A/N: Sorry this update took so long guys, although to be fair I did say I update once a month and I made the deadline EXACTLY on time. I've been working so hard on my original novel so it's a little difficult for me to switch between the two stories and get into my characters and plot seamlessly. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and as always, leave me some reviews so I can get EXTRA excited to write the next chapter!
P.S: Shameless plug but if you have some time between my updates, check out my original work "The Dollmaker" on Wattpad! I'm up to chapter 3/15 now and I think this is the ONE I'm going to actually publish so I'm very excited to hear some thoughts on it!
Malfoy Manor [December 26th 1:30AM]
Hermione Granger dug her nails into the plush sofa she was seated on, determined to stay still and force her legs to stop nervously bouncing against the cold marble floor. She kept her gaze trained on the fireplace, waiting for the green flames to fire up again and for someone to finally floo into the parlour. The seconds passed by at a painfully slow pace, and her anxious fidgeting only grew with every quiet sound that could be heard in the dark manor.
"Miss. Granger," A haughty voice called out, and Hermione blinked, momentarily forgetting she was not alone in the room. Narcissa Malfoy was perched on the crème-colored loveseat across from her, still dressed in her formal silver robes from the ball. Though her physical appearance still looked impeccable–not even one hair out of place–the stiffness in her posture and the tense set to her jaw betrayed the true state of her emotions. Hermione had come to realize this was as close to disheveled as the other woman could get.
After the last few guests had left the Manor a few hours earlier, Hermione had silently joined Draco's mother in the front parlor when she had returned from their mission. Compared to the unruffled demeanor of Lady Malfoy, Hermione knew that she looked like one of the prisoners that had escaped from Azkaban, rather than one of the prissy society witches that Lady Malfoy usually kept as company. Her own robes were still covered in dirt and she was sure whatever makeup she had lightly applied for the ball was now smeared across her face with a mixture of her own sweat and the salty Azkaban air.
"Miss. Granger?" Lady Malfoy repeated her name once more, startling her out of her thoughts. "I do hope you do not intend to shake the entire Manor from its foundation."
Hermione flushed, immediately freezing in place and stilling her feet against the floor. "I'm sorry," She apologized automatically, "I shouldn't have-I mean–"
The other woman held up a tired hand, cutting off her uneasy rambling just as quickly as it had started. "Miss. Granger," She began softly, "I suggest you follow Mr. Zabini's example and head upstairs to get some rest. I'm sure you've had a very long night, and I would loathe for you to lose sleep from staring at the floo all night."
Hermione shook her head, sending her riotous curls flying everywhere. "If–" She swallowed hard and continued on, "If it's alright with you, Lady Malfoy, I would prefer to stay," She noticed the skeptical look she received and hurried to add, "Like my mother says, 'I can sleep when I'm dead'."
"That sounds rather morbid," Narcissa commented, furrowing her brows in confusion over the odd statement. "But I must insist, Miss. Granger. It would be quite unbecoming of a host to prevent her guest from resting properly."
"Lady Malfoy," Hermione's eyes tightened as she stared at the other woman. "I would prefer to stay here," She said firmly.
Draco's mother watched her for a silent moment, before eventually relenting with a resigned nod. She turned her attention back to the floo and Hermione slouched back against the couch, sighing quietly in relief. She kept her gaze on the older woman, however, zeroing in on the way Narcissa held her hands in her lap, absentmindedly stroking the sparkling onyx wedding ring she wore.
"I saw him," Hermione blurted out before she realized what she was doing. When Narcissa's dark eyes snapped over to her, Hermione cursed inaudibly under her breath.
"Excuse me?" Lady Malfoy frowned, "Whomever are you referring to, Miss. Granger?"
Hermione bit her lip, pausing momentarily when she saw Narcissa's displeased look at yet another nervous habit she hadn't been able to kick. She straightened back her shoulders, hurrying to distract the other woman from her terrible posture before she could comment upon it, "I saw your husband, ma'am. He left the island with Hadrian a while ago. He's safe."
"That's–," Narcissa closed her eyes for a second, "Thank you, my dear."
"Malfoy–I mean, Draco–he ran back into the prison after we–" She cut herself off abruptly, wringing her hands together as she tried to ignore the panicked feeling that crept up her spine, "We tried to convince him to stay," Her voice cracked slightly. "But he didn't listen."
"That boy rarely listens to anyone," The other woman shook her head with a fond smile playing at her lips. "When he was younger, he used to trick the houselves into giving him more biscuits despite both his father and I explicitly warning him against it."
"That explains a lot, actually," Hermione snorted. She froze and her eyes widened as she glanced back at Narcissa, "Oh–Lady Malfoy, I didn't mean to offend–"
Lady Malfoy waved off her half-hearted apologies, "It's quite alright, Miss. Granger. I know my son hasn't been the kindest to you in the past." She folded her hands in her lap and fixed her with a contemplative stare, "Which is why I must admit, I am puzzled by your insistence to wait here with me."
"I–" Hermione cleared her throat, unsure of what to say. Eventually, she settled on whispering a lame excuse, "I just don't think anyone should have to wait for their loved ones alone."
"Is that the only reason?" Narcissa raised a pale eyebrow at her, "Forgive me, Miss. Granger, but I can't help but notice something has undoubtedly changed between you two."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione crossed her arms across her chest. "We're friends , of sorts."
"Friends," Lady Malfoy narrowed her eyes, not bothering to hide the disbelief that bloomed over her beautiful features. Her voice was airy when she said, "That's rather interesting, considering Mipsy informed me of a certain incident in my library a few nights ago."
"I cannot seem to recall anything of significance occurring," Hermione maintained, digging her nails into the skin of her palm and averting her gaze from the Malfoy matriarch.
Narcissa pursed her lips, "Miss. Granger, if I may be so bold, I believe you to be an incredibly intelligent witch with a rather stubborn mind," She shook her head, halting any protests Hermione was about to spew forth, "It is quite rude to interrupt someone when they are speaking, dear. If you are to form a companionship with my son, I certainly hope you know what you would be resigning yourself to."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Draco's mother clasped her hands together, giving her a pointed glance. "My son is set to inherit one of the oldest estates in the wizarding world. Being a Malfoy is a title in itself, one that requires the utmost diligence and commitment to our family. Only someone with a remarkable wit and resilience is deserving of such a position."
"Let me guess," Hermione remarked dryly, "No muggleborns deserve such an honorable designation."
"You misunderstand, once again, Miss. Granger," Narcissa's eyes flashed, "Please do not insult me in my own home by assuming I hold the same outdated beliefs as the members of our fallen guard. I may be traditional, but you'll find my values when it comes to the treatment of other people with magical blood are quite progressive."
"Just magical blood," Hermione pointed out with a raised brow. "I'm sure you frown upon those without such a gift."
"I believe everyone deserves a modicum of respect, Miss. Granger," Narcissa sniffed. "However, I do not think a mere muggle can perform the duties of a Malfoy, simply because the political and administrative responsibilities that come with this title surpass the abilities of a simple human."
"And what of a muggleborn?" Hermione folded her hands in her lap, biting the inside of her cheek, "Would you approve of a mudblood in your home?"
"Miss. Granger, please mind your language," Lady Malfoy barely raised her voice, but Hermione jolted back as though she had been slapped, just from the scathing tone. "You are a remarkable witch, but your constant desire to provoke me into committing a faux pas is a quality most unpleasant."
A painful beat of silence passed between them and Hermione let out a quiet breath, shaking off the tension that had coiled around her shoulders. "I–" She swallowed hard, "I apologize for my impoliteness, Lady Malfoy."
Narcissa's severe expression softened, somewhat. "I understand why you must constantly be so guarded around our kind, Miss. Granger. There are people still in our world–even people from my extended family–who do not approve of muggleborns. It is difficult for them to shake the old pureblood values that have been ingrained in their minds since birth. But it is not an impossible feat." She let out a quiet sigh, " People are always going to have some problem with who you are, Miss. Granger. It could be for a long list of different reasons, but you must not let it affect you. You must not give other people the power to affect your opinion of yourself."
Hermione nodded, dropping her gaze to her hands, "I've tried to ignore the whispers and the casual prejudice people have towards me, but it's difficult. There's only so much I can pretend not to see."
"You need not pretend, Miss. Granger," Lady Malfoy shook her head, "You simply must change their backwards opinions."
"But how," Hermione pressed. "How am I supposed to change an entire society?"
"Perhaps you are unaware of this, but you are the first muggleborn to set foot in Malfoy Manor in decades." Narcissa informed her, "Even if you don't realize it, you are already changing our world, my dear. Your alliance with Hadrian and your friendship with my son is proof of the fact. You have such potential in your hands, Miss. Granger. Such power within your grasp. You are in an enviable position to change our society for the better–once you start to believe in yourself."
"That's it?" Hermione cocked her head to the side, incredulously, "All I have to do is step into my own power?"
"Well," Narcissa Malfoy amended with a slight smirk, "Having the support of a powerful family–the Malfoys, perhaps–would be no small feat. It would certainly lend some authority to your efforts. The Malfoy name carries its weight in gold and political favors."
"And you would offer your support, just like that?" Hermione's brows shot up to her hairline, "Forgive me, Lady Malfoy, but I know better than to believe in such extravagant promises. They usually demand something even greater in return, and I can't help but wonder what you would ask for."
"Nothing in this world is free, Miss. Granger," Narcissa agreed with a pleased glint in her eyes. "But as it stands, I need nothing more from you. The only thing I want these days is to see my son happy."
The curly-haired witch straightened up from her slouched position on the couch. "You want me to keep your son happy," She muttered flatly, "In order to have your support?"
Narcissa Malfoy laughed, "No, of course not, my dear. Don't be ridiculous, that would be quite crass," She smoothed down her already perfect blonde hair, "You're a very intuitive witch, Miss. Granger. Surely you must know your relationship with my son is something more than just friendship."
"We're not–I don't know what gave you that impression but–"
"Do you take me for a fool, Miss. Granger?" Lady Malfoy watched her carefully, and her voice dripped with derision as she spoke, "There is certainly something between you two. If you can find the courage to acknowledge the feelings in your heart, I'm sure you would make for a powerful companion," Her bright smile slowly turned cold, "But if you continue to play this juvenile game, I must insist you keep your distance from my son. He is about to be of age within a year's time, which means his father and I must look to find another beneficial match for him. It wouldn't do to have my son pining for another woman while he is married."
"You would just marry him off?" Hermione's voice rose in disbelief, "Without a care for his own feelings?"
"Finding love in our society is something rare, Miss. Granger. When it comes to the old pureblood families, we look for compatibility in terms of power and prestige rather than love." Narcissa studied her manicured nails with disinterest, "I would hope it wouldn't come down to that point, but you've proven to be a rather stubborn witch, I'm afraid."
"You're giving me an ultimatum," Hermione realized slowly, her eyes widening in horror. "You want me to stay at his side… or leave him completely alone."
"I knew you were bright," Lady Malfoy replied with a small smile. "It should be a rather simple decision, shouldn't it? You have to ask yourself; can you bear to stay away?"
Hermione stiffened. Could she stay away?
Draco had been near her ever since she had entered Hogwarts. Even though the first few years in his presence were more of a nightmare than a fairytale, he had always been part of her life. She trusted him to offer a snarky comment, spit out another insult about her unruly hair or her teeth, but he had been there. He had found a way to move past her background, despite the values that had been drilled into him since he was born. He had never stopped his casual teasing remarks, but over time, they had shifted away from her blood and her heritage. He had protected her when it mattered, even if she had walked away from him.
Could she stay away from him?
Hermione had never even glanced at another bloke in Hogwarts because Draco Malfoy was always nearby, or always occupying her thoughts. She wasn't even sure when her mind had transitioned from thinking of ways to shove his pointy little face into the pavement to memorizing the feel of his lips against her skin. Every time she tried to imagine sitting down at her table in the library without catching a glimpse of his blond head, her chest constricted with unease. When she pictured seeing some other society witch like Parkinson on his arm, her teeth gritted together in undeniable jealousy. The mere thought of staying away from him caused an overwhelming feeling of emptiness to slam into her.
No. The answer was resounding, and she felt ridiculous for trying to hold herself back from the inevitable. She couldn't walk away.
Her train of thought abruptly cut off as the floo roared to life, and she instinctively shot up from her seat. She saw Narcissa stand up as well through her peripheral vision, but Hermione kept her gaze resolutely trained on the fireplace. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched Draco step into the parlour, limping slightly as he helped his father walk out of the flames.
"Lucius," Lady Malfoy whispered, stepping forward slightly to support her husband. Her arms curled around his waist and Hermione felt like an intruder as she watched the elder woman's eyes fill with relieved tears while she fussed over her husband.
Draco stepped away from his parents after he was sure his father was able to stand up on his own. Though he was covered in soot and his robes were stained with blood Hermione hoped wasn't his own, he seemed to be otherwise relatively unharmed.
"Granger?" His eyes snapped over to her when he finally noticed her presence. He shrugged off his bloodied outer robes and tossed them onto the couch before moving to walk out of the door, "Why are you still awake?"
Hermione looked back over her shoulder one last time at Narcissa–who was too busy whispering something to her husband to register anything else around her–and then hurried to follow him out the door. Draco barely spared her another glance as he made his way up the staircase, rubbing the back of his neck with a soft groan.
"Draco, I–" She began to say, but she was quickly interrupted as the blond whirled around at the top of the stairs to face her with a grimace.
"Granger, I really don't have time for your woe-is-me act," He rolled his eyes and gestured to the large bruise across his cheekbone, "In case you aren't aware, I'm currently in no state to amuse you tonight. Perhaps we can engage in our usual tete-â-tete tomorrow, hm?"
"Draco–"
"Seriously, witch, what part of my previous statement did you not understand?" He ran an exhausted hand over his face as he continued to walk toward his wing of the Manor, wincing slightly when he accidentally touched another bloody mark on his face. "I need some sleep–"
"Merlin, do you ever shut up?" Hermione snapped, crossing the short distance between them with a harsh scowl. "I'm trying to tell you something, and you're making it incredibly difficult, you know."
He crossed his arms across his chest and glared at her over the slope of his aristocratic nose. "I fail to see how this cannot wait till the morning," He sighed, reaching behind him to open the door to his room. "I genuinely don't think I have enough energy to entertain your argumentative whims at the moment."
She felt a flare of panic curl up in her stomach when he made to turn around. "Draco Malfoy!" She shouted, wincing slightly as her shrill voice echoed in the empty corridor. She saw him freeze and she marched towards him with a frown, "Can I say something?"
"Fine," He raised an eyebrow at her expectantly, leaning his tall body against the doorframe. "Well, go on, then, spit it out. I haven't got all night."
Draco watched the anger abruptly evaporate from her tense shoulders and he waited for a few long seconds while she simply stared at him, slack jawed. He nodded and cleared his throat, "Right, so if that was all–"
His words trailed off abruptly as Hermione pushed herself forward, wrapping her thin arms around his neck as she crashed her lips to his. He blinked, startled for only a brief second before he reacted and automatically slid his hands down to her waist, pulling her closer.
"Not that I'm complaining–" He mumbled against her lips as she kissed him with a desperate fervor, curling her fingers around the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. "But I thought you–"
"Sshh," She shushed him, biting back a soft moan as his teeth grazed over her pulse point, "Don't interrupt me."
He gently nipped at her earlobe, "You weren't even saying anything, you infuriating mop–"
Hermione tried to hold in her laugh, "Mop? That's a new one–" His lips pressed against hers insistently, and she pulled away with a soft whimper, "Draco, I really do have to tell you–"
"What?" He panted lightly, "What could be so important right now?"
Hermione closed her eyes and before she could talk herself out of it, she blurted out, "I want to be with you, Draco."
He furrowed his brows in confusion, "Isn't that what we've been doing for the past two years?" He skimmed his fingertips over the curve of her hips and smirked, "Merlin, I've missed this."
"No, I mean–" She gasped when he easily picked her up, and her legs instinctively wrapped around his trim waist, tugging him closer. One of his hands buried itself in her hair, and she leaned back slightly to focus on getting her words out. He was undeterred by her actions and dropped his lips down to her throat.
"Draco–I said I want to be with you," Hermione tried again. Her voice grew stronger when he froze at her words, "I want to be with you outside of broom closets and abandoned classrooms and I want you. I know I haven't been the most open to our relationship in the past, but I–I realized I can't bear the thought of not being at side. I want to be with you and–" She paused, swallowing down the hammering heartbeat in her chest, "And I hope you still want to be with me too."
Draco slowly raised his head back up to stare at her in disbelief, and Hermione felt her stomach twist into knots at the unreadable expression on his sharp features. An unbearable moment of silence passed between them, and she felt her eyes sting with frustrated tears. She was about to cut her losses and figure out a way to make a hasty retreat, when his hand suddenly tightened around her hip.
"You," He began slowly, "You want to be with me?"
She nodded.
"You–" Draco shook his head, "You –Hermione Granger–want to be with me?"
Hermione huffed, "Honestly, Malfoy, that's what I just said–do learn to listen once in a while, it might be of some benefit–"
"It's not that I didn't hear you, you twit," He retorted. "Forgive me if I'm a little shocked that you've finally come to your senses. I thought it would take you another four years to acknowledge that you're mad for me, witch."
"I'm not mad for you, you arrogant prick" She lied through her teeth, "I simply said I would like to be with you–properly, this time."
"Can I get this in writing?" He smirked at her. "You –Hermione Granger-want to be with me, Draco Malfoy–"
"Okay, that's it," She slapped his shoulder, "Let me down."
"Absolutely not," His lips curved up into a small smile, bringing back a boyish charm to his angular face. "You mean it, though? You're not going to walk out on me again? You truly want the Draco Malfoy experience?"
"Not when you call it that," She scoffed. "But fine, yes. I do mean all of it. I want this. I want you."
"Good," He grinned down at her, "I hope you know this means no take backs."
The Greengrass Estate [December 27th]
Just as the sunlight was beginning to break through the cover of clouds that morning, Destiny Lestrange stepped out of the private floo that granted her entry to the Greengrass Estate, clutching a handful of newspapers to her chest. She had purchased every single wizarding publication she could get her hands on, even going as far as to pick up a few muggle papers as well. She glanced over her shoulder, checking to see if she had dropped any loose pages before she turned to make her way out of the parlor.
Though she hadn't spent very much time roaming the truly breathtaking estate, Destiny still knew her way around well enough to easily sneak into the massive library without being seen. The Greengrass Estate boasted a unique library with a vast selection of books, and while it was not comparable to the library at Malfoy Manor in size, it certainly surpassed it in its grandeur. As Destiny pulled open the heavy white doors that led into the library, she couldn't help but tilt her head back to admire the intricately carved, Grecian style stone pillars that stretched all the way up to the beautifully painted dome ceiling. She had barely stepped a foot into the room when she heard a sudden voice drawl, "Took you long enough."
Destiny huffed as she caught sight of the arrogant platinum blond leaning back in one of the armchairs by the window, lazily sipping a glass of clear liquid while he conversed with her brother.
They both stood up when they noticed her enter, and Destiny dropped all the newspapers onto the ground in front of them, pointedly staring at the drink in Draco's hands with disapproval.
He noticed her not-so-discreet glare and he rolled his eyes. "Relax," He smiled innocently , "It's only water. Though I certainly wouldn't object if you were to offer to get me something stronger."
"I'm not your house elf," She informed him sweetly, settling into the opulent chair Hadrian had dragged forward for her. "You look like shite, by the way."
"How kind of you," Draco snorted, though he didn't exactly object to her frank statement. He really did look terrible. His usually pristine pale face was bruised severely, and there was a large gash that stretched up the length of his left arm, disappearing from view under the rolled-up sleeves of his wrinkled button-down shirt.
"Destiny," Hadrian warned her in a low voice, "Please tone down the scathing commentary. We're lucky that Draco was able to make it out of there alive."
"I almost didn't make it out alive," Draco reminded him with a scowl, "All because somebody wanted to wrap up a decade long revenge plot."
"Trust me, I would've done it myself," Hadrian snapped, "But somebody thought that would be too much of a distraction for me and I'd waste all our time getting carried away."
"To be fair, mate," Draco began with a raised eyebrow, "You were planning on torturing her and then killing her with a blood-curse. It would've taken ages for her to die."
"That was very much the point, arsehole–"
"What the bloody hell are you two talking about," Destiny blurted out, cutting their childish bickering off abruptly.
They exchanged a glance before eventually, Hadrian sighed and leaned back in his leather armchair. He crossed his arms across his chest and revealed, "Draco didn't go back to save one last prisoner."
"Oh," She blinked, and her confusion came back in full force, "Then why else did he run back into Azkaban?"
Draco set his glass of water back onto the small table that sat between them. His gaze was dark as he explained, "Hadrian was feeling vengeful, but I convinced him that acting out on his violent whims would be counterproductive. In turn, I offered to complete his little plan, on his behalf."
"You're not making any sense," She squinted at them suspiciously. "What did you do?"
Hadrian pursed his lips, "Honestly, you're supposed to be the Seer here, Destiny. Shouldn't you already know the answer?"
"Again," She gritted out slowly, "As I have told you both several times before, I only see certain events in the future. I'm not a bloody crystal ball."
"Dear Merlin," Draco groaned, "You two are giving me a headache with all that squabbling."
"What did you do?" She refused to relent.
"You're like a fucking hound with a bone," Draco commented. "It's not a big deal. Hadrian wanted to dispose of Lily Potter. How could I deny my best mate of such petty revenge? His wish was my command."
"It wasn't a command, you insisted," Hadrian retorted.
"You did what?" She whispered at the same time, though her shocked words still seemed to overshadow Hadrian's defensiveness. She snapped her bright blue gaze over to her brother and she furrowed her brows, "Hadrian, tell me you didn't–"
"She's dead," Hadrian shrugged. "I wanted her to suffer, but I wanted her out of the way even more. She already knew too much, but now she can't use that against me." His eyes were steely as he added resolutely, "She can't do anything to me."
"I don't see what the problem is," The blond frowned at her, "You've always hated the woman too. We've killed a fair amount of people, why would Lily Potter be any different?"
Destiny bit her lip so hard; she could've sworn she drew blood. "You know exactly why Lily Potter is different!"
"I'm afraid I do not," Hadrian replied nonchalantly, and his smile was dangerous as he taunted her, "Care to enlighten me?"
Destiny glanced back over to her other friend. "Draco," She pleaded, "Please tell me you didn't do this," When the blond averted his gaze, a hot feeling of anger flooded into her and she hissed, "What happened to your resolve to never get your hands dirty? Where did your morality suddenly disappear?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco told her evenly, keeping his gaze trained on the corner of the carpet.
"You weren't able to kill Dumbledore," She narrowed her eyes, "You weren't able to kill him because you don't want to be a murderer. You've been searching for every possible way to indirectly complete your task, but you've never stooped this low. You've never raised your wand with the intent to murder someone innocent in cold blood."
"Things change," He shrugged. "When I killed Dolohov, I realized I was being a fool. There might be another way, but this is certainly easier." He raised his chin up and shot her a glare, "Besides, she's not exactly innocent, is she? Don't act so high and mighty, Lestrange. You've had your fair share of blood on your hands."
"Yes, but not Lily Potter," She pressed meaningfully. She turned back to her brother, trying to ignore the way her shoulders trembled. "Hadrian, you know this won't help you cope with your past. Killing that woman–as much as I despise her for what she did to you–it won't change a thing. You needed to resolve your issues with her and move forward, not eliminate her."
"She's dead, Destiny," Hadrian said flatly, "Whether or not it was the right decision doesn't matter anymore. She's finally gone. Out of my mind forever. Draco did me a favor. Now I can focus on the important things, without being weighed down by the Potter family."
"And what does Daphne think?" Destiny demanded to know, "Surely she wouldn't approve of this. I suppose you probably summoned me here at such an early hour to prevent her from ever learning about it."
"Daphne is still asleep, and I didn't want to wake her," Hadrian informed her condescendingly, "Even if she were here, it wouldn't matter. I don't need her approval, I'm the fucking Dark Lord."
She let out a bitter laugh that sounded nothing like her. "Must you always constantly sabotage yourself, Hadrian? You always take one step forward and three steps back."
"I wouldn't say that exactly," Draco cut in with a slight smirk, reaching down to grab one of the papers Destiny had deposited onto the floor. "Are you seeing these headlines? This is a whole leap forward for us, Destiny. For once, the press is on our side."
Destiny had read the papers. The media was having a field day printing dramatic, sensationalist headlines, eagerly fueling the fire that had swept through the wizarding world late last night. Each publication showcased pictures of the attack at Azkaban, focusing on how the entire prison was crawling with security, Auror forces, and Ministry officials as they tried to investigate. Destiny was able to see a few Order members in the background as well, sifting through the rubble to find any survivors after the security force had blasted half the prison apart in an attempt to keep the prisoners from escaping.
It was a pity the Ministry did not work as fast as her brother and their friends, however. They had been sending missives and anonymous tips to the press all throughout the past few days, eager to control the narrative before anyone in the Order could discover exactly what had occurred the night before.
Unfortunately, the guards' brutal attempt to reestablish control over the prisoners had destroyed an entire wing, and any evidence her friends might have left behind by mistake. They had been scrambling around for days now, desperately trying to piece together a working theory while her friends had been drafting a careful plan to capitalize on the unrest.
Hadrian tapped the headline of one of the newspapers in his lap. "This one says, 'Ministry negligence leads to brutal Azkaban Fallout.' And listen to this," His lips curved up into a wicked grin, "It says a Ministry representative could not be reached for a comment, at this time."
"Idiots," Draco shook his head. "Their refusal to feed the media any information has been the worst mistake they've made thus far. They should know better than to let the press run wild."
"What are you planning to do with this?" Destiny asked, raising a pale brow at them curiously.
"This," Hadrian gestured to the pile of papers in front of them with a flourish, "Is our chance to show the public exactly how useless the Ministry is."
Draco nodded, "All we have to do is play on the sympathies of the middle class and convince them that the way the Ministry handled the Azkaban breach was inhumane and unnecessarily destructive. We paint the prisoners as weak, helpless wizards who died only at the hands of the Aurors' incompetence."
"But they're prisoners," Destiny pointed out, "People don't tend to sympathize with criminals."
"They didn't have any wands," Draco smiled slyly. "A wizard without a wand is the most vulnerable type of human that exists," He paused and amended his statement after a second, "Well, the most vulnerable type of human, other than an actual child, of course."
"We just have to force the world to see how poorly the Azkaban guards handled the situation," Hadrian added. "They need to see how the Ministry exploited the vulnerability of the prisoners and treated them all like they were just dispensable. Even if they were prisoners, they were still human. That kind of callous treatment wouldn't sit right with even the strictest of conservatives."
"This is how you plan on turning the public against the Ministry," Destiny's eyes grew wide, "You want them to demand some changes in power."
"Oh, we plan on doing much more than that," Draco clasped his hands in his lap with a smirk. "This is only the opening act."
Hermione Granger gently knocked on the white door, barely waiting for a response before she pushed it open and poked her head inside. Her lips curved into a wide grin as she saw Hadrian standing on the plush blue ottoman, adjusting his sleeves in the mirror as a seamstress fussed at the hem of his black formal suit.
"My, my, Lord Riddle" Hermione called out, "If I knew I had to request an audience with you to have a simple chat, I certainly would've saved myself the trouble by sitting in a different compartment all those years ago."
He turned around to face her, ignoring the hushed rebuke to "stay still" he received from the seamstress at his feet. He waved dismissively at the older woman and focused again on the curly-haired witch that had waltzed into his room. "Granger," He nodded in lieu of a proper greeting, "This is quite a surprise. I thought you had forgotten all about your dearest friend since your little holiday at Malfoy Manor."
She snorted, throwing herself into a comfortable armchair beside the large mirror. "Don't be ridiculous," She smirked at him and gestured to his dress robes, "You look rather dashing, what's the occasion? Celebrating an engagement, perhaps?"
He raised an eyebrow, "I hardly believe Daphne has not already informed you of our engagement ball in a few days. With the way you two gossip, I'd be shocked that you don't know of her exact thoughts every minute."
"I don't care much for the snarky comment, but you are correct," Hermione laughed, "I just came from her fitting earlier today, actually. Her gown is absolutely stunning. She looks like a goddess."
"As per usual," Hadrian smiled, adjusting his sleeves once more in the mirror, "If Daphne keeps landing herself on the "Best Dressed Witches" list in the society pages, I'll have to start taking fashion advice from Blaise if I want to seem worthy of being photographed beside her."
"Don't fish for compliments, it doesn't suit you," She scoffed. "Honestly, I've never met anyone more narcissistic than you Slytherins."
"At least I don't peer into every mirror that I walk past, like your sworn enemy turned lover," He pointed out innocently, "May I say, the flush of young love becomes you, Granger."
Hermione rolled her eyes, "And you say that Daphne and I gossip. We're nothing compared to you two morons. If Draco were to mumble your name in his sleep one day, I wouldn't even be surprised, you're attached at the hip."
"It's not my fault you're unable to keep him satisfied, Granger," Hadrian joked, ignoring the glare she threw in his direction. "What brings you here, anyways?"
She stiffened, as if just now remembering the intention behind her visit to his personal quarters. She glanced over her shoulder, clear paranoia dancing in her eyes as she whispered a silencing spell over the room.
"What happened, Granger?" Hadrian frowned, "You seem worried."
Hermione reached into the worn-out satchel she had carried into the room and muttered, "I discovered something rather peculiar before we left for the winter holidays. I wasn't able to figure out what it was until I read up on some books in the Malfoy library and–well–" She pursed her lips, "I think you should look at this."
Hadrian narrowed his eyes as she carefully pulled out a beautiful tiara from her bag, set with sparkling silver and dripping with rows of diamonds. It was certainly a beautiful piece, but he was not fooled by its shiny exterior. He could practically feel the torturous dark magic emanating from the object, desperately screaming to be set free.
"Is that–"
"Judging from your expression, I'm going to assume you know exactly what this is," Hermione said grimly, slipping the dark object back into her bag.
"The lost diadem of Ravenclaw," Hadrian whispered in awe. He felt himself relax slightly as she placed it back inside her bag, out of sight. "How did you ever manage to find it, Hermione?"
"Well," She shrugged, "I had spent so much time in the Room of Lost Things, surrounded by piles and piles of endless junk while I tried to fix that stupid vanishing cabinet. One evening I became rather frustrated with my lack of success and tried to walk around the room to clear my head a bit. That's when I saw this," She patted her bag, "And I could feel the magic. I thought it was simply because it was an object that belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw, but it's more than just a diadem, isn't it, Hadrian?" She raised her gaze up to him expectantly. "You know exactly what this is."
Hadrian closed his eyes and muttered, "A horcrux." He gritted his teeth together, "Most likely another one belonging to my late father."
Hermione watched him with a carefully blank expression. "Of course, my first thought was to destroy it, but none of the books I had used to read up on the subject revealed how to do that," She paused, "I thought perhaps you would have a better answer for me. What are we to do with this… object?"
He stared at her bag for a long moment while Hermione continued to ramble on, "I know you told me your father has been taken care of, but these–this thing can bring him back. It's capable of ruining everything. We have to destroy it, don't we?"
"No," He met her surprised gaze and shook his head. "We don't have to destroy it."
"What do you mean?" Hermione questioned him, a slight edge to her tone as she glanced back at the bag by her side. "Of course, we have to destroy it," She argued.
"It has to be destroyed," Hadrian nodded, "But not at our hands. I want you to find a way to slip it to Potter, or Dumbledore." His jaw clenched, and he stared down at her, "Can you do that, Granger?"
"Why wouldn't we destroy it ourselves?" Hermione pursed her lips. "What if they can't figure out how to get rid of it? We're putting our trust in a handful of bumbling fools."
"Trust me, they want to destroy it more than we do," Hadrian reminded her. "They'll find a way. Dumbledore, despite all his faults, is definitely clever enough to discover how to destroy a horcrux."
"Even so," Hermione insisted, "Why would we risk it?"
"Why, to gain their trust, of course." He regarded her with an amused expression, "If you give them the horcrux, they'll think you've finally picked their side. They'll think you're playing right into their hands. You're giving them exactly what they want."
Hermione bit her lip, grudgingly able to see the ingenuity in his plan. "Do you think it's enough for them to trust me?"
"More than enough," He promised her with a secret smile. "They already think a muggleborn would never side against them. It's about time you used their own prejudice against them, don't you believe so?"
The Greengrass Estate [December 31st]
"This was your mother's idea of a casual and intimate gathering?" Hadrian arched a brow, staring at the crowded ballroom with a frown. "It looks like half the Ministry is packed in here."
"Wait till you see the guest list for the wedding," Daphne muttered under her breath, smiling over at one of the elderly society matrons that waved them over. "Oh no, it looks like Mrs. Fletcher is summoning us."
"Not again," He groaned, "When we spoke with her at the Malfoy Ball last week, she couldn't stop talking about how our children would be gorgeous–" He took a sip of his champagne, shaking his head, "Which, they definitely would be–but it's still a rather inappropriate comment to make before we were even officially engaged."
"You've been spending too much time around Draco," Daphne accused, "Besides, we don't really have a choice, she's headed this way. We can't just brush her aside."
"Like hell we can't," Hadrian snorted, wrapping his arm around her waist as the older woman hobbled over to them. Before she could utter a single word, he smiled charmingly at the woman, "Mrs. Fletcher, how nice to see you again. I hope you don't mind, but I simply must dance with my fiancé before her mother pulls her away again," He winked conspiratorially at her, "I'm sure you understand."
"Of course, my dear," Mrs. Fletcher giggled, shooing them away, "Oh, to be young and in love! My Freddie and I were just the same before he passed, I do miss him dearly every day…"
Her words trailed off into a quiet murmur as Hadrian whisked them away, trying his best not to grin in triumph as they walked into the middle of the ballroom to join the rest of the dancing couples.
"My lady," Hadrian bowed over Daphne's hand, "Will you do me the honor of one more dance?"
"It would be a pleasure, my lord," Daphne replied with a fond look in her eyes, allowing him to pull her onto the dance floor. She pretended not to notice as he tugged her waist a bit closer than what was usually acceptable and threaded his other hand through hers.
As they began to move gracefully around the floor, he tilted his head down slightly to whisper to her, "Did I tell you how beautiful you look, love?"
Daphne pretended to think, "Hm, only once while I was getting my hair done. Then again, when you tried to sneak your hand up my dress after I finished getting ready. Once more when Astoria threatened to scream for our mother if you didn't get out of my bed. Then when I saw you before the toast–"
"Alright, I get the point," Hadrian cut her off abruptly, "You wound me, sweetheart."
"I'll never grow tired of hearing it," Daphne promised with a breathtaking smile, "Though perhaps I should tell you how handsome you look in your new robes more often. Hermione tells me you were desperate enough to consider asking for Blaise's help."
Hadrian scowled at her, "That's it, I'm never telling either of you anything again. It's almost guaranteed it flows from her ears and directly into yours, and vice versa."
Daphne laughed, making the sparkling diamonds in her ears glint brightly as the light from the opulent chandelier reflected off of them. The tasteful engagement ring was displayed proudly on her hand and beautifully complimented by the pale blue dress she wore.
They had only been dancing for a short amount of time when Daphne heard her father's voice appear beside them. "Excuse me, young man," Cyrus Greengrass cleared his throat, "If it's alright, I'd like to steal my daughter away for at least one dance this evening."
Hadrian smiled, "Only if you award me a chance to dance with the beautiful Lady Greengrass."
"Oh Hadrian," Portia Greengrass blushed a bright shade of pink from where she stood next to her husband. "You're always such a charmer."
Daphne sighed, slipping her hand into her father's as she watched her mother laugh and be twirled about the dance floor by her fiancée. While they seemed to be having a grand time, her father had a rather stoic expression on his face as he rigidly moved through the waltz, and she waited impatiently for him to speak his mind.
Cyrus Greengrass smiled tightly at his daughter, "Your betrothed is certainly doing a lovely job showing you off like a prize he just won at the local fair."
Daphne resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "That won't work, you know," She informed him with a slight smirk. "Your snide comments about Hadrian have no effect on me."
"Love is blind, I suppose," Her father commented idly.
"No, love involves trust," She corrected. "Surely you would understand that after your almost two decades of marriage."
"Your mother and I had an arranged marriage," Cyrus reminded her. "Just like your grandparents, and your great grandparents, and your great, great grandparents, and–"
"Is there a purpose to this conversation, father?" Daphne asked sharply, interrupting what was sure to be a long, and terribly boring rant. "Or did you just want to ruin my night?"
"Daphne," Her father frowned, "I want you to be happy."
"Just not with Hadrian," Daphne summarized, raising an eyebrow. "Tell me, why did you give him your permission, then?" She squinted at him suspiciously, "What did Hadrian promise you?"
"I thought you trusted your fiancé," Cyrus pointed out sarcastically. "Why bother asking me if–"
"You were about to trap me in a proverbial tower to keep us apart," Daphne cut him off rather suddenly, "But then, somehow, after one more discussion, you agree to our engagement? Forgive me if it seems rather far-fetched."
"He hasn't told you?" Her father frowned, looking quite puzzled himself. "How interesting."
"I want to know what Hadrian promised you," She insisted. "You're my father, I expect you to tell me at once."
"Perhaps you should ask him yourself, Daphne," Cyrus Greengrass suggested, glancing away from her. "I am not in the position to discuss this with you."
"But–"
"You wished to marry him, did you not?" Her father pursed his lips together into a thin line. "Sometimes our wishes turn out to be much more than we asked for."
Neville Longbottom was starting to get sick of all the smiling. Everyone at the grand Riddle-Greengrass engagement party had these identical bright smiles painted onto their lips, including himself. And when they weren't smiling, they were laughing.
It had taken him approximately two seconds to realize their collective laughter was too forced and their seemingly attentive gazes were too empty to be genuine, however. He was considering dropping the entire charade of cheerfulness he wore–simply because his jaw was beginning to turn stiff from all the fake smiling –but then he caught a glimpse of Daphne Greengrass, gliding towards him with a delicate flute of champagne in her hands.
"Neville," She greeted him with a bright smile, digging her perfectly manicured nails into his arm. She pulled him outside onto the balcony with a surprising amount of strength in her thin, strappy heels. Daphne nodded pleasantly at an elderly couple that glanced at them with matching curious expression. As soon as they had passed by, however, she turned back to face him with those stormy blue eyes. Her lips pursed, "Neville, darling, you're supposed to be charming the deputy Minister. You can't just spend your time pouting and lurking around in dark corners."
He exhaled sharply, shifting his eyes to the spectacular view of the Greengrass gardens that stretched out below them. From his peripheral vision, he could see Daphne set her champagne aside on the baluster railing, signifying she would not be ignored.
"I'm not in the mood to socialize, Daphne," He admitted to her, crossing his arms across his chest as he leaned back against the stone railing. "I have a lot on my mind."
"Don't we all," She murmured.
A flash of light glinted off of the large diamond on her left hand, and he knew he couldn't pretend to ignore it any longer. He had seen a few of the elder society matrons fawning over her engagement ring about an hour or so ago, and he had promptly turned around to avoid the sickeningly happy smiles and envy-tinged praises his friends had received.
He raised his glass to her with a bitter smile. "Congratulations are in order, I suppose."
"Neville–" She began softly, seeing through his pitiful act in an instant. "It doesn't have to be like this. You don't have to–"
"I was going to propose to her too, you know," He took a long sip of his firewhiskey, "I picked out the ring myself, back in July. It's a family heirloom."
"I-I didn't know that," Daphne swallowed hard, "Hadrian didn't mention–"
"Why would he?" Neville laughed, shaking his head. "He knew–He knew I wouldn't be able to go through with it. Sometimes I wish–" His words trailed off abruptly, and he had to take another sip of his drink to find the courage to speak up, "Sometimes I wish I had never met her."
Her eyes widened. "Neville, you don't mean that," She chided, "She's still the same girl you've loved since our first year. She's still Destiny."
"No, she's not–" He mumbled, "She's Destiny Lestrange. She has always been Destiny Lestrange."
"But you love her, whatever her name might be," Daphne insisted.
"I can't," Neville frowned, though he didn't deny it. Even now–even when he had forced himself to hate girl, he couldn't do it. His eyes found her wherever he went–in the corridors, in between their classes, across the hall at meals, and now even in the midst of the crowded ballroom. He watched her laugh at something another man had said–he vaguely recognized him as one of the older Slytherin boys that had graduated a few years before, Pucey, perhaps–and his eyes darkened.
Here he was, moping outside on the balcony and dulling his senses with the finest firewhiskey that Greengrass money could buy, while she was apparently having the time of her life, flirting with any poncey-pureblood shite that crossed her path.
"That could've been you," Daphne nudged his shoulder, following his gaze. "If you got off your high horse and accepted that people have flaws."
He scowled at her, finally tearing his eyes away from his girlfriend. Or rather, ex-girlfriend, now. "Her mother tortured my parents, Daphne," He seethed. "I wouldn't necessarily equate that to someone who snores or bites their nails."
"Then hate her mother," Daphne shrugged, unaffected by his defensive demeanor. "Hate Bellatrix Lestrange all you want. But don't extend that same hatred to her daughter just because she shares the same last name."
"What is in a name?" He mused out loud. "I always thought I would hate Bellatrix Lestrange, but I don't feel anything towards her anymore. Because it's not her I love. I don't know why I can't get past my feelings when it comes to Destiny. I always thought it was about blood, but it's something more than that. Hadrian was right."
"Yes, that is unfortunately another rather annoying habit of his," Daphne smirked. "Did you see that? I am accepting his flaws."
"Did you know that I used to think Destiny and I would be the most stable out of you lot?" He glanced at her briefly, "No offense."
She shrugged elegantly, "Well, any pairing with Draco or Hermione is automatically always unstable, especially now that they've finally decided to go for each other. Blaise can't commit to a quill to use for his essay, let alone a witch. And my fiancé is the Dark Lord, it's only expected that you and Destiny would have the most solid relationship."
"Fiancé, huh?" Neville raised an eyebrow at her as she looked properly chuffed. "I bet you were just dying to use that one," He deadpanned.
"I was, actually. It's a great feeling, you know" Daphne smiled sweetly, "Certainty."
"Well, not everyone can have a perfect little fairytale romance like you two," He sneered. "Some people just aren't meant to have that." He felt his eyes drawn back to the same platinum blonde, now being twirled around the dancefloor in the arms of another man. "At least one of us is happy," His hand tightened around his crystal tumbler of firewhiskey.
"You're hurting her, you know," Daphne told him quietly. He opened his mouth to argue, but she shook her head at him, "You broke her heart that day, Neville. She cried for hours in my room. And she's a messy crier."
"I know," He said automatically. "One time she was so upset, she snotted all over my favorite Puddlemore United collectible jersey and–" He paused suddenly, frowning at the knowing look in Daphne's eyes. "Stop doing that," He hissed. "You can't play God with us, Daphne."
"I'm not playing God," She rolled her eyes. "I'm telling you the truth. She's putting on a brave face, but she is just as unhappy as you are, Neville. She loves you, and she's letting you push her away because of it."
"Why?" He demanded to know, "If she loves me, shouldn't she at least try to change my mind? Shouldn't she fight for me?"
"She knows you're right," Daphne sighed. "She knows you have every reason to be upset. But don't you understand? She can't fight for you; this is something you have to come to terms with on your own. She's willing to stay away from you, until you're ready to see her. And it's killing her."
Neville set his drink back onto the railing of the balcony, "I-I can't do this."
"Can't or won't?"
"I need to–" He adjusted the stiff collar of his dress robes before blurting out, "I need to leave. I have to go. Goodbye, Daphne–" He leaned in to absently kiss her cheek, "Tell your fiancé, I'll see him on the train."
"Mr. Ogden," Hadrian smiled at the older man, reaching out to shake his hand, "May I interest you in another drink? Daphne's father gifted me a spectacular bottle of scotch for Christmas, and I haven't found anyone who would truly appreciate such a rare edition more than you."
Mr. Ogden raised a white eyebrow at him, "If I didn't know any better, Mr. Riddle, I would say you're trying to get me to drink and make promises I have no business making in the first place."
"Of course not, Sir," Hadrian's smile widened, "I only intend on holding you to the promises you can make."
The other man laughed, clapping a hand against Hadrian's back, "I must warn you; such cheek will probably not be appreciated when you enter the political world. Though I will certainly enjoy your humor while it lasts. Lead the way, Mr. Riddle."
"I suspect both of us could use a bit of a reprieve from the party," Hadrian commented, unlocking the door to one of the private studies in the large manor. "All the dancing and drinking is starting to give me a headache, if I must admit."
"Wait until you actually get married," The older man snorted, stepping into the dimly lit room. "Then you'll have to add nagging to the list of reasons for your constant headache."
"Oh, I apologize, Mr. Ogden," Hadrian frowned. "I didn't realize you were married."
"Almost thirty years," Mr. Ogden revealed, sitting down on one of the armchairs beside the fireplace. "Do you want to know the secret to a healthy marriage, Mr. Riddle?"
"Of course," Hadrian nodded, picking out two glasses from the bar cart at the side of the room. He poured a generous amount of scotch in both crystal tumblers and turned back to face the other man.
Mr. Ogden accepted the glass Hadrian offered him, and gestured for him to lean in closer, as though he were about to reveal a prized piece of information. His wrinkled features twisted into an amused grin as he revealed, "The secret is separate bedrooms–on complete opposite sides of your ancestral home. You never have to hear her or see her –and she doesn't have the foggiest what you've been up to."
Hadrian let out a forced chuckle, only to realize the older man was in fact, not making a joke. He swallowed hard, "Yes, of course, sir. That makes complete sense."
Mr. Ogden wagged his finger at him accusingly, "I know what you must be thinking. But the honeymoon phase does not last forever, Mr. Riddle. It ends far sooner than you might think."
Hadrian stood up abruptly, moving closer to the door, "Sir, I think you've had a bit too much to drink tonight. Perhaps we should return you to the party."
The man snorted into his glass, "Mr. Riddle, do try not to treat me like your elderly grandfather. I am perfectly capable of holding my liquor," He took a long drink out of his glass as if to prove his point, missing the soft click of the door as it locked shut. "You'll understand the need for some alone time once you've been married for a few years, young man."
"Perhaps I will," Hadrian replied lightly, turning back around to face the other man with a cold look in his eyes as he raised his wand. "But I doubt I'll need it as much as you will, sir. Imperio."
Daphne Greengrass could feel her heartbeat thrumming loudly against her chest as she disappeared down the steps of the balcony, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds to make sure she had slipped away from the party unnoticed. She had already cast a variety of disillusionment spells, along with some powerful notice-me-not charms–but one could never be too careful.
Her long evening gown just barely grazed the snow covering the perfectly manicured lawns as she made her way through the gardens, pulling the dark cloak around her shoulders as a freezing wind whipped at her exposed skin.
Though the small maze her mother had carefully cultivated in their massive gardens might have taken an outsider some difficulty to navigate through, she had the advantage of being a Greengrass. As a child, she and Astoria had played countless games of hide-and-seek and chased each other through nearly every pattern the constantly shifting maze was capable of rearranging itself into.
It allowed her to easily walk through the tall structure of bushes and rare plants, only having to change her path a few times to get to the small wishing well that was in the center of the maze. She glanced towards the bright lights of the manor one last time to make sure nobody had followed her outside before she turned back to the well, tapping her wand against a sequence of stones on the well.
There was a quiet rumble as the wooden crank magically began to turn itself, and a series of steps emerged from the stones, disappearing from view as they ran deeper and deeper into the chasm of dark space. Daphne took a deep breath and forced herself to step forward, quickly walking down the small staircase under the small light she emitted from her wand.
When finally reached the bottom of the stairs, she tapped her wand on the heavy metal door that stood in front of her. It had rusted over by the edges, and it let out a soft groan as the metal creaked and slowly shifted to the side.
Daphne raised her wand up in front of her, murmuring a quiet Lumos and stepping forward into the underground bunker. The light from her wand was purposefully dim, but it was just bright enough for her to see the outlines of the old furniture in the room.
She moved towards the small table in the middle of the bunker and pulled out the bag she had stuffed into her cloak earlier. "I brought you some food," She called out, setting the bag onto the wobbly table. "There's some champagne in there too, since tonight is actually a happy occasion for me."
When she heard no response, Daphne sighed, shifting her weight to her other foot. "I hope you'll forgive me for my rudeness, but I did not insist on your change in accommodations so you could starve yourself here, rather than behind bars."
She turned her wand over to the small bed in the corner of the room, and the light flashed across the thin figure that was predictably huddled under the sheets. "And here I thought some champagne would put you in a better mood," Daphne shook her head. "Perhaps learning that your son celebrated his engagement tonight will cheer you up."
She heard the sheets on the bed shift slightly as the woman underneath them peeked her head out and whispered hoarsely, "Alexander?"
"No," Daphne drummed her fingers on the rickety table. Her eyes were cold, and her lips curved into a ghost of a smile, "Your other son. The one you abandoned all those years ago. Surely you haven't forgotten about him already?" She folded her arms across her chest with a chilling smirk, "Oh, I am going to have so much fun reminding you of exactly what you lost, Lily Potter."