Disclaimer: Recognizable characters, magic, etc. belong to JK Rowling. No money being made, I write to learn.
Chapter 5: Draco's Story
Early morning found me in my bed, staring at the flecks in the ceiling, thinking.
I was nervous, flattered, excited and suspicious all at once. I could accept that there was some inexplicable attraction between us, at least on my end. Yet, I still couldn't completely wrap my brain around the concept of Malfoy having genuine interest in me.
It was so hard to let go of all the things Malfoy had put me through — so hard that I had almost sent him a cancellation letter more than once during the night. In the end, my curiosity won. I was somehow confident that Malfoy didn't have it in him to cause me fatal harm, not after all his family had gone through to re-establish their place in society. I didn't think he was above much else though.
I'd have to be on my guard, just in case.
I got out of bed and went straight to my window to draw the shades. As my luck would have it, the sky was gray and a few droplets of rain had already begun to dot the windowpane. The sky rumbled. In the distance, I could see trees bowing to the heavy wind and black storm clouds drifting closer.
Luckily, I didn't believe in Omens.
I continued to stare, unseeing, out the window. It wouldn't do any good to fret all day. I'd already decided I was much too curious to cancel. I exhaled sharply. At the very least, this should be interesting.
The rain picked up and the droplets turned into rivulets that obscured my view of the sky. I hurried into the kitchen and grabbed my Owl post from the tray outside of the window over the sink before they got soaking wet. Ink was impossible to read on wet parchment.
I put on a pot of Earl Grey and began going through the stack of post.
Most of the letters were nothing of importance, advertisements of some sort and the Daily Prophet. I suppose I had been lucky, Malfoy and I had managed not to make the front page, the missing women were still more important. With permission of the family, the Aurors were keeping their murders quiet, only reporting to the papers that they were missing.
My invitation to the Ministry-sponsored Ball had come … I quickly shoved it to the back of the pile. I didn't want to think about that one unless it was absolutely critical.
There was one last plain envelope with only my name on it. I turned it over; the crest in the wax seal wasn't familiar, but I had an idea who it was from. However, I didn't know why he would be writing to me. Maybe he was canceling? Perhaps he'd come to his senses, or perhaps he and his little posse were having a nice laugh.
With my tea, post, and curiousity in hand, I hurried over to the table to read my unfamiliar post. I quickly opened it and although I had never seen the small, even print, the first two words on the expensive parchment left no doubt as to whom it was from.
Dearest Granger,
My apologies for the last minute change, but I would like to move things to a more private venue. Again, I understand if you can't. I will leave the Floo connection open for you. I've also enclosed my address for your Floo destination. I hope to see you tonight at seven.
Sincerely,
Draco Malfoy
His house?
Very lucky I didn't believe in Omens, because they were beginning to pile up..
Why in the world? Was he ashamed to be seen in public with me because I was Muggle-born? No, that would be ridiculous; if that were the case, he wouldn't even bother with me in the first place. If he wished to harm me, taking me to a secluded, unknown spot would be more ideal. While I was glad to be out of the public eye, there was something about being alone with Malfoy on his private property that made the back of my neck itch.
I read the note through once more and realized he hadn't given me his address. I turned the parchment over. Nothing. I checked inside the envelope, and there was a small square piece of parchment with his address written in the same even print.
Number 1
Private Road 6
South Chippenhamshire, Wiltshire
So, this was Malfoy's private residence. If he meant me harm, he certainly wouldn't provide written evidence would he? I dearly hoped so.
***
A delicately cut, violet-colored dress was what I had decided to wear. I only needed my pair of pearl earrings that I'd let Ginny borrow months before.
I'd rehearsed my story in the mirror three times. It didn't matter because Ginny could smell a lie a mile away and once she caught the scent, she was relentless.
On my knees in front of the fireplace, I tossed half a handful of Floo powder into the flames and stuck my head through. I was immediately relieved to see Ginny no where in sight, but Harry on the sofa, poring over a stack of parchment.
He jumped when I spoke because he hadn't noticed me come through. "All right, Harry? Ginny here?"
"Hermione … I'm glad you stopped by. No, she's out with Molly, but I need you to come over ... have a look at this, tell me what you think. Based on what we were able to come up with in the Minister's office, I've compiled a list of suspects that …."
"Hang on, I'm coming through."
I came through and Harry handed me the list. He ignored that I was barefoot and in pyjama bottoms at three in the afternoon.
He'd made a list of about seven names. Most of the names I recognized, one of them stood out.
"I understand the majority of these," I said, "I might even understand Millicent Bulstrode, if you explained it to me. But Lavender?"
"It started out as list of all pureblood witches in the age bracket and then just sort of morphed into a suspect list. Lavender was originally on here because of the age, but I saw her in Diagon Alley the other day and she was really acting strange. She kept asking me about the missing women." He shook his head. "I can't rule her out yet because she is pureblood and unmarried."
Yes, it was odd, but I didn't think enough to make a suspect list, but then again, I wasn't the Auror. I read through it again. "So, you think it's a pureblood?"
"That's what makes the most sense. Who else would want to murder Muggle-borns? That's what it's always been about, yeah? Pure-blood versus everyone else."
I glanced at Harry. "That a pretty extreme take on it."
"It's the truth."
We were quiet for a few moments staring at the parchment on the table between us, but not really seeing it. At least, I wasn't. What Harry had said was sad but true. For all the progress the magical community had made towards equality, the root of the hate was still buried deep into the fiber of our being.
Harry pushed his glasses up and turned to me. "So, what do you think?"
***
I'd managed to leave Harry's house with my earrings and without interrogation. Good for me.
By six thirty, I was dressed with time to spare. The soft violet dress I wore had very short, capped sleeves. The neckline dipped just enough to make me nervous. The dress had a cinched waist, a slightly fitted skirt and fell down to just past my knees. I wore comfortable peep-toe pumps and brought a white cardigan, just in case.
Thanks to Sleakeazy, my normally unruly hair was more tame than usual and fell in manageable waves down my back. It still couldn't stop the occasional renegade curl from escaping every now and then, though.
I'd felt the frenzied fluttering in my belly crescendo the closer seven o'clock came. I was anxious because I had no idea how this evening would go. Usually, I could predict the flow of my dates with ease. With Malfoy, I had no idea what to expect. It made me feel completely out of sorts in exciting ways.
I'd memorized Malfoy's address on the off chance that something did happen and someone needed to find me. I'd left it on the kitchen table in plain sight. So, with one last shaky breath, I stepped into the fireplace.
I emerged cautiously from a blast of green flames. It felt disrespectful and odd to Floo directly into such an unfamiliar home. Behind me the fire hissed one final time and extinguished itself. I jumped and glanced behind me. Malfoy must have set it to close automatically after my arrival.
I do not believe in Omens.
The room I had Flooed into was spotless, but I somehow had the feeling it was one of the most occupied rooms of the home. Except for the area in front of the fireplace, the entire room was laid with thick, Slytherin-green carpeting that begged me to take off my shoes and sink my toes in deep. On the wall to my right, there were two paintings I recognized from a very famous wizard artist, Jacques St. Laurent. The open door on the same wall faced a dark hallway that I didn't care to venture into. The room looked to be a personal study or library.
Opposite me, the wall was angled like a trapezoid and covered, nearly from ceiling to floor, with shelves of books. Some were fat, old tomes, and others were as thin as pamphlets. My fingertips itched to run along their spines. I wanted to know just what kinds of books Malfoy kept in his personal collection.
In front of the book shelves, on a raised platform, was a large, wooden desk that, despite the shine, looked to be centuries old. The legs of it were short and stout and carved into intricate swirls. From where I stood, the only things that I could see on the desk were an uncapped jar of ink and a quill feather.
Below the platform, in front of me, was a brown leather sofa, a wooden coffee table that had the same antique carving as the desk, and two single Queen Anne chairs. On the table, I noticed a silver serving tray holding two flutes of white wine and a white folded card.
Curiously, I picked up the card. "I'll be here shortly," it said. "Have some wine while you wait. Draco."
Hesitantly, I picked up a wineglass. The note, the glass, the strange room; it felt like something out of Alice in Wonderland.
I briefly, but seriously, considered Disapparating on the spot and sending him a letter of apology. The only reason I stayed was because to my left, two French doors were open, leading out to a cobblestone veranda. The veranda was lit with soft white light. Out further, the only thing I could see was the expanse of Malfoy's property and a small forest of trees whose damp leaves glistened under the pinkish glow of the setting sun. The table was set with two covered dishes, a flickering candle, and a bucket of wine. It was an incredibly romantic setting for Malfoy and me.
"I was hoping you would show up." I jumped because his voice was close — so close that I could smell the light, fruitiness of wine on his breath and the mild smell of his cologne.
I turned and was nearly face to face with Malfoy. He took a step back and smiled lazily. He was dressed simply in a white button-down shirt and gray dress-pants. His short hair looked softer and straighter than corn silk.
I ignored my thundering heart. "Malfoy," I said casually, "I didn't hear you come in."
He shrugged. "It's the carpet. I didn't mean to scare you."
I shook my head. "Oh, no, you didn't."
He set his glass down and did a sort of sweeping motion with his hand. I set my glass down, too.
"This is my office. Of course, you already know I work as a dark artifacts Investigator," he said, shooting me a meaningful glance, "but I also help my father run his investment firm. Normally, this room would be wall-to-wall office work, but my parents are on holiday, so that means I am, too."
"Well, you seem to be a very busy man." It was true. I had no idea that Malfoy worked that hard. It would explain why I hardly ever saw him out.
He nodded, and his eyes glazed over a bit before he blinked. "Yes, a very busy man … hard to have time for anything else, really."
I felt my eye brows pull together in confusion, but he spoke before I could ask him what he meant. I didn't dwell. I had plenty of time for questions.
"Would you like to have a tour?" he asked, changing the subject.
This time, I smiled at him. "Yes, that would be nice."
***
Although Malfoy's home was no where near the massive, looming mansion that Malfoy Manor was, it was still quite large. I'd counted five bedrooms, four baths, and two drawing rooms aside from his office and the main sitting room.
Once the tour was finished, he led me back into the office. The air between us had warmed, and he seemed more relaxed, which helped to calm my nerves. He picked up his glass and drank half the contents in one draught.
"Well, Granger, I hope you're hungry, and if you're not, be polite and eat it anyway. I slaved all day over this meal," he said as he led me outside onto the patio.
"You slaved? More like some poor house-elf, I'm sure."
He smirked as he pulled a chair out that I assumed was for me and moved to pour two new flutes of white wine.
"You shouldn't be so sure of yourself, then. I don't have any elves," he said. He glanced at me, the smirk still on his lips.
He uncovered the dishes. It was beautifully arranged and salmon was the main entrée. I lifted one eyebrow.
"Are you saying that you prepared and cooked this meal?"
"I am insulted," he said. "I really am. Of course I cooked it. After Potter freed our elf, it was a few years before we got another. My family had to eat somehow; I guess I learned a thing or two from my mother. Also, I don't get the family elf until I have a family of my own."
By this time, he was seated in front of me, and I stared at him, surprised. I felt quite sheepish.
"Please forgive me for being so presumptuous, then. I—I apologize."
Malfoy chuckled and shook his head. "Think nothing of it. If I were you, I wouldn't believe it either."
He watched as I cut a small piece of salmon. I hadn't eaten much all day, and my mouth watered from the smell alone. That was a good sign.
I looked up at him when I bravely stuck the fork into my mouth. He looked as if he weren't breathing. I slowly chewed, really tasting it. Surprisingly, it was very good. Malfoy was a good cook.
I smiled at him, "Delicious."
"Of course," he said.
We ate for a few moments in silence, but it wasn't awkward or dreadful. It was very easy and almost … flirtatious. Every so often he would glance up at me and smile, his eyes dancing between my mouth and eyes.
His own pale gray eyes were still mesmerizing and many times threatened to pull me into a trance. I needed to get a grip on my self. No one should be so drawn in on a first date.
In an attempt to diffuse my attention, I asked him the first tentative question. "Malfoy, I was curious …"
"Naturally," he said.
"Lavender Brown. Are she and Blaise Zabini … dating?"
He smiled and waited until he had sipped from his glass before answering. "Blaise and Lavender have been dating for quite a while. They're actually engaged to be married this fall."
I blinked in surprise. "Really? Blaise and Lavender? I didn't even … I suppose I have been a little out of touch with my classmates, but…engaged? I hadn't heard."
"Yeah, don't feel bad. We were nearly as shocked as you are. They actually want to keep it as private as possible. Once the media gets wind of it, they're afraid there'll be nothing romantic about their wedding."
I stared into my plate, suddenly very shy about the next question, but I had to ask it.
"You and Daphne Greengrass — are you … together?"
The answer seemed obvious, considering that I was having dinner with him, but several seconds passed before he answered me. Fearing the worst, I looked up at him. His eyes were trained intently on me.
"No, Daphne and I are not together."
I nodded casually. "Oh, I was only asking because I saw you two together at — at the restaurant that weekend of the Quidditch games …."
"Daphne and I are just friends. Maybe even less than that. She's Pansy's best mate, and Pansy's with Greg, so when the six of us go out, I'm usually stuck with Daphne."
I, of all people, should understand the dynamic between male and female friendships. People had often tried to say that Harry and I had more than friendship between us for years.
I felt childish for having made Malfoy justify his own. I pictured him in that photograph from the magazine. The way he touched her could easily be taken two ways. Still, it gave me peace of mind to know for sure.
I took a deep breath, savoring the unique scent of freshly fallen rain.
We sat silently for a few more minutes. It was the middle of Spring, and even though I had on the cardigan I'd brought, I shivered. The night that was already cool from the earlier storm was beginning to cool even more.
I gazed out over the wide open quad again. I could see the shimmering tree-tops swaying with the light breeze.
"You have a very lovely home," I said.
"Thank you."
Malfoy noticed me shiver again and suggested we move inside. He grabbed the wine bottle and our two glasses and we went. He started a fire and sat down on the leather couch.
His look was inviting, but I felt too nervous to join him.
Inside was much warmer, and I removed my cardigan, laying it on the back of the sofa. I looked around the room and eyed the books again and the initial spark of interest reignited.
I drifted toward them. I was entirely aware of a set of gray eyes following my every step, and my skin tingled under his scrutiny. I moved cautiously, in case he objected to my curiosity.
I passed the desk, and my hand trailed along one smooth, polished edge. The first book I saw, at eye level was Wise Blood by William Faulkner. My head reflexively drew back on my neck; I was a little surprised that it was a Muggle novel but not completely. Not by this — other realm, Malfoy. I let my hand come up and float along the books. As I expected, a great portionof the books were by Muggle authors.
I suddenly felt him behind me, again very close. A pale hand reached around me, his sleeve brushed my shoulder, and I could smell his heady scent: very clean, mixed with the wine. He reached up and pulled out a dark, leather-bound book.
I turned to face him. I was sandwiched between him and the books. He didn't step back to offer space; he only handed me the book. It was Nietzsche.
"It's my favorite, right now," he said in a slow drawl.
I looked up at him, his cheeks were slightly flushed—I suspected from the wine—and his eyes were half lidded. He licked his lips, and I felt my insides heat up. I suddenly couldn't breathe.
I side-stepped him and placed the book on the desk as I passed. I filled my lungs with the fresh air of the open room.
"Granger, if you don't mind, I think you look very beautiful this evening," he said.
"Thank you," I said. I sat down on the sofa and tried not to fidget as he sat on the opposite end, his body turned to me. "And if you don't mind, I'd prefer if you called me Hermione."
He smirked. "I'll try, but I can't really make any promises," he replied with his head tilted in my direction.
I hated awkward silences. More than that, I hated when I didn't know what to say.
"Say, this may be a little late in the asking, but are you seeing anyone?" he asked suddenly.
Not likely, I wanted to say. "No," I said instead.
"I can't imagine why."
I said nothing. He licked his lips again, and my eyes were glued to the action. I had never wanted to kiss a man more in my life. It must be the wine and the warmth of the fire doing strange things to my mind. Before I lost all self control, I decided to get him talking.
"Mal—Draco, I was reading in, in a magazine that you give to charity. I was just wondering which one it was?"
He looked contemplative for a moment, and his eyes tightened in the corners. His expression was unexpected, but I waited silently for him to answer.
"Why?" he said finally. His voice was tight and defensive.
"I—I was only curious. I'm sorry. If you don't want to answer, you don't have to."
"No, it's fine." He relaxed a bit. "We mainly donate to two of them and a few others. My parents chose to donate money to Hogwarts and I chose the children's ward at St. Mungo's."
Interesting.
"Why did you choose them?" I asked.
He paused, and I could see his jaw clench. He got up and walked to stand in front of the fireplace. Slowly, without looking at me, he spoke.
"After the — the battle at Hogwarts, I was admitted to St. Mungo's burn unit. I got some — got burned from the fire in the Room of Requirement. Nothing too serious." He swallowed and spared me a brief glance.
I vividly remembered that night. Vincent Crabbe had used Fiendfyre and died by his own curse because he hadn't known the incantation to stop it. I remembered Harry saving Malfoy, but I didn't know he had been injured, too.
This story was apparently one that was troubling for him but, there was no way I could ask him to stop. I had to hear it.
"I was only in there for a couple of weeks," he said. "When I first woke up, I realized that I wasn't in there alone. There was one other girl. At first, I was upset. I wanted my own room. Better yet, I wanted to go home. But, then I saw her face, she was the prettiest girl I'd ever seen. She had these deep brown eyes …. She was still unconscious, but I waited for her for nearly a week to wake up. When she finally did, I guess she was really disoriented because she looked at me and said, 'Are you my Angel?' "
He scoffed, now looking into the fire. He still had not looked at me.
"She thought I was an Angel. We talked a lot over the next few days. She told me her sister had been killed. Someone sent a package to them claiming it was from an Aunt or something. The toy was cursed. It had burned her sister to ashes on the spot, and she had lost her left arm. Most of her left side was severely burned, skin gone, everything."
That last bit sounded incredibly familiar. I didn't know what it meant, but I tucked it away for later. I turned my attention back to him.
"At first," he was saying, "I couldn't figure out why someone would send them a cursed package. I'd automatically assumed she was pure-blooded simply because we shared a room. I'd thought maybe there was a wing secured for pure-bloods or something."
I sucked air in between my teeth, and he heard. He finally looked at me, and I could see sorrow in his eyes.
"It's stupid, I know," he said. "It's no excuse, but I really had a sheltered and naïve up-bringing, believe it or not. Anyway, the girl was Muggle-born. For the first time ever, I had been able to get to know someone for who they were rather than by any reputation or knowledge of their bloodline that preceded them. The anger I felt that anyone would harm such a beautiful, smart, nice girl before I knew she was Muggle-born was still there afterward. I realized what I truly felt. It wasn't diluted or persuaded, it was pure and crystal clear.
"When I woke up one morning, she was gone. The curse had finished her in her sleep. Cynthia was her name. I never knew her last name." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper on the last sentence.
"Draco, I am so sorry."
He looked at me again and smiled sadly. "It wasn't your fault. But, after that, I wanted to help more people like her, and well, St. Mungo's happened to be full of innocent children just like her. It's also why I decided to become an Investigator … no one could ever figure out who had sent it, only that it was some type of potion or something."
I was stunned. Could people really change this much? This man in front of me was nothing like I'd judged him to be. I felt shame for all the negative things I'd thought about him in the last twenty-four hours.
We remained quiet for several more minutes, each of us lost in thought. I suddenly realized I didn't know him at all, and more than ever, I wanted to know everything, every detail, about him.
"Have you ever — ever dated someone who wasn't pure-blood?" I asked.
He shook his head a half second before he answered. "No."
"Do you think you could? Seriously, I mean."
He came back to sit with me on the sofa, closer this time.
"Hermione, I didn't bring you here for some mission to redeem myself if that's what you're getting at. I was — am interested in you …"
"That isn't what I mean. It's just, your family, your friends. They can't all have had the same change of heart."
He considered this for a moment. I figured I knew what he was thinking. Blaise dating a former Gryffindor was one thing, but Lavender was still had pure-blood. Pansy's reaction to me was now clear. I knew that regardless of what outer images they projected, their beliefs were mostly ingrained.
And his parents. They would most certainly disinherit him at once.
"I am an adult wizard, Hermione. I make my own money, have my own home, and most importantly, I make my own decisions. I have for a long time."
I could hear the stress in his voice, so I didn't press it further. There was no point in ruining a perfect night with my pessimism or sense of reality, depending on how you viewed it.
I tried to think of something to say to lighten the mood, but all that I could think of was how much I liked Malfoy. And it was justified. His heart, his core, was better than I could have hoped, and still there was so much to know.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
I could feel his warm breath on my face. He was so close. I couldn't look at him. I feared that if I did, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from boldly doing something I'd regret later.
Instead I looked down into my lap.
"Hermione?" He hooked one finger beneath my chin and raised my face to his. His face was unreadable as he let his hand drop.
"Did I offend you?" he asked.
His face was now creased with genuine concern that I would have never thought Malfoy was capable of feeling for me. It seemed the effects of the fire and wine were manifesting in both of us.
"I apologize," he said. He was so close to me now, I could feel the space between us grow warmer by the second. He moved away and my breathing quickened as reflexively, uncontrollably I watched my hand lift and grab the collar of his expensive shirt.
I was pulling him back to me. Surprise flashed in his pale, silvery eyes for a split second before he realized what was happening.
My eyes fluttered closed the moment I experienced the exquisite feeling of his lips brushing mine. His scent filled my head, and I couldn't think. I could only taste the tangy-sweetness of his mouth, feel the velvety feel of his tongue. I felt my hand move from his collar to twine into his silky-smooth hair. I couldn't breathe, but I didn't want to stop.
With Herculean effort, I pulled my lips from his. We were both panting; my skin was on fire. His perfectly coifed hair was sticking out at odd angles, his pale skin and mouth flushed red. Slowly, a mischievous, lazy smile tugged at his mouth.
"Hermione," he breathed.
He kissed me, and I melted all over again.
Notes: Thanks to my beta, BookofSecrets. I made up the town Draco lives in. I spent about a week searching for a real, affluent place in Wiltshire I thought he could live but the town/village/city dynamic was confusing to me. Thanks for reading, your comments STILL encourage and help me!!
