be fucking angry with me! You claim that I'm your equal, but you hate when I act like it, so what are you going to do about it?"
"I loathe you," he spat, curling one hand behind her neck and tilting her head up to look at him. His grey eyes flashed with fury, with want and with hatred all at once. "Don't you see what you've done to me? Look at what you've made me, Pen, look."
The golden, godlike features of his face were contorted by a scorching, inescapable flame. The fire behind his eyes sparked and flared, luring her into their depths and threatening to burn her. To ruin her. To make her into nothing but ash lost in a breeze.
She welcomed it.
Hermione felt a smile creep across her face, twisting her lips upward.
"I'm looking," Hermione assured him. "I'm looking, Draco, and you know what?" She rolled onto the balls of her feet, placing her lips less than a breath away from his. "I like what I see."
"I loathe you," he repeated, his lips brushing against his as the words slipped out.
"You," my bright, burning sun, she thought. "Will be the death of me."
Draco tangled his hands in her hair, tugging forcefully at the curls as he pressed his lips roughly to hers, stealing her breath and taking it for himself. "Good," he said coldly.
His touch burned, searing her skin, and it reminded her of the unmistakable heat between them in the beginning. Before his fingers turned gentle and awestruck. This was a different kind of worship, Hermione realized. This was power wrapped in want and driven by need. Pure, raw, need.
He backed her up to the desk, pushing her against it and sinking his teeth into her bottom lip. Hermione tasted copper, then felt behind her for the edge of the desk, hoisting herself up on it to stop it from cutting into her spine crudely. She lifted her hips to wrap them around his, and slid her tongue along his, reveling in the dizzying taste of spiced liquor and copper.
Hermione woke up that morning unsure of herself; unsure of the person she felt she was becoming under the influence of the Death Eaters. She'd killed a man, and she'd resolutely turned her back on the police and her previous life without much hesitation. But now? Now she was sure. She was sure as hell that she liked who she was becoming.
She had power.
She had power and strength and value. Hermione was no longer a pawn to be commanded around the board with little refusal and little control. She was a queen. She was a motherfucking queen. Hermione had the power, and the audacity as she was recently learning, to control her own movements and to take them freely, with the whole board at her disposal. The other team would no longer treat her as disposable, as little more than a nuisance, because now they would see her. They would see her – a queen standing beside a king – and they would fear her; they would tremble at her threats and they would know that if she wished to come after them, their days were numbered.
There was no doubt in her mind anymore, she was sure, of her place.
Her place was beside Draco, with the Death Eaters, and it let something in her bloom.
Hermione dug her hands in Draco's hair, sifting through the silvery strands and holding them hostage between her fingers as his slid up her thigh, pushing up the fabric of her skirt up past her hips. His knuckles brushed against her inner thigh, and Hermione tensed, high on anticipation.
Draco leaned back enough to slip his palm against her cunt, and Hermione shivered under his touch. "You drive me mad," he breathed, hot air against her cheek. "You get away with so fucking much, you know. I would never tolerate it from anyone else." His finger slid between her lips, caressing her clit, causing her breathing to hitch and the ball of energy building inside of her to build and build.
"I know," she choked out, letting her head fall back and her eyes shut.
"Look at me, Penny, fucking look." His voice was gravely and rough, just as his hands were; one rubbing relentlessly against her clit and the other buried once again in her curls, tugging them so tightly and snapping her head up to meet his dark gaze. "Look at what you've made me. Look how I come undone for you," he rasped between gritted teeth.
His hold on her tightened, and the ball coiled, ready to spring with a flick of his dexterous fingers. Instead of bringing her to raw release, however, he pulled his fingers out of her and gripped her hipbone. Hermione let out something between a gasp and a moan as the ball sat frustratingly poised to release; incapable of breaking the barrier.
She thrust her hips against his, desperate for friction, and bit down on her lip. "Draco," she whined, letting her hands fall from his ribcage to his trousers, pulling hastily at the zipper and freeing him.
Hermione took his throbbing, pulsing length in her palm and slid it up and down, furiously. Furious because of how close she was – how bloody fucking close – and because of how badly she wanted him. "Mine," she said sternly. "You are mine."
A his escaped his swollen lips, and Hermione let a small smile spread across her lips at how right he had been about her – about them. She ran her thumb across the tip of his cock and let the slickness of his readiness slip through her fingers. "Fucking hell," he growled, his teeth bared against her jawline, grazing it.
A low, guttural noise rumbled in the back of Draco's throat, vibrating against her collarbone as he kissed his way angrily down her neck, leaving little bites along the way. Hermione could tell he was getting close to release and wanting to return the favor he so kindly gave her, shifted her hips forward and angled the length of his cock along the slit of her cunt.
She didn't dare let him enter her yet – that would be far too merciful despite her own wants and needs – but kept up the friction so that both of them were twitching with the desire to unwind, to uncoil. To bury their demons in each other and sigh at the satisfaction it left them to bask in.
"I loathe you," Draco said, teeth gnashing against one another. He hoisted her hips up, positioning the tip of his cock against her entrance, and waited. The seconds before he slid into her were torturous and maddening; Hermione almost wept when he finally drove himself deep inside of her.
It was rough, and she gasped at the impact he made, but welcomed the next one with vigor. She herself gripped the back of his neck, digging angry crescents into his pale skin while his hands dug into her hips, creating bruises.
"Show me," Hermione choked, whispering against his lips and taking his breath in hers. Stealing it. Owning it. "Show me how much you hate me."
Draco's stormy eyes flickered across hers, momentarily shimmering silver with hesitation, but seeing the fire behind hers, he ultimately gave in and did as she asked. He showed her, and he did so just as brutally as she had hoped. Their hips collided as he buried himself in her over and over and over.
"Look at what you made me," he hissed, kissing her roughly. "I loathe you."
When they were both slick with sweat and ridden with exhaustion – when they were both so close – Draco hoisted Hermione into his arms and pulled them both down the hardwood floors, lying her across the only rich carpet beside the fireplace. He held her close to him, closer, closer, closer.
"Fuck you," he groaned, his forehead falling against hers. "I love you. I fucking love you." He thrust into her once, twice more, and she came with his name on her tongue, soaking them both in saccharine reverberations.
"You are mine, Draco Malfoy," she panted in his ear, driving her heel into his spine and wrapping her arms around him, never letting him go. He came with a disgruntled echo of his hatred and his newly proclaimed love for her, and Hermione gave him a lazy smile, letting him collapse against her.
"I love you, too," she murmured, brushing the silvery strands of his hair away from his equally silvery eyes. "I think I always have," she admitted softly, still holding him to her. Always close. Never close enough.
A smirk pulled at his lips. "Good," he said, brushing them against hers and rolling off of her to fall on his back at her side. The glow of the fire lit behind him, brought back the warm golden features, softening them enough to pull her deeper into his orbit. As if she wasn't deep enough. Hermione pondered if she would ever be.
Once their breathing finally slowed to a normal rhythm, Hermione wrapped an arm across his torso and pulled herself on top of him, propping her elbows up on his heaving chest. "Draco," she began softly. He lifted a brow; his hands settling on her hips and drawing circles over them with the rough of his fingertips.
"Yes?"
"About Theo," she said, bracing herself for his temper to return, and hurriedly getting through what she wanted to say. "What did he mean by you not being like your father?"
"Nothing," Draco snapped, then sighed. The tension in his shoulders subsided with great difficulty, and his jaw slowly unclenched as he met her curious gaze. "I'm not going to kill him, if that's what you're worried about."
"You're not?" She blinked. "And – And – Err - "
"Potter?" He guessed. Hermione nodded. "No. I won't kill him, either. I want to, believe me it would be much easier to kill him than to have to interact with him in an even slightly polite manner on Theo's behalf, but no. I won't kill him. I'm afraid, I can't."
Hermione gauged his willingness to be forthcoming with information by brushing her lips across his, in a half-kiss and tasting no lingering poison of his temper, leaned back to rest her cheek on his chest, running her hand along the scruff of his jaw.
"Why?" She asked, whispering the question into the base of his throat. "Why can't you?"
Draco sighed. "He saved my life once."
"He did?" Hermione gasped. "What? When?" She racked her brain for any other allusion to such an event, but even her clever mind could not fathom one occurring. She sat up, looking to him for some clue in his expression but it seemed genuine.
"Not now, Penny," he supplied, sitting up with her and brushing back her sex-crazed curls. "That's a story for another time. Maybe." His lips quirked into a smirk then, and he stood up, pulling her up with him and brushing his knuckles against her bare abdomen. "Come on," he said. "Mother will be home soon, and I would hate to miss her lose her mind over Potter and Nott."
Hermione chuckled, slipping back into her blouse and skirt, wrangling her hair into a somewhat passable chignon that Narcissa would no-doubt ridicule excessively. "That would be a shame," she agreed, slipping her hand in his through the corridors until they came up to the main hall, where she let it fall back to her side so he could resume his cold, leadership exterior.
"Are you out of your fucking mind?"
Narcissa rounded on Draco, predictably, and managed not to spill any of the dark liquid from the overflowing glass in her hand as she flung her arms out, bewildered. Hermione sank into the emerald, velvet cushions and felt immensely glad that it was Potter that was on the brunt end of Narcissa's disapproval, this time, and not her.
"He's a bloody Order member!" Her pale eyes flashed dangerously between Draco and Theo. "You must be fucking joking if you think bringing him here was a wise idea."
The rogue himself cleared his throat and offered, "Ex-Order member. I quit, so to speak."
"Shut up," Theo hissed, smacking the backside of his head and tussling the wayward dark strands. "You're not helping."
"I was just trying to clear up any wrong information," Potter supplied primly and not at all genuinely. His scowl deepened as he looked up to meet Theo's icy glare. "You're the one who told me to come here," he protested.
"Bloody brilliant," Narcissa muttered into her glass, emptying it and reaching for the decanter to refill it.
"I didn't say to come right away," Theo growled defensively. "I told you to wait until I'd spoken with Draco, or you'd likely lose your head."
"Still could," Narcissa input, taking a proffered light from Blaise and sparking her cigarette. Blaise's own jaw was clenched shut, only opening to grant whiskey and smoke entrance. He, like the rest of them other than Narcissa, remained silent as Draco and Theo addressed the presence of Potter.
"Well," Potter said, ignoring Narcissa's mutterings and keeping his eyes trained on Theo's hardened expression. "You should have been clearer about what you wanted from me."
"I was fucking clear, you knave," Theo retorted, swiping a hand through his ebony hair and slicking it back with frustration. "You just weren't listening. You never bloody listen."
"Are you two quite finished?" Draco drawled, exhaling rings of smoke.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Potter remarked, not sounding even remotely apologetic. "Did you want to get back to leading your little family meeting? Well, don't let me interrupt."
"Fucking Christ," Theo groaned. "You do have a death wish."
Draco's grey eyes narrowed at Potter's emerald ones. He inhaled smoke for a long minute, resting his hands casually in his pockets, then slid the cigarette to the side of his mouth with his tongue, precariously letting it dangle as he exhaled slowly.
"This isn't a family meeting," he finally replied. "By virtue of your attendance, in case you were wondering." He took the cigarette between his forefinger and thumb, angling it at Potter briskly. "Now, unless you are curious as to whether or not you would survive a night in the snake den, much less the next five minutes, without my approval, then I suggest you shut your bloody mouth and let me talk. Eh?"
Potter opened his mouth to further argue with Draco, but Theo shoved him roughly back against the velvet and perched on the arm of his chair, rolling his eyes and motioning for Draco to – please, for the love of god – continue.
"You can't be fucking serious," Narcissa snapped, catching the implication in Draco's speech. "You're letting him stay here?"
"Yes," Draco replied without missing a beat, then he held out his palm to stop her next protest so he could go on. "Let's say it's because I would prefer to keep an eye on him if Theo so wishes to put me in this impossible position. If he left the Order as he claims he did, then it would also serve to provide us with information we can use to finally be rid of them."
Narcissa's eyes were slits, "And if I didn't believe that were enough for you to grant his immunity indefinitely?"
"Believe whatever the fuck you want, Mother," Draco dabbed the last of his light into the ashtray, surveying the disapproval emanating from the other men. "He stays."
"Bloody hell," she seethed, licking the whiskey from her lips. "I'm still adjusting to the last stray you fucking let in here - "
"Thanks, Narcissa," Hermione quipped drily.
"- and now you expect me to just let you welcome another? We aren't a fucking hotel Draco!" She snapped, regarding her son vehemently. "The Death Eaters depend on you to lead them. We all do. But how can we trust that you're putting our best interests forward when you continuously pull stunts like this?"
"Don't question me, Mother." Draco cautioned. "You can trust that I am putting the Death Eaters first, and that I always will. Potter's presence here can be just as valuable as Penny's was." He paused, glancing back at her with a hint of a smirk, then added. "Well, perhaps, not as valuable but he still isn't without his uses."
"Fuck," Narcissa groaned, brandishing her half-lit cigarette at Theo and Draco. "Will both of you ever stop thinking with your fucking cocks? Bloody nightmare, you both are."
"Mother," Draco warned, voice low.
"Fine!" She shouted, throwing her hands up in defeat. "Have it your way, Draco! You always bloody do, so why do I even bother? I am warning you though, that if this comes back to bite us then it will have been on orders. It will be your head, your conscience, that bears the weight of this decision, my son."
Draco pursed his lips, "Heavy is the head that wears the crown."
Vince erupted that minute in a flurry of shouts and screams, but Greg swiftly calmed him down through pouring copious amounts of burning whiskey down his throat and smacking his arms until he quieted down. Taking deep, labored breaths and shaking his demons free.
No one else in the room reacted to this outburst, they were all used to it since the two men returned, and generally looked the other way as it happened. Potter, however, furrowed his dark brows and blinked as if registering their presence in the room for the first time.
"Wait a fucking minute. Aren't you supposed to be dead?" He asked, tilting his head toward Vince and arching a brow at him quizzically. "I specifically remember that you should be dead."
"Eh," Vince shrugged, unwrapping a chocolate bar and passing a piece to Greg and Blaise. "I was living in America." He chuckled to himself. "Same fucking thing."
She scoffed into her glass, reaching for the new decanter Dobby scampered in with and taking it from his outstretched hands before he could place it on the bar cart. There was a small, trill of a voice coming from the door of the sitting room as Winky poked her head in.
"Miss Astoria is here," she announced, stepping away from the gap to let the other woman in.
"Well, it's been a long bloody day but I thought you would like to see what I brought first, Narcissa, before - " She stopped abruptly, her pale green eyes falling on Theo's first and then the brilliant emerald ones beside him. "What the fuck? Who is this?" She asked no one in particular. "Who are you?" She directed at him that time.
"I'm Harry Potter," he announced proudly, smirking at her while Theo ran a hand across his mouth, dragging it down.
"Potter?" She repeated, glancing across the room to where Narcissa stood. "As in Lily and James' son?"
"I - " He stuttered. "Yes. How did you know that?" He blinked. "Who are you?"
But Narcissa had glided across the room, the scent of vanilla and Chanel No. 5 wafting into Hermione's senses as the woman passed her to stand beside Astoria, effectively blocking Potter from her view.
"Astoria," she said, bringing the woman's attention back to her. "What have you brought?"
She gaped at the jewel-toned man over Narcissa's shoulder momentarily before blinking and forcing a stern expression across her face. "I found him." She declared, and Hermione noted with intrigue at the immediate rigidness that struck up Narcissa's spine. "I brought him here," Astoria stated, gesturing to Winky at the door to bring the person of interest in.
The petite staff member dragged in a sniffling, rat-like man by the ear and deposited him roughly at the women's feet, muttering, "Mistress," and "Missus," before scurrying out of the room and closing the heavy wooden door loudly behind her.
"You found him," Narcissa marveled, her rouge-tinted lips gaping at the pudgy man whimpering at her designer shoes. "Shut up," she commanded, kicking at him. He whimpered some more, but ultimately cowered quieter.
"What is this? Who is he?" Draco frowned, stepping forward to stand on one side of his mother. "What the fuck have you dragged in here?"
"Ha," Narcissa scoffed, eyes flickering behind her to where Hermione sat on one armchair beside the hearth and Potter in the other. "You're one to talk, my darling son." At his fixed expression and furrowed brows, she sighed, nudging the man at her feet again. "This is an old friend of mine. If you can call him that after what he did. Perhaps, it would be more accurate to say he was a friend of your father's."
Draco inhaled sharply.
"Who is he?"
"His name is Peter Pettigrew," she supplied, her red lips twisting into a cruel smirk. Her pale eyes once again flickered over to where Harry Potter sat, hands curled into fists, knuckles flushed white. "He is responsible for the murder of Lily and James Potter," she tilted her head. "Harry Potter's parents as it were."
Astoria's lips formed a line thin line.
From Theo, and most of the others in the room including Draco, there was a gasp, a sharp intake of breath from those who knew what the weight of Narcissa's words meant. Hermione glanced nervously around the room, unsure of what the importance of this man's presence was, and how his relation to Potter's fate brought about such collective apprehension from the group.
Potter, Hermione observed as her gaze settled on the him, was vibrating with fury next to her; visibly shaking and gritting his teeth as his emerald-toned eyes flashed with a green, blazing fire.
"How do you know?" Potter spat, eyes lifting from the trembling man on the floor to Narcissa's cool composure. "How do you know he killed them? How?"
"Because," she shrugged, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "I was there."
Narcissa leaned into Draco for a conspiratorial minute, then nodded and stepped forward to begin barking orders at the men. She snapped her fingers at Graham and Marcus, "Oi, you two," she said, and they stood up obediently at Draco's curt nod. "Take him out back." She paused, eying the shriveling man on the floor, sniffling and whimpering. "Take Crabbe and Goyle with you, he seems heavy. Must have put on a few stones in hiding."
"Yes, Mrs. Malfoy," Graham replied, cracking his knuckles as he gestured for Greg and Vince to lift the man and carry him out of the sitting room. "The usual?" He asked her, arching a brow as he slipped a revolver from the gun strap under his suit jacket.
"Of course," Narcissa confirmed. "Though don't dig up my roses. They're new and I don't want to risk them not taking well to the," she paused, catching Potter's narrowed gaze. "Flood of nutrients," she settled on. Graham nodded again, and slapped Marcus' back as the two of them left the room.
Wails of the rat-like man echoed through the halls.
"Wait!" Potter yelled, coming abruptly to his feet. Theo slinked a hand around his torso, yanking him forcefully against his chest and holding him there. Bracing for the fight Potter would put up to be free of his grasp. "Where are you taking him? What are you going to do to him? I want to talk to him!" He screamed, throwing his words wildly out at Narcissa and Draco.
"Harry," Theo growled in his ear, low enough that only Hermione would hear aside from Potter himself, not that he seemed to care.
"I want to talk to him! He killed my parents, he murdered them, and I need to know why. I need to." He struggled against Theo's iron-clad arms and shouted and shouted until his face flushed red, angry and hurt. "Let me go," he sniped, elbowing Theo in the ribs. "Let me fucking go."
"No," Theo spat, tightening his hold and sending his knee into the back of Potter's, bringing the other man to crumple against the floor. He pinned him to the floor and then looked helplessly over at Draco, his eyes narrowed. "Are you going to help or are you just going to fucking stand there?"
Blaise stood, buttoned his jacket, and tipped the remainder of his drink to the back of his throat, hissing as he set the empty crystal glass down. "I'll handle this," he sighed, patting Draco's shoulder as he strode past him to aide Theo in getting Potter's flailing, flushed body out of the room.
Once he was gone, there was silence.
The four remaining people exchanged a series of glances, and then finally Astoria cleared her throat. "Come on, Penny," she said, holding out a hand for her to take. "Let's get out of here and leave them to talk."
"No," Narcissa cut in just as Hermione looped her arm in Astoria's. "Miss Clearwater can stay here. I need to speak with her." Her eyes glinted with mischief, and Draco's shoulders tensed along with Astoria's and they both regarded Narcissa warily.
"I'm not going to harm her," she spat defensively, rolling her eyes. "Go." Narcissa flicked her wrist at her son and her prodigy, then sidled up next to Hermione herself. Her eyes cut back to the other two who wavered by the door, hesitant to leave. "I said go. We're only going to talk. Will you bloody relax?"
"It's fine," Hermione croaked out, giving them both a curt nod. "Go."
The moment the door closed behind them and the silence returned, Narcissa filled two glasses and handed one to Hermione, then collapsed in the chair next to her, toying with the lush velvet as she stared. Her pale eyes bore into Hermione and it took every ounce of strength in her to stare back, unblinking, because she knew deep down this was no simple talk.
There was a reason she had asked to speak with her privately; something she had never done before.
"Draco told me what happened earlier, you know," she supplied, tipping the edge of the crystal to her lips, then pausing and setting it back down in her lap. "All a mother wants is the best for her child, and for him not to inherit the terrible traits of his parents which I suppose I have you to thank for that."
Hermione frowned, tapping her nails against the glass, "What do you mean? What could I possibly have to do with Draco's genetical inheritance?"
"Oh, it's not a matter of genetics," Narcissa mused. "At least, I don't think so. You've proven as much, and more."
She shook her head, analyzing the sharp angles of the woman's cheekbones. "I still don't understand."
"No," Narcissa lamented. "You wouldn't, would you? Though, that's why I'm here. I would like to inform you," she stated plainly. "I owe you that much. An explanation." Hermione wanted to question her further but bit back a response, and Narcissa's eyes gleamed. "Clever," she said approvingly.
"My son could have killed Theo. He would have had every right to do so for what he did, but he didn't. He knew it was his obligation, and though he hesitated, I'm sure that he would have gone through with it in the end. Then, he would have his best friend's death on his conscience." Narcissa sighed. "I'm thrilled that is not the case. All due to you, Penny."
Hermione swallowed, nodding her appreciation in silence and daring to take a long gulp of the searing, spiced liquor.
"He is not like his father, and I thank the sun and the stars every day for that. He is not like his father, and so he would not have been able to carry the burden of killing his best friend. Lucius was different," Narcissa informed her between sips. "He was cold and calculating, the same as Draco and me, sure, but he was also cruel. Unusually cruel. He could pull the trigger – and he would've – without blinking."
There was a break, several beats of silence before Hermione cleared her throat, aiming for nonchalance.
"I still don't understand why this has to do with me." She said. "He didn't really want to hurt Theo. All I did was lower the gun. It's hardly of significance."
"No, but that's just it. It is entirely significant. You have made my son a better man, a kinder man, than his father ever was and for that – no matter how much I wish to – I cannot hate you. I cannot do anything other than thank you." Narcissa shook her head, tipping the glass back and taking a large gulp. "Lucius was never thoughtful, never kind, and he never once thought about how his decisions would affect others. Especially me."
Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek.
She tried to imagine what horrors Narcissa had to endure if she painted Draco as the angel the papers made him out to be even knowing what evils he's responsible for outside of the one he narrowly avoided that morning.
"Pettigrew," she said, glancing askance at Hermione. "I've been looking for him for years, and now I can finally rest knowing that fucking piece of shit no longer scurries around the city. Hiding in sewers and avoiding my wrath like the bloody rat he is." She scoffed. "He's the reason the fucking Order formed in the first fucking place."
"He is?" Hermione asked, letting the words slip between her whiskey-soaked lips before she could help it.
Narcissa nodded, smirking conspiratorially.
"Lily Potter – Lily Evans back then – was an honorary member of the Death Eaters once upon a time," she told Hermione, chuckling as she tipped her glass toward her. "A bit like yourself, actually. She was close with Severus," – "Severus?" – "Another member. No longer around," Narcissa supplied, waving her hand. "She was close with him and though he was irreparably and hopelessly in love with her, she did not return the sentiment."
Hermione frowned.
"Anyway," Narcissa went on, refilling both of their glasses with bronze liquid. "Lily, of course, went and got herself hitched to James Potter, the scoundrel he was, and the two of them began plotting against the Death Eaters, claiming us to be an unspeakable evil to society." She sighed. "Lily tried to recruit Sev to join Potter and his Marauder gang, but he wouldn't go. He was too loyal to Lucius by then, and too scared to betray him."
She listened closely, enraptured by every word rolling off Narcissa's tongue.
"On the other hand, Pettigrew, originally a Marauder, figured himself on the losing team and was all too willing to sell himself to Lucius and the Death Eaters. He traded in information of the whereabouts of Lily and James Potter." She said, her eyes glazed over.
Narcissa paused, sipping idly at her drink, then went on. "One night, on Hallows Eve, Lucius dragged me to the house Pettigrew claimed to be their residence, and he killed them. James first, with half a round buried in his chest, and then Lily next. She was clutching her son, and when she fell, I took him from her dead grasp to cradle him."
Hermione's frown deepened, and she quickly finished the burning liquid in her glass.
Narcissa closed her eyes for a moment. They fluttered open, her lashes sitting heavily against her cheek. "Lucius didn't falter. Didn't blink. He just shot her. In the head because the baby, the fucking baby, she held was in the way of her heart. I took the baby, Harry, and cradled him. He was upset, and he wouldn't stop screaming so I tried to settle him. To soothe him."
"Lucius and Pettigrew looked at me like I was crazy. As if I was the one who committed a terribly immoral crime by trying to soothe the child who was no older than Draco at the time. He was just a baby." She closed her eyes again, and this time when they opened, Hermione could see the ice flashing behind them. "Pettigrew prompted Lucius to question my loyalty."
Her knuckles flushed white against the empty glass.
"He suggested that because Sirius was my cousin, and a Marauder, that I was sympathetic to their cause. That I was somehow plotting with them to bring down my husband and the Death Eaters." Narcissa hissed. "I told them that I wasn't close with Sirius or Regulus but that wasn't enough for them. Pettigrew instilled the fear in Lucius that my betrayal of him was eminent if I wasn't willing to prove myself. So, I did."
She slid her gaze over to Hermione, fixing her cold stare on her. "I called Sirius and Regulus to the crime scene the same time I called the police, and just as they all showed up, I did what had to be done. To protect myself, and my son, from my husband and his temper. I framed them and left the child with them. There wasn't much of an investigation since by then Lucius and Pettigrew had hidden in the shadows, and the police were not wont to believe a woman capable of murder."
"That's why you are protective over him," Hermione realized, searching Narcissa's face for validation. "You feel guilty for his circumstance, and you don't want his blood on Draco's hands either for the same reason."
"I understand your experience with my cousin has been different," she admitted, disregarding Hermione's hidden question, though that alone was confirmation enough. "I don't expect you to share my defense of his life, nor do I expect you to abide by it. Do what you must."
Hermione regarded her suspiciously, then nodded.
Narcissa suddenly rose to her feet and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring down at Hermione. "I'm not going to pretend like I suddenly care about you, now, and I don't expect you to return the sentiment. Though, I do owe you, Penny because you have shown me that my son, despite all of what he does for the Death Eaters, is nothing like his father."
"I - "
"Don't say anything," Narcissa snapped.
Hermione nodded, then stood up and dusted her skirt off. She held out a hand and arched a dark brow at Draco's mother. "Not friends," she assured the other woman. "But allies?"
Narcissa eyed the small palm facing her and shook it. "Fine," she sniffed.
A/N - A small mention, I have a review hall of fame as it were on my page if you wanted to see if one of your wonderful reviews made it there. Thank you all, endlessly, reviewer or not. I cherish your presence and following of this story.
This chapter title comes from BlocBoy JB feat. Drake's song Look Alive from the lines pushed me to the edge, so it really ain't my motherfuckin' fault, man / I'm not to blame, man / this fucking industry is cutthroat, I'm not the same man xx