During the summer between her fourth and fifth year as a way to avoid thinking of the horrors that Harry had experienced and to avoid wondering about what was to come, Hermione had thrown herself into intense research about the history that led up to the first Wizarding World, which had led into the history of Wizarding politics, which had led into the history of old Wizarding families. This research included, of course, the Malfoys.
While her research was surface-depth and only enough to make the connection between the original high-society Pureblood families and Voldemort, Hermione had learned quite a bit about the history of the Malfoy Family and how they came to possess the land in Wiltshire on which Malfoy Manor now stood.
In 1066, William the Conqueror earned his historical moniker but he did not do it without help. As a Muggle, he would have never succeeded in his endeavors had it not been for Armand Malfoy, the first Malfoy to relocate from France. He had been a deeply unpleasant man who had had quite enough of French Wizarding politics, which were considered liberal at the time, and wanted more space to grow his fortune and make a name for himself without interference. Seeing this opportunity with William, he took it.
As a thanks for his assistance, Armand Malfoy was gifted with a healthy tract of land in the south of what would become Wiltshire. Armand, who was greedy and very gifted in memory charms, wanted more land and therefore relocated some unsuspecting Muggles to obtain said land.
For the next five hundred years, generations of Malfoys lived on (and continued to steal more of) the land in Wiltshire. As their fortunes grew, they lived in various dwellings – a small wood house which was upgraded to a large wood house and accidentally burned down by Nicholas Malfoy in the mid 1300s, and then a stone house that was constructed to avoid another fire-related catastrophe. This house was destroyed by a very powerful and very poorly aimed bombarda maxima sometime in the late 1500s by Lucius Malfoy I.
Malfoy Manor was completed in 1597, and became the permanent home of the Malfoy family. Each generation of the Malfoy family residing in the Manor expanded it, imbued more of their magic into it, modernized it, protected it, and revered it.
In its over five hundred years of existence, Malfoy Manor had held all sorts of esteemed witches and wizards in its walls – royalty, old-blooded families, the wealthy, the devious, the evil. It had hosted parties, dances, weddings, and funerals. It had been used as a gathering place, a meeting hall, and a government building. As an old home built with magic and lived in by magical beings, the house and the land itself had magical properties that were not entirely understood by anyone – the mystery of a magical home.
This was, essentially, everything that Hermione knew about the history of the Malfoy family and the advent of their large, intimidating home. What she didn't know was that, like her, Malfoy Manor was about to experience some groundbreaking firsts.
The Manor's first big first: Hermione Granger was the first Muggleborn witch to take up full-time residence there.
She moved into a room just down the hall from Draco's which had a beautiful four-posted bed made of dark cherry with a matching wardrobe and dressing table, and to Hermione's joy a large desk that was settled underneath a window that overlooked Narcissa's roses. The walls were papered in a dusty pink color and framed by crown molding and baseboard that matched the furniture.
The room itself was probably the size of Hermione's entire flat, and she was overwhelmed with the amount of space there was. She stood in the center of it on a plush carpet with Crookshanks clamped tightly in her arms, and spun slowly in awe.
"I'm having bookshelves made to put in there tomorrow," Draco said from where he was leaning in the doorway. He pointed to the walls on either side of the window. "They'll be floor to ceiling. I'm sure you've got more books than you can fit there, so I'm making space in the library."
Hermione was silent as she walked to the desk to peer over it out the window. Crookshanks wriggled out of her arms leapt down to the desktop, then paced gracefully to the window ledge and settled himself in a patch of sunlight. He began to lick his paw lazily, clearly pleased with his new spot.
"The loo's just through that door." Hermione turned to where Draco was pointing and walked over, peering into the room. The shower alone was the size of her previous bathroom. She shut the door, further overwhelmed.
"Granger, would you say something? I don't like when you're quiet, it's very out of character for you."
Hermione huffed and turned towards him. "I'm almost certain this room did not look like this yesterday."
"You'd be right, as always," Draco confirmed. "I had it redecorated for you."
Yesterday was still a bit of a blur to Hermione. She had stayed at Grimmauld Place for the entirety of the day, and the hours had muddled by as she alternated between fervent conversations with Harry and Ron about what Greyback's attack meant, report writing, and quick naps on the sofa. She stayed the night there, too afraid to go back to her own flat to get any of her things and too exhausted to travel to Malfoy Manor.
Draco had been cleared to return to the Manor in the late morning, after it had been thoroughly searched by Aurors and deemed safe. He had immediately gone to his mother, who had been terrified when he had not returned home the night before and even more terrified when half of the Aurors employed at the Ministry descended upon the Manor to check on her.
"You're never to do that again," she scolded him when she released him from a bone-crushing hug. "Never."
"Duly noted. I'll try my best not to be taken in a surprise attack."
He spoke with Winky about redecorating a room for Hermione and had given her some guidelines for colors and needs, and let the very happy house elf do her magic.
The next morning, he Floo'd back to Grimmauld Place to collect Hermione and Crookshanks, which brought them to where they were now.
"You didn't have to redesign a room for me," she murmured, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
"I know. I wanted to. I want you to be as comfortable here as you can be." Draco moved into the room as he spoke and sat down next to her, keeping a respectful distance between them. "You're welcome to check the wards on the Manor if it would make you more comfortable, too."
Hermione rolled her eyes and swung her legs up on the bed, tucking them under herself so she could face Draco. "I'm fine. I'm not traumatized because of what happened. I've been through worse."
Draco winced and looked away from her. Worse in this very house, his mind supplied unhelpfully.
Hermione, seemingly reading his thoughts, reached out and used the tip of her finger to turn his face back towards her. "I am fine."
He pulled his head back and looked away again, frowning. "We were attacked, I was taken completely unawares. Your cat saved our lives." He looked at her. "That's luck, Granger. We can't rely on luck."
"We had no reason to believe we'd need to be on guard," Hermione answered. "Their movements had been focused in Eastern Europe and gave no indication that they were planning something so bold."
"Oh, come off it. You're not that stupid," Draco snapped, standing. "You knew you'd be targeted. You're Hermione bloody Granger, best friend of Harry bloody Potter. All of you are obvious targets."
Hermione was momentarily shocked by Draco's sudden anger, startled by the whiplash from how he had treated her the night before and that morning when he had shyly brought her to her room.
"I'm not stupid at all," she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "Is there any particular reason you're acting like a complete dick right now?"
"Is there any particular reason you're so completely unaffected by the fact that you could have died?" Draco shouted.
The words echoed in the silence between them and Hermione blinked, suddenly understanding. He was upset that she had been hurt, and that he had been unable to protect her. Because he cared about her.
His shoulders fell as he stared at her and he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Stop looking at me like that."
"You care for me."
He glared at her. "Of course I do. Do you not remember what I said to you?"
Hermione had scarcely had any time to process what Draco said to her before he had asked to kiss her. Hearing him admit that he was falling in love with her shocked her, but in the moment the gravity of his admission had not fully sunk in. Now she recognized the truth in his words in the pain that was disguised as anger in his voice and in the self-conscious way he was regarding her.
"And you meant it?" Hermione hedged.
Draco's glare transformed into a frown. "Do you think I'd lie about that?"
"I don't know," she answered honestly, leaning back on the bed. The way he was staring at her was too intense. "I didn't expect it."
"Neither did I," he muttered. "I might be more surprised than you."
Hermione laughed, shocking him. "I can't believe this. A few weeks ago, I couldn't even stand the thought of you."
"You swot."
"You prat."
The Manor's second big first: being home to a domesticated cat. Well, half-cat half-Kneazle – but the point still stood. There had been cats on the Manor grounds for pest control, but there had never been a cat that lived inside the Manor. Crookshanks was the first.
He took an immediate liking to the windowsill, and for one and a half days he didn't leave it except to use his litterbox and to sleep next to Hermione on the massive bed. He had been very fond of his previous home and was not thrilled to be readjusting to a new home.
At the end of the second day, Crookshanks accompanied Hermione to the library where she was organizing her books on the newly-cleared shelves for them. Hermione had been forced to take the entire week off work as a result of being directly involved in a targeted attack, and therefore had plenty of free time to move her things slowly from her apartment to their new home. It was Thursday now, which meant the wedding was in two days and Hermione was desperate to keep herself busy for fear of overthinking it.
Crookshanks sat on the table behind her for some time, watching her add and remove and rearrange books, before he jumped down and decided to finally explore. The Manor was vast and expansive, especially to Crookshanks. He stuck close to the walls as he padded along the hallways, sniffing under closed doors and sneaking quickly around corners.
He walked to the main hall, where a hoard of wizards had been decorating all day. He didn't quite like the noise of them clamoring around, setting up chairs and flower arrangements and an aisle down the middle of it all. He watched from the doorway, swishing his tail in annoyance whenever someone got too close.
The Manor had been used to host many Malfoy weddings in the past, but rarely were the weddings so joyous feeling. The Malfoys had a long tradition of arranged or heavily-influenced marriages, which resulted in very lackluster parties. This was the first time in a long time that any part of the Manor had been really decorated for nuptials.
Crookshanks, a magical being himself, could feel the hum of happy magic beneath his oversized paws.
At the end of each row of chairs there was a large, flowing flower arrangement that spilled down into the aisle, which was sprinkled with loose petals. There were not many rows of chairs because there wouldn't be many guests, but the aisle was long enough for a proper bridal walk. An archway marked the end of the aisle, which was again adorned with flowers similar to those at the end of the rows of seats, and had vines crawling up it. The ceilings were draped with silk and more flowers and vines. Floating amongst the silk were candles enchanted to emit light, but not to burn.
The hall was fragrant, and looked ethereal.
Satisfied for the time being, Crookshanks returned to the library to watch Hermione organize.
That night as Hermione slept, Crookshanks explored more. With everyone who did not live in the home gone and with everyone who did in bed, he felt much more comfortable with his perusing.
He took the same route as before, walking to the fully decorated main hall and then past it, across the entryway to the other wing of the house. In the entry, he stopped to observe the Aurors posted inside and outside the door. They did hourly walks of the grounds and reported their findings of nothing back to Hermione and Draco.
Crookshansk didn't really like strangers, and therefore didn't really like them. He fixed them with a mean glare as he passed by and continued forward, following the quiet sound of muffled crying.
He found the door it was coming from and sat in front of it for a long time, listening to soft sobs on the other side. After a bit, he shoved his paw under the door and scratched to be let in. When the crying suddenly silenced, he did it again. And again. And again.
The door flew open, and Pansy glared down at him. Her face was red and blotchy and her nose was running.
"What?" she demanded at him. Crookshanks looked up at her and meowed. Let me in.
"No. I hate cats."
Another meow. No one hates cats.
Pansy's glare faltered and she sighed, stepping aside. Pleased with himself, Crookshanks walked into Pansy's room and jumped up on her bed. He waited for her to join him, and when she finally did he curled up in her lap and began to purr.
Pansy was frozen in surprise before she awkwardly scratched his ears.
"Stupid cat," she mumbled. Crookshanks ignored her, and when Pansy finally gave in and laid down, Crookshanks slept with her.
The Manor's last big first was a bit more complicated, and Draco had been working on it for several weeks. Of course, he didn't realize what he was doing was as significant to his home as it was.
At just after one in the morning, Hermione awoke to a gentle knock on her doorjamb. The door was ajar to let Crookshanks come and go as he pleased, and Draco was peering through the crack. She sat up and was momentarily disoriented before she remembered where she was.
"Easy," Draco whispered, slipping into her room. "I know this is unorthodox, but I've got a gift for you. A wedding present."
According to his ongoing Muggle research, it was customary for the bride and groom to exchange gifts before the wedding. Technically speaking they were meant to be exchanged just before, but the nature of this gift demanded otherwise.
Hermione blearily cast a time-telling spell and frowned. "Right now?"
"As soon as you're decent."
"How decent is decent? It's the middle of the night."
"Publicly decent."
She frowned but got up and went to the loo anyways, grabbing a pair of jeans and a jumper on her way. Fifteen minutes later, she was fresh-breathed, fresh-faced, and dressed. She looked at herself in the mirror for a moment, wondering if she needed to do any sort of makeup. Then she decided against it – it was one in the bloody morning.
She returned to the room, where Draco had moved over to her desk and carefully cleared a space amongst her papers to set down a white porcelain plate. Hermione was about to ask if the unassuming plate was her gift, but before she could it glowed blue.
"A portkey?" she asked, moving to stand beside him. "To where?"
"Shush. Give me your hand." She laced their fingers together, trepidation curling in her stomach. Draco sensed her caution and squeezed her fingers.
"We will be safe," he assured. "You have my word."
A portkey on its own was already dizzying enough, but a portkey crossing time zones was even worse. To leave one place in the middle of the night and instantly arrive at the next place in the middle of the day was very bewildering.
Hermione stumbled a step forward, momentarily blinded by the bright daylight, and gripped Draco's hand tightly to steady herself. She covered her eyes with her hands and made a small noise of exclamation.
Even though he had known it was daytime where they were going, Draco was also unprepared for the sudden shift from night to day. "Merlin, I'm blind!"
"You're not blind, you're a drama queen," Hermione muttered, removing her hand from her eyes and blinking rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the sunlight. She looked around for any indication of where they could be.
They had landed on beside a wooden fence that ran parallel to the road, and they were hidden from the view of passing vehicles by several trees. On the other side of the fence was a sign. Hermione watched a car drive by and noticed immediately that its number plate was not British. Draco also watched the car, though not because he noticed the number plate. He was mostly curious about how they worked.
A branch snapped behind them and both Draco and Hermione whirled around, but relaxed immediately when they saw the familiar face of one of the Aurors that had been surveying Malfoy Manor. He stood a respectful distance away and gave a friendly wave.
Hermione waved back, relieved that the chances of them being caught unaware were slimmer with a third person. Then she turned to Draco. "Where are we?" she asked.
Instead of answering, Draco strode forward to the fence. He stepped over it and then helped her over so they could see the front of the sign.
"Castle Hill Cemetery," she read aloud. Her mind was blank for a moment, sleep-addled and portkey-spun brain trying to put the clues together and understand. It was daytime, and the weather was warm, the opposite of the time and weather in Britain. They were at a cemetery. They had taken a portkey to get here, which meant it was a longer journey than Apparation allowed.
The pieces clicked together in her head. Her eyes stung and her throat tightened with sudden emotion as she read the sign again.
"Are we in Australia?" she whispered. "Are my parents here?"
"Right as always, Granger." His voice was gentle and guarded, and he watched her with caution. Bringing her here had been a gamble, because he hadn't been sure if the gesture would be welcome. Hermione spoke very little of her parents, but he knew she missed them terribly.
When the idea to bring her here had come to him, he had spoken to (bribed) a wizard in the International Travel Department to find out if Hermione had ever applied for a portkey, and when he learned she had not he had decided to act on the idea.
Her prolonged silence began to worry him. She was still staring at the sign, jaw working and cheeks and nose turning red.
"If you don't want to be here, we can leave," he offered. "I wasn't sure…"
"Stop," she cut him off. "Stop. I just need a moment."
She extricated her hand from his and covered her face. He noticed both of her hands were trembling as she did and he fought the urge to pull her against his chest, an urge that he was still very unaccustomed to but did not find unwelcome. Something about Granger made him want to soothe her, hold her, help her. Love, he supposed.
"Do you know where… in there?" she finally asked, turning to look at him. The tip of her nose and her cheeks were still flushed and her eyes were watery, but she had put on her brave Gryffindor face.
"I don't. But there's a directory just inside."
Hermione gave a stiff nod and turned on her heel, walking through the open gate. Draco followed her at a small distance, cognizant that she needed space. He glanced behind him and saw that their Auror was also following. They made a strange trio – a woman dressed in normal clothes, a man wearing what would be considered formal wear, and a strange fellow in purple robes following behind them.
Draco stayed back as Hermione went to the directory, which was alphabetized and indicated which section and row a grave was in. She flipped to the W's and used her finger to trace down the column until she found the names. Wilkins, Wendell and Monica. The names she had given them when she left them.
She swallowed against the overwhelming guilt that threatened to gag her. This had been a decision she had agonized over for months leading up to it and the years after, and she had always arrived at the same conclusion: she had been right to send them away, because any fate they would have suffered at the hands of Voldemort would have been worse than their deaths here.
The knowledge that she was right almost always brought Hermione some level of solace, but not in this case. Never in this case.
She consulted the map of the cemetery beside the directory and turned back to look at Draco. He was watching her with his piercing, inquisitive eyes, and the concern she saw in them softened the hard line of her mouth. Her lower lip quivered and her brow creased.
She reached for Draco's hand.
They walked together down the main path, reading the labelled sections and rows as they went. The weather in Australia was beautiful – it was there springtime, and just into the afternoon. A pleasant breeze whispered through the trees and between the headstones, rustling leaves and flowers. As they walked, Hermione's grip on Draco's hand tightened.
She turned down a row and dropped Draco's hand, and pointed. "Just there."
"I'll wait for you here."
Hermione wavered there, feeling like her feet were made of lead. The headstone was right there. She could read it from where she stood. Her eyes felt like they were on fire.
"Go on, Granger." She looked at Draco and nodded, the jerky movement shaking a tear loose from one eye.
Wendell and Monica Wilkins rested together under a shared headstone. The grass over their graves was bare, but maintained. Hermione dropped to her knees on it, all of the breath whooshing out of her lungs.
Their headstone was adorned only with their names and their years of birth and death. There was no epitaph, and there was no photograph of them like some of the surrounding stones had. It dawned on her that it was because there had been no one to ask for anything more than a basic stone.
They had had no daughter to do it for them.
A broken sob tore from her throat, loud and harsh in the silence of the cemetery. She tried to stifle the next one with her hands, but it was useless.
Draco turned away from her and closed his eyes before the sight of her so broken made him cry, too.
Like many old estates, Malfoy Manor's extensive lands had a small plot set aside for family graves. It was a beautifully maintained plot, shaded by an ancient elm tree and decorated with Narcissa's flowers. The headstones ranged from simple slabs to ornate carvings. Though it had been on the grounds for hundreds of years, there was still room.
As Hermione and Draco left Castle Hill Cemetery an hour later, Draco told her about the family plot. He described the elm tree, his mother's flowers, and how the sun shone on a particular empty patch as it set every day.
He explained in halting, uncertain words that he had obtained permission and assistance from several different ministerial departments to have Mr. and Mrs. Granger relocated and reinterred under their proper names there.
"If that's something you want. Even if in the next years we aren't… together. They would always be accessible to you, and their plot would always be maintained and respected," he finished as they stopped in front of the portkey.
Hermione had been silent as they walked and as he spoke, feeling raw and split open. The enormity of his offer was not lost on her, though. He had opened his home to her, and now to her parents in the only way he could.
"Yes, please."
And that was Malfoy Manor's last big first – Mr. and Mrs. Granger, a Muggle couple who had born the wizarding world's brightest witch, would be honored on its land beside the old elm tree where the sunset draped over them every day, and where their daughter could begin to make peace with herself.
