CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: AGE FOREVER
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland
Sunday, November 23, 1997 – Monday, November 24, 1997
Taking Draco's advice to heart, Hermione laid back to enjoy a lavender oil soak in the large Prefect's bath, letting the purple shimmering bubbles surround her and the soothing scent relax her sore and tired body. As she leaned her head back against the tile and closed her eyes, calming her body with deep breaths, her mind revisited the last twenty-four hours…
She wasn't a virgin anymore.
The implications of that change were staggering: she'd finally grown up, left her childhood behind, and there was absolutely no going back, not ever. Her whole life would be different now. She'd have to be concerned with things she'd never considered before, like pregnancy. That meant, the next chance she was given, she'd have to ask Draco to teach her the charm to prevent conception, and she'd have to memorize it well. Sex was not just a fun activity, she knew, but also a responsibility.
Despite that, she didn't regret her decision for a second. Giving herself to Draco had been wonderful - everything she'd ever dreamed and wished for. And he was in love with her! Squealing in utter delight, she did a little jig in the tub – well, as much as her knackered body would allow her to move about before protesting. She resolved to take two Ibucalm tonight before bed (she'd been smuggling the Muggle medicine into her trunk since third year so she wouldn't have to keep going to Madam Pomfrey for pain potions during her menses).
Sitting gingerly back once more and closing her eyes, she traipsed through the memories of their last few weeks together. Draco had been so gentle and patient in teaching her the art of love making. Each lesson had been beautiful, each touch and taste and sight profoundly special. He'd been the right man to ask to guide her through this experience, she now realized in retrospect – even if, at the time the proposal was made, it was done for purely lustful reasons, and she'd been a little suspicious of his character initially. It seemed as if this had almost been fated to happen between them, perhaps in the making for years even.
"Oh, hello," a young girl called out to her from somewhere off to her right.
Hermione smiled, recognizing the voice instantly and opened her eyes. "Hello, Myrtle," he greeted back. Over the years since she'd started frequenting this bathroom, she'd become somewhat tentative friends with the depressive, overly-melodramatic ghost. "How are you doing tonight?"
Moaning Myrtle floated down to just above the water line, her long, old-fashioned uniform skirt nearly touching the bubbles. "I'm dead, thank you for asking," she predictably replied. She blinked, looking sincerely worried all of the sudden. "But, I'd be more concerned about my own life at the moment, if I were you. You don't even seem to be the least bit concerned about the terrible, awful things that have happened!"
All of Hermione's internal alarms suddenly went off. She leaned forward, abruptly tense. "What do you mean? What's happened?"
Myrtle sank down into the water, her ghostly form eerily walking towards her until they were standing rather close. She made the motion of flipping back her long, dark ponytails over her shoulders. "The other ghosts are simply buzzing, and the rumors are flying every which way! The racket has upset Peeves something terrible. He began wailing into the drainage pipes that Death Eaters were going to come into Hogwarts finally! I told them it was a bunch of utter nonsense, with the wards about the castle walls and all, but…"
"Myrtle," Hermione cut her off rather harsh and stood up in the bath, uncaring if the ghost saw her naked or not. "What happened?"
Sniffling her hurt feelings away, Myrtle sighed. "There was a mass escape from Azkaban earlier today. The Dementors betrayed the Ministry. All of the prisoners are free!"
Hermione's body moved on impulse. She jumped out of the water, quickly toweled herself off, threw on her robe and ran across the hall to her room, leaving an indignant Myrtle behind her, muttering about rudeness in youth these days. Uncaring about formalities at the moment, Hermione threw on some clothes, grabbed two pain pills and swallowed them hurriedly, then rushed off to Gryffindor tower. As soon as she passed through the portal and saw the flurry of activity in the Common Area come to a complete halt, she knew something terrible had happened beyond what Myrtle had told her. Harry, Ron, and Ginny rushed to her side.
"'Mione, you've heard?" Harry asked, taking her hand.
She nodded. "Myrtle just told me that the Death Eaters escaped Azkaban. How many hours ago did this happen? And why did the Dementors abandon the Ministry?"
Harry stared at her, measuring what she had just said and her demeanor. "You haven't heard then," he stated simply, great sorrow reflected in his emerald gaze.
She looked between her three friends, noting how Ron and Ginny both avoided meeting her eyes, looking rather uncomfortable. She turned back to her best male friend, a sinking feeling gripping her chest. "What's else happened, Harry?" Her voice sounded breathless, weak, and her knees began knocking together earnestly.
"Malfoy's parents," he began, swallowing a lump in his throat. "They were attacked by Death Eaters. Lucius got hit. He's at St. Mungo's right now." His grip on her fingers tightened. "'Mione, he isn't expected to make it."
"Oh, gods!" she gasped in horror. "Draco…" she pulled her hand out of Harry's and sprinted for the portrait. Behind her, her friend called out for her to wait, but an urgent panic tore into her heart, forcing her legs onward at breakneck speed. Her instincts screamed that her boyfriend was in danger. She ran for all she was worth, taking risks on the moving staircases to jump between them when they were passing close by. When she hit the Entrance Hall, she jammed down the stairs into the Dungeons and flew down the corridors to the Slytherin portal. She stopped just shy of touching it, her path blocked by the foreboding visage of The Blood Baron.
"Good evening, Miss Granger," the ghost greeted politely. "I believe you should return to your own Common Area forthwith, as danger lurks about." His request was firm, letting her know that he had no intention of letting her pass into his House's dormitories.
Hermione's dread reached epic proportions. After taking a moment to regain her breath and calm her racing heart, she formulated a quick counter to the Baron's prohibition. "Lord Swindon," she addressed him formally with a deep curtsy, having researched his true identity long ago after discovering that Hogwarts: A History was rather incomplete regarding the identities of the various ghosts that haunted its hallways. The Baron jerked back in astonishment as his true name was revealed. "I apologize for coming at so late an hour, and at such an unfortunate time," she civilly addressed the ghost, knowing his reputation. "But it is urgent that I find your relation, Draco Malfoy. I'm here in an official capacity as Head Girl," she lied, crossing her fingers behind her back, anxiously hoping the ghost would believe her fib.
The ghost studied her carefully behind dark, glittering, ominous eyes. Clearly, he was considering whether to challenge her falsehood or not. Hermione stood straight and unflinching under his gaze, unwilling to be turned away. Draco needed her and she would do anything necessary to reach him in time – even risk The Baron's ire.
The shade opened his mouth, adjusting his chains over his shoulder with a loud clinking noise. "Young Master Malfoy is not here at the present time," he explained. "He is currently with the Headmaster in his Tower."
Hermione short curtsied again. "Thank you, my Lord, for your generous assistance," she graciously retreated, and headed back down the hall and up towards Dumbledore's office, feeling the ghost's piercing eyes boring holes into the back of her skull as she continued the charade and walked away as calmly as possible.
x~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~x
Draco hit the hidden stairwell for the Headmaster's Tower and threw himself onto the magically raising platform, not knowing the password and too crazed of thought to care. "Take me up now!" he shouted, and the stairwell reacted, as if it had been waiting for his presence. Dumbledore knew he would come apparently.
At the top, he dashed down the short hall to the Headmaster's door and threw it open, out of breath, his lungs aching and his legs shaking from the exertion. The room was the same as the last time he'd been up here, just after the war had ended, except Fawkes perch lay cold and empty (the phoenix had given his life to distract Voldemort so Potter could stab him through the heart with Gryffindor's ruby sword). And his mother was here.
They met at the bottom of the short set of stairs leading up to the dais, throwing arms about each other. His proud, beautiful, aristocratic mother burst into tears. He held her, letting her wail away her guilt, sorrow and anger for long minutes, and then he needed to know the answers to the questions tumbling through his mind. "Tell me what happened," was all he could manage, his own eyes threatening to spill over with his own misery, held back only by a narrow margin of control. His mother was incapable of speech, however, so he turned to his head of Household, who was standing next to Dumbledore's desk and repeated the demand. Black eyes watched him evenly.
"Bellatrix," was all Snape uttered, but Draco understood instinctively the doom that accompanied this one simple name. His mad aunt – his mother's sister – had allowed the Malfoy Manor's Unplottable wards to be removed so that she, and most likely others, could invade his home.
"Because of me?" Draco asked, feeling his insides slowly begin to numb. He already knew the reason his family had been attacked, but he needed confirmation from a higher power, so that when the self-recriminating hatred came upon him later, he would feel it appropriate - sanctioned, even. Snape did not reply this time, but the downturn of his eyes towards the floor spoke volumes. The first of Draco's tears spilled down his alabaster cheeks.
It had been his fault. That bitch had gone after his parents because he'd turned traitor to Voldemort and helped the Order end her secret lover's life. And because he'd killed her husband, Rastaban. Now, his family's life was the exacted revenge. Bella had brought down a terrible reckoning, just as she'd promised she would when she'd been hauled out of court this previous July to begin her lifetime appointment with a dark, desolate prison cell.
It took a few moments for Draco to get his emotions back under some semblance of control. Now was not the time for crying like a fruity, little nancy-boy. He needed answers. "She's still on the loose I take it?" Professor Dumbledore nodded. The old man's cobalt blue eyes were not twinkling now; they were instead filled with a profound sorrow. "And my father?" In his arms, his mother began shaking and sobbing all over again. He held her to his chest tightly, comforting her the best he could.
"In St. Mungo's, being made comfortable," the old man replied evenly.
Draco knew what that meant: no cure. His father was definitely going to die. "What spell was used? Was it an Unmentionable?" Snape's head snapped up in fear, and in his arms, his mother gasped, pushing slightly away from her son and staring up at him in horror. Dumbledore simply looked at him evenly, knowing that Draco was intimately familiar with these forbidden spells, as he had been there the day Rastaban's body had incinerated. The elder wizard simply nodded. "Which one?"
Dumbledore sighed deeply. "Saecula Saeculorum," he softly replied, wincing, as if the speaking of even the words alone was enough to conjure evil into his heart.
Draco shut his eyes and clenched his jaw. The aging spell. It literally caused a person to mature through all of the stages of their physical life within hours, until at last they died of old age. The book he'd studied on these particularly nasty, dark curses had explained that this specific magic caused intense pain throughout the joints, bones, organs of the victim as a result of rapid cellular destruction. And there was no cure whatsoever, except to put the victim out of their misery before their body literally rotted out from under them. He swallowed painfully. "How long?"
"Dawn, at the latest," his Headmaster informed them solemnly, and this caused Narcissa to burst into another round of tears. She pressed her forehead to Draco's breast and grabbed onto his upper arms, clenching her fingernails over the same spots Hermione had earlier. It stung, but he willed himself not to feel right at that moment. He still had questions. Later, he would feel enough to burn the world with his hate. He opened his eyes and stared at his two patrons, his face and tone deceptively calm. "Who else was with my aunt?" He wanted names, so he could know who to hunt down later.
No answer was forthcoming from Dumbledore. Clearly, his teacher guessed Draco's plans and was withholding this information purposefully to keep him from acting on it. Lucky for Draco, he had someone with less scruples on his side who knew specifics. "The Aurors have someone in custody…" Snape informed him quickly, his voice hard edged.
"Severus," Dumbledore's sharp warning whipped through the room like a vicious lash, and his face grew quite intensely displeased, requiring the immediate termination of all further discussion on this subject from the Potions Master. Snape simply lowered his eyes to the ground once more and closed his mouth, recognizing his superior's authority. "I would think, Mr. Malfoy," the Headmaster spoke somewhat forcefully, turning all his attention back on Draco, "that you should be more concerned about spending what remaining time you have left with your father."
Making a mental note to get the name of the Death Eater being held by the Ministry from Snape later, Draco nodded in fake acquiescing humility. "I'd like to go to the hospital now, if you have no objections," he stated, knowing he'd need Dumbledore's permission to leave Hogwarts because of the requirements of his Ministry probation. It didn't hurt to play along, for now.
"You and your mother may use the floo here," the Professor indicated the fireplace nearby with a wave of his arm. "I will accompany you, of course." He paused and looked carefully at Draco, then spoke somewhat hesitantly. "Is there… anyone else you would care to have join us?"
It was obvious to whom the Headmaster was referring. Draco shook his head, feeling his heart constrict in pain at the thought of Hermione. He worried for her safety if she were seen with him outside the castle walls, where anyone could spy upon them and recognize her importance to him. She'd become a viable target then. Besides, were she to be so near him once his father took his last breath… He felt emotionally flayed right then, and quite honestly, he wasn't sure he wanted her to see what he was going to become, or to know what he planned to do. She would be ashamed of him, no doubt.
He suddenly felt so old, as if he'd aged years in minutes. It was the same feeling he'd had when he'd recovered from the shock of using an Unmentionable Curse on his uncle. Something in him had changed – a fundamental shift, some innocence lost.
"No, I don't want her with me right now."
Dumbledore's cerulean gaze bore into him with weighty knowledge, but Draco simply stared back determinedly, unwilling to be coerced into changing his mind. Snape, he noticed, frowned at him as well, obviously not in agreement with his answer either. Clearly, both men knew of his relationship with Granger - what teacher didn't know by now, honestly? - and both thought Hermione's presence would be comforting and calming for him. But that dark part of him didn't want to be made tame; it hungered for vengeance and blood. And he had every intention of giving it exactly what it wanted later.
"As you wish," his Professor conceded. He turned to Snape. "Severus, if you would be so kind as to inform Minerva that she will be in charge here until our return?" Professor Snape nodded, and a silent message seemed to pass between them in the seconds after. Then, the dark-haired Potions Master headed for the door, his black cape billowing behind him, his face grim and set.
Draco turned his attention to his mother, pulling her slightly away. "Mother, are you ready?" he asked gently, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing his handkerchief for her use. She took it with trembling hands and dabbed at her eyes, nose and cheeks with it, and then she nodded.
"Yes," she stated, her voice raspy from crying. She sniffed delicately, pulling herself together admirably. "Your father needs us, Draco. We should be at his side now."
He gripped her shoulders to steady her, stepping back a bit, and then he took her hand and led her up the short flight of steps to Dumbledore's side. "Lead the way, sir."
x~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~x
Hermione turned the corner to the Headmaster's Tower sharply, and collided with someone moving swiftly towards her at the same moment. With an "oof!" she bounced backwards and fell on her bum rather spectacularly, and the sudden contact of the freezing, stone surface of the hallway against her overheated, perspiring skin on the backs of her thighs was a shock to her system. "Owwww!" she moaned, feeling every sore and pained point on her body flare up in agony again when she tried to move, despite the medicine she'd taken earlier.
"Clumsy fool!" Professor Snape hissed in the darkened hallway. "You should know better than to be running through the halls at this late hour without your wand lit."
She spoke without thinking of the consequence, her nerves frazzled and too scared to care. "As should you," she shot back, and then gasped and put her hand over her mouth in shame and embarrassment, recognizing to whom she'd just spoke so insubordinately towards. "Oh, excuse me, Professor," she stammered. "I apologize! You startled me, is all."
Snape's wand tip lit up the darkness with a non-verbal incantation and the corridor flooded with white light that Hermione had to shield her eyes from until she adjusted. Her teacher was straightening his robes as she finally began picking herself back up, moving carefully and slowly off the ground. Everything still hurt!
"I assume by your hurry, Miss Granger, that you've heard the unfortunate news," Severus stated, not asked. The man was, if nothing else, a quick deductor of facts. She nodded. "Then I'm sorry to be the one to inform you, but Draco is already on his way to the hospital with his mother and the Headmaster. You've just missed him."
Hermione's hand came up unconsciously to grip her heart. "Then it's true?" she asked, fearing the worst. "His father… He's dying then?"
Her Potions Professor stared at her for a moment in consideration. "Unfortunately, yes, Lucius Malfoy will not see the sun rise tomorrow."
The hand moved up to her mouth as she choked out a sob, hurting for the man she loved. Although Draco did not discuss his relationship with his father with her, she knew that losing a parent – no matter how difficult the relationship between them had been in the past - was going to devastate him. "Draco… can I… go to him?" She knew that by now, all of the teachers were well aware of her relationship with Malfoy; they'd been the talk of the school for practically a week after their very public kiss in the dining hall, for pity's sake! And they'd been almost continually together since, walking to classes, holding hands, and snogging in the corridors on occasion.
Severus shook his head. "He has requested that you not be present, Miss Granger."
Hermione leaned heavily against the wall shocked by these words. Draco had denied her help? Why would he do that? He needed her now, more than ever… didn't he? Why did he shut her out of this part of his life continually?
I want to be there for him.
She hadn't realized she'd spoken that last sentiment aloud until Snape replied. "That is very compassionate of you, I'm sure, but Draco was very clear about his feelings on the matter. He wanted no one aside from his mother. I assume he has done this to spare you and his friends grief."
She blinked back tears. "I'll cry for him no matter what."
It was silent in the corridor for several heartbeats before Snape's firm hand on her shoulder, directing her back the way she had come, brought her out of her stupor. "Perhaps you should spend the night in the Gryffindor Tower with friends."
Still somewhat dazed, her mind agonizing over Draco's rejection of her presence, Hermione allowed herself to be led to The Fat Lady's portrait by her teacher. Before she entered, Snape captured her attention one last time. "Miss Granger, should Mr. Malfoy have need of you, I will certainly let you know. Until then, I would recommend you stay close to Potter and Weasley. And do not leave the castle unaccompanied – not even to go to the Owlry."
Numbly, she nodded, and pushed open the portal to return to her House Common Room. Behind her, Snape waited until the portrait closed completely before heading off. The room, which had thinned out only minimally over the last twenty minutes she'd been gone, grew eerily silent with her return. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to remain downstairs and they grouped together, like some sort of grazing herd fearing wolves on the perimeter. That and they were waiting for juicy gossip to walk in – as it just had.
Immediately, Harry, Ron and Ginny leapt to their feet and crossed the room to her. Harry took one look at Hermione's face and pulled her in for a comforting hug. As if the switch keeping her emotions in check had suddenly been turned off deep inside, she started crying. Ginny's comforting hand on her lower back and Ron's touch on her hand, which rested on Harry's shoulder, reminded her again of how lucky she was to have such loyal, loving family. She cried even harder, realizing that Draco would not have this in his time of need; his mother would be completely no help whatsoever once her husband passed, as she'd be consumed with her own sorrow, and he had no other family that he was close to. And he had allowed none of his friends to be with him either, it seemed.
"There's no hope," she forlornly explained. "His father's going to die before tomorrow morning, and I've been forbidden to be with him." She sobbed, heartbroken. "Oh, Harry, he'll be all alone with his grief!" Her cries were loud in the hushed room.
Harry and the others continued to comfort her in the best they could for long minutes. Finally, when she quieted some, they led her to the couch directly in front of the warm fire, which Seamus and the others scrambled to vacate out of respect. She laid her head on Harry's shoulder as they sat back in the cushions together, the four of them, side by side. After a while, hushed conversations behind and around them picked back up. Behind her and to the left, at the table against the back wall, Dean Thomas was playing Wizard's Chess with Fay Dunbar (with Tiffany Kellah sitting in and giving pointers to Dean, as he was apparently losing badly). Behind and to the right sat Anna Mirfield, Lavendar Brown, Parvati Patel, Julie Parkes, and Romilda Vane huddled together in a circle of plush chairs, leaning in towards the center of their ring at a Divination ball, looking for mystical portents and ominous signs of the future. On the carpet just beyond the chairs, in the far corner, Nigel Wespert and Jason Swann were playing a game of "Jack Stone" Gobstones on the wooden floor, while Yuvraj Suri and Roderick Seaton sidelined. Seamus, Neil Randall, Adam Pickering and Sean Ogbourne were standing directly behind the couch, and all had their wands out, discussing defensive spells. Diagonal from where Hermione currently was seated, in one of the cozy back chairs directly in front of the couch, Neville sat quietly with Trevor, petting his croaking toad soothingly, his face worried, his mind lost in thought.
Staring into the crackling, incandescent glow at the hearth, Hermione's mind was brought back to Saturday night, in front of her own fireplace in her bedroom. "Harry, you were right," she murmured, remembering the tender confessions of love she and Draco exchanged as they knelt down together, naked, gazing into each other's eyes in wonder and a little fear.
Next to her, Harry shifted a little uncomfortably. He leaned into her ear and whispered. "Shut your mind off. You're throwing me a vision I don't think you want me to see."
She blushed and closed her eyes, groaning. "Sorry," she murmured, utterly embarrassed. Harry just nodded in understanding. The ever oblivious Ron, of course, picked that particular moment to ask what they'd just been talking about, and both she and Harry quickly replied, "Nothing," at the same time and in the same tone. The matter was dropped without another word.
A little later, Hermione was finally lulled into sleep by the warmth of the fire, totally exhausted emotionally and physically. Before she lost consciousness, her last thought was to hope Draco would call on her tonight.
x~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~x
Slouching into the high backed, leather couch in the Slytherin Common Area, Teddy couldn't sleep, even after most of his dorm mates had slunk off to bed. The conversations of the incident at Azkaban and the Malfoy Manor having been exhausted by midnight, and it was now one o'clock in the morning, and Drake hadn't yet returned. He probably wouldn't for a few days, but for some odd reason, Teddy felt the need to remain awake and vigilant, just in case his friend needed him.
If only his fatigued body felt the same way as his mind and heart. He was so worn out!
Closing his eyes for a second, he rubbed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. Before he knew it, he was out cold, lying horizontal across the couch, his cheek pressed to the chilled arm.
An hour or so later, he awoke quite suddenly, sensing a presence hovering over him. Blinking back sleep, he glanced up at Daphne bent down, frozen in the act of slipping a blanket on top of him. He sat up abruptly and was immediately impaled on her jade green eyes. They were mere centimeters apart, and he could feel her warm breath on his cheeks. It took two tries for him to speak. "What do you think you're doing?" The question came out harsher than he'd wanted, but then, this was Daphne, and it seemed even his subconscious wanted to keep her at arm's length.
His ex- blinked and slowly stood to her full 1.77 meters. "You looked cold," she commented off-hand, her face returning to its usual mask of neutrality. "You're waiting up for Malfoy." It was not a question, so he did not feel the need to answer. Instead, he continued to stare at her. They were alone now, he absently noted, everyone else having gone off to bed. "I tried to sleep earlier, but had a nightmare about Death Eaters. I don't want to go back to sleep right away. I'll wait here with you, if you don't mind."
Teddy blinked, and only then noticed that Daphne was wearing her pajamas – Slytherin green satin, the top an elegant, long-sleeved button up, the drawstring pants swishing over her fluffy black slippered feet. Her nipples proudly stood out against the fabric; she obviously wasn't wearing a bra. Teddy swallowed and turned his face to his knees, banishing the memory of the feel and taste of those lush breasts of hers from his thoughts. "Do whatever you want. You always do."
She sat next to him on the couch, scrunching her legs under her and to the side. Reaching out, she captured a bit of the blanket that lay across him and pulled it over her lap as well. They sat in silence for the longest time, and the tension was thick enough to wade through. Finally, Teddy sighed. "What do you really want, Daph?" he asked, forlorn, tired of this cat-and-mouse swatting back and forth between them. He turned his head and stared her down. "What the hell have I done to get you to be so persistently after me lately? Did I insult you or something?" He ran a hand through his bangs, pushing them off his face. "Can't you just let it go, whatever it is?"
She studied him for several heartbeats before replying. "No, I can't. Not this time."
He clenched his teeth in annoyance and started to get up. Daphne moved fast and with such strength, that he was completely taken off guard. He was suddenly shoved back against the arm of the couch, and she was leaning against him, her breasts crushed to his ribs. She stared up at him, her chest heaving in indignation, her eyes intensely locked on his. "Listen to me, Theo, and listen good," she commanded, clearly angry, holding onto his wrist hard in her smaller hand. "I've put up with your mistreatment of me for too long, and over something that wasn't my fault. Two years ago, with Toby… He came to my room to blackmail me. I didn't invite him there. I swear to you, I didn't want him to touch me!"
Teddy's sanity returned in a flash and he sneered down at her. "Oh, yeah? Well, what'd he have on you, Daph? That you enjoy playing with men, like we're no better than sex toys? No big news there."
She stared at him incredulously her grip on his arm loosening. In growing anger, she hauled back and slapped him, and then she attempted to make her escape. Teddy grabbed her roughly, however, preventing her flight. He pushed her down into the couch, laying his heavier bulk across her, pinning her wrists to the cushions. "That's the second time you've hit me," he reminded her coldly, keeping his ire in check just barely. "I let you get away with it once in Fifth Year when we broke up, but not this time."
Daphne stared hatefully up at him. "What are you going to do, hit me back?"
Teddy's body had somehow found its way in between her thighs, and his pelvis was currently resting against hers. He was suddenly very aware of her lithe form under his, and memories of their times in bed together so long ago sprang forth into his mind, making him instantly hard. She'd been his first, and he'd thought he'd loved her once upon a time… He shifted unconsciously, and Daphne's eyes widened in part fear, part awakening desire.
"You want me," he stated in dawning understanding, his gaze lingering on her parted, rosy lips. "That's what you've been after. You want me back in your bed."
Daphne said nothing. She didn't need to. The blush that crawled across her pale features as she turned her head to the side suddenly with panicked eyes was very telling. He leaned his lips against her cheek, feeling his fury rising again at her audacity. If she thought she could use her feminine wiles to get him in another compromising position all in exchange for keeping the secret of his illness, she had another thing coming! "Do you want me to fuck you, Daphne?" he taunted, wanting to push her into admitting her duplicity. "You do, don't you? You want this…" He rubbed his erection against her slow, letting her feel every inch of him pressing against her core.
Closing her eyes in mortification, she did not struggle, merely lay under his power limply. "Don't do this," she whispered, her voice raspy and low. "Please, Theo, don't."
Teddy shook his head, angry with her for the games she'd been playing with him for years, feeling the old, familiar pain from her betrayal rise up and start shredding his chest wide open again. He wanted to hurt her as she'd hurt him – to break her as she'd almost broken him - so he let his cruel mouth run away from him for once. "What's wrong, babe, couldn't find a guy to take care of you this month? Have to come to the sick guy to get off? Or maybe this is all about the pity fuck?" He snarled. "Either way, I'm sure it's something a lying whore like you can sink her teeth into."
She turned her head back to him, furious. "Unless you intend on sexually assaulting me, I want you to get off, Theo. You're hurting me." Her tone was a low, livid hiss, but her eyes were deep pools of pain. Shocked by the naked, raw emotions reflecting in her gaze and by her staggering words, Teddy loosened his grip enough for her to shove him off. On shaky legs, Daphne pulled herself up quickly, righting her pajama top as she moved off towards the girl's dormitory entrance swiftly. As she reached the stairs, she stopped and turned back to him, hot, salty tears pouring down her cheeks. "Congratulations, Theo. You've finally convinced me that you never really knew me at all, and that you're more like Toby than I ever imagined you could be." With a toss of her long, blonde hair, she hurried away.
Teddy sat back on the couch, wholly stunned.
More like Toby… What the hell did that mean? What the hell had actually happened between her and Lennox anyway?
He thought back on what had transpired the day he'd confronted her about her affair. She'd just stared at him, first in horror, then anger, and then in cold resignation. She hadn't argued his accusations once (aside from the nasty slap she'd given him after he'd viciously asked if she'd enjoyed sucking Ravenclaw's heartthrob off); she'd merely turned on her heel and walked away as he'd shouted to her that he was through with her "cheating, bitch self!" Now he looked at that incident and saw potential possibilities that hadn't been there before.
Had Toby done something to her that day in her room – something sexual she hadn't wanted? Had he forced himself on her? If so, why hadn't she said anything at the time? Or hell, after? It had been years; you'd think she'd have said something by now if she'd been hurt in that way. Or was this just another manipulation meant to cause him to have these sorts of doubts, to throw him off? She was Slytherin, after all. What could he trust?
Running a hand through his long bangs, Teddy closed his eyes in mounting frustration. If she hadn't been lying… all these years… all the hateful things he'd said to her… just now, what he'd done…
Gods, what was the truth?
He sat up until four in the morning agonizing through all probable scenarios in his head, making himself physically ill. This was not just his disease causing him to be so sick, he knew, trying to quell his shaking limbs. No, this was also doubt. And regret. The glaze of sharp pain in Daphne's eyes as he'd leaned over her so menacingly… the tears that shimmered in her haunted gaze as she'd turned back with her parting shot… they hurt to think about now.
What had he done? What had they done to each other these last two years? And why?
The only way to know definitively was to either get Daphne to tell him directly, which she didn't seem inclined to do, or to go to the next best person who might know: Astoria.
With an exhausted sigh and a course of action set in his mind, Teddy picked up the blanket his ex- had brought down for him and dragged himself up to his bed, realizing that Drake wasn't coming home tonight. Shucking his clothing, he crawled under his blankets and drew Daphne's over him, smelling her familiar perfume all over the soft fabric. With guilt about his treatment of her, and worry for Drake both gnawing away at him, he fell into a restless sleep. Unfortunately, he forgot to set his wand to buzz and wake him, so he slept until almost noon – missing his first class of the day, and the news of Draco's father's death.
CHAPTER NINETEEN: JE T'AIME, ADIEU
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies & Injuries, London, England
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland
Monday, November 24, 1997
By itself, Lucius' private hospital suite smelled entirely too sterile, and the walls were blaringly too white to be completely relaxing, in Draco's opinion. However, when combined with the serene, deep blue upholstered fabric chairs positioned on either side of the full-sized bed, and with the forest green cotton blankets covering the ailing form lying prone in the middle of the mattress, and with a Calm-Inducing spell that had been permanently cast on the room to sooth nerves, the effect was an odd sang-froid serenity that the Malfoy heir (and soon to be Lord) had never experienced before, but found himself unwittingly caught up within.
He knew it was entirely intentional, too. The collective visual and magical stimulation was meant to keep both patients and visitors alike from acting out the typical, hysterical chaos surrounding a shared bereavement, and to create an artificial environment in which there could be rational, gentle, hushed last discussions between loved ones. And it worked like… well, like a charm, to borrow the quaint Muggle phrase. For, as intended, it gave Lucius and Draco the opportunity to finally have the talk they'd so desperately needed to clear the air between them. That single hour spent together was the most honest and open father and son had ever been with each other, and Draco thought it tragically painful that it had taken something as drastic as his sire's inevitable doom for them to finally reconcile.
Through tears, they'd each forgiven the other for a lifetime of slights and misunderstandings and disappointed expectations. Then, through wistful smiles, there were sincere praises - Lucius' confessed pride in having a son so magically and physically strong, so handsome, and so fiercely loyal to his loved ones; Draco pronounced open admiration for having a father so commanding, formidable, constant and faithful to his wife and only child. It wasn't ego-stroking. It was simply the truth, for once.
When that was out of the way, there came the prompted casual questions of the son's future. Draco explained how, after graduation, he'd decided to abandon his previous preference for trying for a spot on one of the National Quidditch teams, and instead would take his grandmother's inheritance and invest his capital in the foreign spice, magical plant and herb trade, which was emerging as one of the biggest wizarding industries in recent days (rare potion ingredients had been discovered on forgotten islands in the Pacific, and in the deepest jungles of the Congo and the Amazon earlier this year, which was setting off a boom of applications to Gringotts for business and expedition loans). His ambition was to use the profits generated from such ventures to rebuild the Malfoy fortune single-handedly (which had taken a major hit after Lucius' incarceration in Azkaban and the excessive fine they'd had to pay as part of the deal for his unconditional release). His father seemed extremely pleased with these goals, and encouraged them.
Conversation then turned naturally to future family affairs, and Draco felt no need to withhold any truths. He told his father about how he'd fallen in love with a good woman already (and she with him), and that although she didn't come from a Pureblood background, that she was still the most magically powerful witch of their age, a war heroine of distinction, a scholar of great intelligence, a beauty in her own right, and a woman with very powerful connections. She would bring even greater glory and respect to the family name, he'd boasted, feeling pride in his Hermione. It hadn't taken much more than that for both Lucius and Narcissa to guess Granger's identity, and although his father's blood prejudice had not dimmed, even in the face of the Reaper's lowering scythe, he had seen Draco was truly happy when he spoke of his girl, and so near the very end, his father had even given his blessing.
As the hour came to a close, the last and only promise required of Draco was to protect his mother, which he unhesitatingly swore to do on his wizard's power and his life. He would not rest until Bella and the other Death Eaters no longer posed any kind of threat to his family.
Satisfied, the rapidly aging Lucius turned to his wife then, and Draco moved over to the window, looking out over the rainy London streets in distraction, giving his parents their private space.
It occurred to him in an odd contemplative moment that the Muggles hurrying to and fro below, with their wide umbrellas and dull, serious slickers, were completely oblivious of this magical center for healing right under their very noses. It was a sobering realization that he was, for all intents and purposes, invisible to the vast majority of people on the planet. To the non-magical, he was truly a non-entity; a shadow that they could never know or see, except when he wanted them to. And when he died, as his father was about to, it would be as if neither of them had even existed at all - at least, not to those people below. From their perspective, he and every other wizard and witch on the planet weren't just part of the nameless masses, but beings as ethereal as angels, with the powers of gods.
An hour later, Lucius' pain became unbearable, and the quaking in his limbs uncontrollable. He asked his wife to call for the doctor, and after a whispered conversation with the Medi-Wizard, the doctor sighed resignedly and nodded, and left the room hurriedly. He returned a few minutes later, pressed a small, black vial into Lucius's hand and said his goodbyes respectfully, retreating out the door. Draco returned to his father's side and took his sire's weakened, fragile hand in his, passing on what little warmth he could.
After self-administering the extremely potent sleeping draught that would take his pain away permanently, the Malfoy sire made a final benediction, wishing his son a life of good fortune and great affection, and then had turned his gaze to his wife, thanking her for ever being at his side, whispering his love to her in his native French. He expired his last, shuddering breath half a minute later, at 5:07 a.m., his eyes fluttering closed and Draco thought he'd never seen his father more relaxed than in that moment.
Narcissa's sobs were loud in the room, as she gathered the limp, skeletal fingers of her husband to her cheek and cradled it, rocking back and forth in infinite sorrow. Letting go of his hold on Lucius' shrunken, permanently stilled flesh, Draco moved to her side, and wrapped his arms about her bird-thin frame. It took almost an hour before she would let go of his father's cooling limb, and allow herself to be led out of the room, however. Dumbledore immediately greeted them when he opened the door, and he took Narcissa in his grandfatherly arms with words of deep sympathy and consolation and herded her off towards the lobby to sit.
Before he closed the door for the last time, Draco looked back, staring down at the aged, liver spotted features of his father's wrinkled, leathery, lined face – a countenance that had been so proud and handsome just yesterday - and felt a devastating, hollow ache in his chest. He did not cry, however, reminding himself that there would be time for that later… when Bella and the others lay dead at his feet.
He shut the door and leaned his head back against the wood, completely ignoring the two green-cloaked Aurors who stood at attention across the way. There were plans to make now. He swallowed the lump in his throat, knowing what had to be first.
He regretted lying to his father about making Granger his wife someday, but he knew the score: as long as Bella and the others were on the loose, no one who'd fought in the war on the winning side was safe. Being Potter's best friend and directly responsible for Voldemort's ultimate defeat was sure to put Hermione on the short list of who was next to target, and he had to protect her, no matter the cost.
Strangely, he felt absolutely no remorse whatsoever with the idea of killing again. No, the only pang of regret he felt was in having to set Hermione free. He didn't want her waiting around for him to return, knowing it could take years to track all of the Death Eaters down. And even if he succeeded and wasn't killed in the process, he'd either be tossed into Azkaban for life when it was over (in which case, he wouldn't want her wasting her life hanging around a prison), or he'd be given the Dementor's Kiss (if those fuckers were coerced into going back to their previously abandoned posts, that was). He wouldn't want her to witness his execution.
Could he do it, though? Could he willingly tell her 'adieu'?
He shut his eyes in pain and clenched his jaw at the thought of that confrontation. The imagining hurt until he was almost suffocated by the grief.
Gods above forgive him for his selfishness, but he didn't want to let her go!
X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
Hermione awoke with a start, feeling ice clench her heart. She sat forward on the lip of the russet-colored couch and gripped the area above her heart, trying to calm its racing and restore a more even breathing rhythm.
Had that just been a dream? It had felt so real.
The vision of Draco looking down upon his father's dead, empty face had brought with it sadness so profound that it gripped and shook her very soul. I'm sorry, he'd said to her then, looking into her gaze earnestly, his beautiful wintery orbs tinged with sincere regret.
Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the Sandkeeper that sat on the large fireplace mantle. It read 6:10 a.m. She wondered if Lucius was gone yet, and how Draco was feeling.
Looking to her left, she expected to find Harry fast asleep, but he was gone. She touched the spot where he had previously been, and panicked. When had he gotten up? If he'd just gone to the loo, the cushion wouldn't be so cold to the touch. He obviously hadn't been there in a long while. But why would he just abandon her during such a time? Standing up hurriedly, she roused Ron and Ginny. "Wake up, you guys," she whispered, not wanting to disturb Neville, who had fallen asleep in the cozy chair he'd been reclining in earlier; Trevor was nowhere to be seen or heard. "Ron, Ginny, get up!" She was more forceful than she wanted to be, but only managed to get Ginny to open her eyes. Her ex- however, simply smacked his lips together, groaned and collapsed down onto the spot she'd recently vacated, curling up and snoring again immediately. "Honestly!" she huffed, annoyed. "Ginny, have you seen Harry?"
That managed to immediately stir her friend into full consciousness. "Harry? Huh?"
"He's not here," Hermione explained. "And from how cold his seat was next to me, I think he left a long time ago, during the middle of the night."
Ginny rubbed her sandbagged eyes and stood on wobbly legs, obviously exhausted. She was sure her best girlfriend hadn't slept well crouched down as she had been in the sofa, her neck at an odd angle. "Maybe he went up to his bed?"
Fortunately, the boys side of the dormitory was not enchanted to keep the female gender out (as it was for the girl's side to keep the male gender away), so she and Ginny hauled up the stairs and turned left at the 'v' towards Harry's room. They threw open the door to see Seamus and Dean fast asleep in their beds, but the other three lofts – Harry's, Ron's and Neville's – were all empty. None of them looked slept in either. The girls crept back out and headed for Hermione's room.
"Where would he have gone, though?" her red-headed friend asked, chewing her bottom lip in worry now. "You don't think he went to the hospital, do you?"
Hermione nodded. "I think that's exactly where he's gone. Didn't you notice that his broom was missing against the wall?"
Ginny's rust-colored eyebrows raised in surprise. "No, I didn't. If he flew to London, that's a four hour trip from here, right?"
Hermione shrugged. "It took us a little longer to get there by Thestral that one time, so maybe two and a half only by broom, if he put on speed." She stopped in front of Ginny's door. "In any case, I'm going to Draco and I want you to come with." She gripped her heart. "Something's really wrong with him. I can feel it." She looked at her friend, growing fear etched upon her face. "I think he plans to do something terrible – like hunt down those responsible for his father's death. I'm not sure how I know that. I just do."
Ginny stared at her and nodded. "Like with Teddy that time he tried to kill himself. You just knew."
Hermione gasped, realizing she had the solution to their problems right under her fingertips. "Oh, gods, I totally forgot! The Time-Turner!" She reached into her blouse and pulled it out excitedly, hope flaring in her heart. To her immediate disappointment, however, the item remained cool to the touch, not reacting to this situation as it had during Teddy's emergency, or even that morning Draco had come to her room and they'd almost had sex the first time. She frowned. "That's weird. It's not doing anything. Usually, it warms if there's a situation requiring its use."
Ginny's eyes bugged out of her head. "Where did you get that?" she asked, pointing at the pendant necklace, recognizing it instantly from their time in the Department of Mysteries, when they'd accidentally destroyed the entire supply of like devices.
Hermione put the necklace back under her shirt (its chain lying across the Snitch necklace) and rushed Ginny into her room. "Go change. Meet me at the Headmaster's Tower entrance in twenty minutes." She hurried away, back down the stairs, passed by Ron and Neville – both of whom were still out cold, crossed through the Fat Lady's portrait and scurried off to her own room. Quickly throwing her dirties into her laundry chute, she washed up fast in the bathroom, brushed her teeth, ran a comb through her unmanageable hair (and finally ended up putting it into a ponytail), and tossed on some clean Muggle clothes (black jeans, a knit jumper, socks and her trainers). Grabbing her coat, just in case, and her wand, she made her way up to Dumbledore's stairwell, determined to stop Draco from making a terrible mistake.
X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
Draco's mother was in a side lobby, being comforted by the Headmaster when he stepped out to get her some water. As he waited for the nurse at the nearby station to get him a glass, he felt a firm grip on his shoulder and whirled about in surprise, hand on his wand tight.
"It's me," Harry whispered and removed the Invisibility Cloak from around his shoulders, looking around to make sure no one saw his entrance.
Draco snarled and turned away. "What the fuck are you doing here, Potter?" he growled under his breath. "Get lost."
The other wizard was silent for a bit, so Draco looked out of the corner of his eye at him. Green, piercing eyes stared back at him somberly. "I'm sorry for your loss, Malfoy. I really am," he offered his sincere condolences. Draco was about to hex him all to hell for such pity when his next words stopped him cold. "And I know what you plan to do now. I want to help you go after them."
Before Draco could reply, the nurse's shoes could be heard clacking their way towards them. Potter immediately drew the cloak back over himself and then the lady turned the corner, water glass in hand. "Here you go," she offered, passing the cup to him.
He mumbled his thanks and walked back to his mother. She was seated in the small waiting alcove on a comfortable looking blue corduroy couch, hunched into her old Headmaster's shoulder and quietly crying. He knelt down beside her and passed her the water, all the while thinking about Potter's offer. It's not like he hated Harry anymore; quite the opposite. They'd worked together during the war, and the guy had even helped clear his name to the Wizengamot (and as a result of the deal he'd made with the Ministry prior, so long as he'd gone free, his father's way out of Azkaban had been guaranteed). And throughout his relationship with Hermione, Draco had come to slowly consider Potter as something better than an acquaintance. If the guy was truly offering to help, he'd be a powerful ally, he knew.
"Drink it all, mother," he directed. As she did as bade, he turned to the Headmaster. "I want to take her home now, if you don't mind. And I'd like to stay with her while we make… preparations. A few weeks. I'll make up my class work over winter break."
He didn't look his Professor in the eye and carefully concealed his plans in his mind behind that gray wall of fog he'd been taught by, ironically enough, his loony aunt, just in case the old wizard attempted Legilimency on him. He plastered a neutral expression on his features as well, not wanting to give his emotions away. Still, he could feel Dumbledore stare into his very soul, and he flushed, the heat rising under his cheeks unbidden.
"Perhaps I should accompany you," the Headmaster offered.
"I'll go with Malfoy, Professor," Potter stated, suddenly appearing to Draco's right. He put a friendly arm on the blond's shoulder. "I don't think the Ministry would mind, given the situation. Besides, the other students will need you now more than ever. And I can make up my school work during the break, too."
Dumbledore's blue gaze snagged Harry, but Potter simply stared back, completely at ease, seemingly as innocent of intent as a virgin. After long minutes, the Headmaster nodded. "I'll contact the Order and the Minister of the change in plans, of course." He turned his full attention on Draco. "I leave you in the care of Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy. I expect you'll be good enough to check in should you require assistance – with any arrangements, that is. Oh, and I'd like you to return to Hogwarts as soon as your… business… is concluded. We'll have much to discuss about any… make-up work."
He knew. The old man was no idiot. But he also realized that at seventeen, Draco was of legal adult age in the wizarding world now – as was Potter - and as such, they both could drop out of school anytime they wished. Dumbledore could not hold him, specifically, on anything aside from the Ministry's terms of his probation - which it sounded as if he intended on getting revoked by Shacklebolt himself. The Headmaster apparently approved of his plans, and had even slyly offered the Order of Phoenix's help – help Draco would not turn away.
In an unusual show of great respect, he stood and executed a formal bow at the waist to his maestro with sincere gratitude. "I give you my word, sir."
Dumbledore sighed heavily, suddenly looking very much his long years – however old he actually was, and nodded to them. "Good luck to you, then." With that, he turned back to Narcissa and whispered his repeated offer to call upon him should she need anything. Graciously, Draco's mother thanked the Headmaster for his kindness and for being here for both she and her family, and promised to owl him should there be need. Finally, seeing no further want for his presence, the Headmaster stood and made his way out of the lobby and down the hall, towards the stairwell.
X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
Hermione and Ginny whispered the name of every candy they knew, and finally it was "opal fruit" that did the trick, opening the Headmaster's stairs for them (apparently, their Professor liked Muggle sweets as well!). They rode to the top, then snuck into the main office and looked about. The portraits of the old Headmasters and Headmistresses were snoring away; not a one seemed to be awake at this hour. Creeping as quietly and stealthily as they could towards the very back of the office, to the fireplace set into the wall in the small corridor behind the Headmaster's desk, they made their way. As they passed Fawkes' empty perch, Ginny accidentally nudged it, causing it to almost tip over. It was only the girl's quick Quidditch reflexes that allowed her to catch the metal rim and right the roost without disturbing the portraits.
They took the short steps down once they cleared the Headmaster's desk, and prepared themselves, each grabbing a handful of the green powder from the kettle set against the wall. Hermione went first. She stepped into the hearth, called out "St. Mungo's Hospital" and threw the powder down. With a woosh and a pulling sensation, she landed in the front lobby of the health service, near the emergency ward, stepping out of the newly connected Floo Network portal. Ginny was half a minute behind her, appearing in a flash of brilliant emerald.
The nurse's station was only a few steps away, so Hermione approached and requested the floor and room location for Lucius Malfoy. Concerned with her patient's privacy and rights, she asked Hermione and Ginny's relationship to the attended. Crossing her fingers behind her back, Hermione stated that she was his daughter-in-law, and Ginny his niece. Raising a doubting eyebrow, the practitioner reluctantly told them that the Mr. Malfoy had been given a private suite on the Fourth Floor, where unliftable jinxes and hexes were handled.
Hurrying away, the girls dashed down the corridor, only to have the nurse holler at them to walk, not run. Hermione took the stairs at the end two at a time, huffing and puffing with serious effort by the time she'd gotten to the second level, not used to the physical exertion of climbing; Ginny was doing far better, given her Quidditch endurance training. When they got to the Third Floor, they ran into the Headmaster coming down. Out of breath and with a racing heart, Hermione hunched over and put her head between her knees to keep herself from blacking out, while Ginny explained their presence at the hospital to their teacher. After the longest-winded excuse in history (thus giving Hermione time to recover, so she could throw in her two cents at the end), Dumbledore gave them both a reproving gaze, and merely cleared his throat. The two girls remained silent as the Headmaster considered them.
Her nerves strung out, Hermione reached into her shirt and pulled out the Time-Turner. "Professor, couldn't we possibly…?"
Narrowed, sapphire eyes stared long and hard at the magical device around her neck. Clearly intrigued by the idea, Dumbledore reached out an old, lined hand and let his fingers caress the hourglass portion tentatively, but, with a deep sigh, he immediately shook his head. Whatever previous hope Hermione had harbored was suddenly dashed. "It will let you to know when its use is necessary," he explained sadly. "Now appears not to be the right time."
Hermione knew this was true from experience, as all through her third-year, the Time-Turner would give off heat and a sort of strange buzzy feeling in her head to let her know to use it (the insistent 'calling' of the item, coupled with her increased work load and all of the stresses she was dealing with that year with Harry and Ron is what drove her mad, and made her turn the item back in to McGonagall finally). But this time, it had been completely different. The device had remained silent for most of the school year. In fact, it hadn't gone off at all except to alert her to Teddy's suicide and the morning she and Draco had been alone in her room. Unlike with Teddy's situation, however, she'd ignored its 'call' that last time. Had that screwed things up?
She asked the Professor this exact question, letting him know the circumstances of her use of the Time-Turner this year (minus, of course, the details surrounding what she and Draco had actually been doing on her bed when the mysterious stranger had come knocking on her door). A bushy, white eyebrow raised in concern. "When was that exactly?" he asked.
She blushed, trying not to let her thoughts become visual images that projected outwards. "A few weeks ago. Early November. The sixth, I believe." She lifted the heavy, gold ornament and read the inscription around the two hollow circles again. "It's been cold ever since, though. I wonder if it isn't broken or something."
"No Time-Turner has ever malfunctioned before," her teacher murmured, but his scrunched face and eyes said he was seriously considering the possibility. He blinked and his face cleared immediately. "In any case, Miss Granger, I believe you were on your way up to see Mr. Malfoy." He put a steadying hand on her shoulder and gave her a somber stare. "His father has just recently passed, so he and his mother might not be in the most congenial mood for your visit. I hope you will find it in you to forgive them for any… hurtful words. It will be the grief talking." He smiled reassuringly at her. "They both have need of your Gryffindor strength and devotion now."
Hermione nodded in understanding, her worst fears confirmed. Lucius Malfoy had died before dawn, just as Snape had pronounced. Her heart ached for her love.
Dumbledore turned to Ginny next. "Oh, and Mr. Potter is here as well. I believe you were looking for him as well?" It was phrased as a question, but was obviously a statement of knowledge, as verified by the shrewd glance and significant smile he threw the little redhead. Ginny had the grace to blush. "Well then, I must be off," he commented casually, heading past them down the stairs. After a few steps down, he stopped and turned, looking up at both girls. "Oh, and although I know you to still be underage, Miss Weasley, I believe Miss Granger will take full responsibility for you and assure your immediate return to the castle." He made it clear they were not to be pussying around. "By floo, to my office."
Oh, foot! Hermione thought. He wasn't going to let it slide that they'd broken school rules to come here. She swallowed and nodded, seeing Ginny do similarly beside her.
Their teacher continued on his way down, carefully lifting the hem of his long wizard's robe as he stepped so as not to trip on it. Hermione and Ginny turned and continued bolting up the next flight of stairs to the fourth level. Pulling open the door, they spied the two Aurors standing guard across the hall from a closed door and knew it was Lucius Malfoy's private suite.
Hermione turned to ask one of the Aurors if it would be appropriate for her to check on the Malfoy family, when a hand landed on his arm and stopped her. She turned to find a sober Harry staring at her. "Harry!" Ginny squealed and threw herself into her boyfriend's arms. "You worried me, you dolt!" He hugged the little redhead tightly to him, but gave Hermione a serious look over her shoulder and shook his head. Then, he indicated with a nudge of his chin where she could find Draco, further down the hall. She nodded in thanks and headed where indicated. She got three steps past her friends before she stopped.
Draco stood outside the entry way of the floor's small lobby, staring at her. His eyes were flat, detached, his jaw set, his exhausted face devoid of emotion. Her feet moved without thought, her body drawn to him. When she was but a few steps away, she stopped, staring up at his impassive features, swallowing back her trepidation. "I know you didn't want me coming, but…" she hurriedly told him, not wanting to upset him further, feeling her heart pounding a mile a minute. "Won't you let me…? Draco, please let me be here for you.""
His mask cracked, his eyes bleeding with pain and something akin to relief. He closed the distance between them in one stride and drew her into his fierce embrace. "I love you," he professed in a choked voice. "I love you more than the world, Hermione." He kissed her deeply. When he pulled back and put his forehead to hers, she felt the spark in her soul that said they'd just reached one of those relationship crossroads that decided something important between them long-term and that it had been a good change.
Cupping her cheek, he gazed into her eyes, holding back his tears by the narrowest of narrows. "Come with me back to the Manor. Be with me this week."
Pulling all her courage up, Hermione nodded, holding the man she loved as close to her as physically possible. She would be Draco's shelter and his strength now, and she would help him to do the most difficult thing a person could ever do: say goodbye to a loved one.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
- Baron of Swindon = Swindon is a borough in Wiltshire, where Malfoy Manor is located. This Baroncy doesn't really exist (I made it up). And yes, I'm directly inferring that The Bloody Baron is related to the Malfoy family lineage for the sake of this fic.
- Je t'aime, Adieu = French for "I Love You, Goodbye" (the hyphenated version of Je tu aime, literally translated as "I You Love"). Adieu (A Dieu when broken down into its components) means 'To God' literally, and is a forever farewell, in contrast to Au Revoir which means "To See Again." The choice of terms is intentional in this case.
I would like to apologize for taking a little longer than expected to put this set of chapters out. I have to admit that Chapter 19, in particular, was hard for me to write, as I recently had to bury my elderly father (who died in a hospital bed earlier last year… which is what kicked off my desire to play around on the internet instead of doing work initially, and with my daughter's repeated urging, led to me discovering this website – ironic, really). Reliving the memories of my da's passing – in an effort to correctly convey what was happening to Lucius in Chapter 19 - was really, truly emotionally challenging. There were days I couldn't stand to look at this story, and it sat untouched for at least two of them as a result.
MUCHO, MUCHO GRACIAS to UNSEENLIBRARIAN for her brilliant counsel! UL, your well-conceived point-counter point advice on the merits of the plot's ultimate direction made me realize that a writer's job is to tell the story as it was meant to be written, and not to bow to the whims of one's own personal need for comfort and safety. I owe you, my dear, for renewing my flagging spirits with your kind encouragement and for keeping my story crafting honest.
Additionally, THANK YOU READERS for your continued support and kind reviews. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this newest set of chapters, so if you have the desire and the time, please do feel free to let me know whether you like what you've read or not. I take all comments to heart.