Chapter Twenty-Three
"Nothing," Draco muttered under his breath. "I've got nothing." The hallways were dark, for the most part. The gas lamps on the walls were so old and covered in dust, they barely gave off any light whatsoever. "I never had anything." His footsteps were dull thuds on the carpet, the sound disseminating instantly, like tiny echoes. "How did she convince me I had a chance to begin with?"
Draco often talked to himself when he was alone – it was a part of growing up as an only child in a mansion big enough to house several regiments.
"I told her… I told her there was no use to fight it. Trust a Gryffindor to waste effort like that."
But even as the words slid off his tongue, he felt childish saying them. A Gryffindor? Was he really still that discriminate? Maybe. Old habits die hard, after all.
"Draco?"
The voice startled him greatly; His heart sped up at an enormous rate. On the outside, he was the mirror of collected calm. He turned slowly to face the speaker, already knowing who it was.
"What are you doing awake at this hour?" Dora inquired. She was still wearing her day clothes: A cream-colored dress, conservative but for the teal and gold trim, and complimented by a feminine, tweed jacket. "You, of all people, should be trying to get some sleep!"
Draco inclined his head to show respect to the older woman, "I apologize. I didn't realize I would be in anyone's way. I was actually on my way to see my father."
Dora's lips pursed, and Draco was reminded of Professor McGonagoll. "The nerve of Lucius, keeping you awake at this hour! If you don't mind, I'll accompany you. I've got some last-minute details to firm up with your mother, anyway."
"Of course."
"May I ask what you were doing in this part of the house?" Dora questioned as they made their way through the corridors.
As was custom, Draco kept his hands folded behind his back and walked one step behind Dora, to her right. This was etiquette he'd been taught since a young age – showing subordinance to his betters. "I was escorting your granddaughter to her room. She was staying awake late in the library."
"Come walk by me, Draco. Starting tomorrow, you'll have precedence over quite a few people. You might as well become accustomed to the practice."
"If you wish it," he murmured, taking an extra step to walk by Dora's side. After having been taught to walk a step behind adults for so long, this simple difference felt strange. He knew better than to unclasp his hands from behind his back, however: Dora was still going to be his superior, whether he was married or not.
"Much better," Dora remarked. "What was Hermione doing awake at such an hour! She IS fully aware she's got to wake up at 7:00 sharp tomorrow morning… oh, I keep forgetting what it's like to have young people in the house!"
Draco unstuck his throat – it seemed to have closed, somehow, "It has been my experience that Hermione is very fond of books."
It felt odd, to talk of her… to even say her name when she wasn't present.
Dora was watching him, he realized suddenly. His cheeks tinged pink, though it went unnoticed in the dim lighting.
"You're not very happy about this arrangement, are you, Draco?"
The questions caught him so off-guard, Draco paused for a moment, and ended up a step behind Dora again. He quickly righted the mistake. Did Dora really care about his feelings, or was it an act? She seemed sincere…
"I recognize the advantages of such an arrangement and realize the necessity of them," he answered diplomatically.
Dora shook her head, her ridiculous earrings – mini, glowing replicas of the planet Saturn – clattering. "Your parents taught you your etiquette well. But you didn't answer the question, my dear."
Draco remained silent for a long moment. Finally, as they turned another corner, "I never was fond of Hermione, but recently, I've discovered that she is… tolerable."
"Tolerable," Dora repeated, her eyebrows raising.
Draco said nothing. They were silent for a time.
"My father has ulterior motives for this union," Draco remarked, nonchalant.
"Of course he does," Dora agreed, "marrying the Malfoys into the Blacks once more would be very clearly advantageous for your destroyed family name after all that Dark Lord business." She seemed quite smug with herself.
"Actually…" Draco cleared his throat, not quite ready to reveal to Dora everything he knew about the prophecy. He was not used to betraying his family interests, but at the same time, he was sick of being kicked around like a bad dog.
…Something stopped him.
It took Draco only a split second to remember his father's smooth cunning and willingness to do anything to get what he wanted. ANYTHING. Images flashing into Draco's head of Lucius exercising a carefully disguised Imperius Curse on Dora before finally finishing her off with a staged death.
Could he do that to this woman?
And more importantly… what would become of HIM? He surely wouldn't go unpunished, either…
"…I'm quite embarrassed you discovered that motive," Draco finished.
"Well, I'm afraid it was quite obvious, dear. But you're a nice, young man. I do want the best for my granddaughter, despite what she may think right now."
No. He couldn't do it. There had been enough deception and control while Voldemort was around. He would just have to marry the girl and figure things out from there.
Draco and Dora parted ways at the door of the parlor Lucius was using as a study. With a nod to Dora, Draco's eyes followed the old woman's footsteps down the hallway, where Narcissa was busy finalizing some of the finer details of the wedding, last minute.
Draco Malfoy had been through hell and back, so it had seemed, during the past two years – that whole mess he'd gotten himself into when he'd promised to kill off Dumbledore had certainly been a royal mess. Therefore, he felt next to no trepidation upon entering his father's study. Compared to Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy was nothing. And besides, his father needed him alive to fulfill the prophecy…
He pushed the door open and all but swaggered over to the leather seat across from his father. He was feeling particularly shunted and annoyed, and so he did not incline his head – the custom when entering a room containing a superior.
Come tomorrow, he would be a married man, anyway. What did it matter?
Lucius frowned, but ignored the omission gracefully; Draco was almost disappointed.
"I want only to make one thing painfully clear," Lucius announced, in the same manner as one discussing the weather, "I don't care how much you've discovered about my motives for arranging this marriage. You will follow through with everything that is asked of you. Once I have accomplished my will, you are free to do whatever you like. If it still... peeves you, you can procure a divorce document. I assure you, I won't try to stop you."
Draco said nothing, though his head was spinning with a million retorts; He held his tongue.
"Until that time, I expect nothing but obedience from you," Lucius continued.
Draco still said nothing.
"You can go now."
Draco rose from his seat, again purposefully refraining from inclining his head.
"Generally, my son, we acknowledge our betters," Lucius reminded him.
"Yeah, you should work on that," Draco answered, slamming the door behind him.
.
.
He couldn't sleep. 4 AM and he couldn't sleep. Everything was so out-of-control; He had never been in control – why was it bothering him NOW?
Resigning himself to the fact that he just simply wasn't going to get any sleep, Draco found himself dressing and heading down to the stables. At least horses weren't so judgmental as people tended to be.
It was 4:30 by the time he reached the main barn; Some of the hired help was already there, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes as they baled hay into the stalls. Turkin, Draco's favorite, had shoved as much of his body into the aisle as possible, indicating his eagerness for a good meal.
"All right, boy, calm down. I brought you something."
From his pocket, Draco quickly produced a healthy-sized carrot and presented it to the gelding. Turkin grabbed the treat and wolfed it down.
As soon as the horses had been given their breakfast, Draco went to go grab some grooming brushes.
"She's already got 'em, Mr. Malfoy," a stable boy informed him. "Showed up just before you did."
It took Draco a minute to recognize that the boy was referring to him: Mr. Malfoy! That was what everyone called his father…
"WHO took them?"
The stable boy stared at him. Draco already knew. He headed over to Zephyr's stall, and sure enough… there she was.
Draco dearly wanted to say something snide, or better yet – just turn around and walk away, pretending he'd never seen her. He was about to turn around and do so, when he noticed something that made him hesitate: Under Hermione's usually soft brown eyes, were deep purple marks, indicating that he was not the only one who hadn't slept.
Her whole body gave off an air of exhaustion, as though she hadn't slept correctly in ages. Probably, Draco reasoned, she hadn't. His mind flashed back to the day he'd discovered her in the woods. Such a smart girl… why had she done something so stupid?
"Draco?" Her voice brought him back to reality. "What are you doing here?"
"Couldn't sleep," he muttered.
"I couldn't either."
Hermione paused in her grooming of Zephyr. The horse looked up from her hay and nudged her companion with her nose. Hermione began putting her back into the grooming, her eyes still staring dully ahead.
Draco found his eyes transfixed on the top panels of the stall, about two feet to the left of Hermione's head. Like her, he didn't like to look at her for too long. He supposed he'd have to get used to it, though: It was only about 8 hours until the wedding.
The wedding. Supposedly, such an event would trigger a catalyst of nasty weather. Would it begin to rain as they were pronounced husband and wife? What a symbolic turn of events THAT could turn out to be…
Similar thoughts were running through Hermione's mind, though unlike Draco, she hadn't completely given up hope that some saving grace would pull her out of her marriage, last-minute. Harry and Ron were supposed to arrive at 9:30… perhaps one of them would have an idea… and who knew? Maybe Mr. Weasley would show up with some document or text announcing the illegality of the union.
There was also the possibility that Carissa Baxter was completely full of shit. Hermione hadn't ruled that out yet, either.
Her eyes flickered to Draco, who was zoned-out, staring at the wall behind her. She wondered what was on his mind. What did HE think of all of this? She would probably never find out, even if she asked…
"Why did you come here?" he asked, his tone of voice accidentally belligerent.
Hermione looked at him quickly before lowering her eyes once more, "I wanted some peace."
Her answer seemed to satisfy him; She was sure he'd come here for the same reason. It was kind of ironic that two people who just couldn't seem to stand one another did things so similarly… especially to escape a fate that would bind them together for life. Perhaps they were more alike than she'd originally thought…
Hermione banned that thought from her mind… only to re-think herself a few moments later. Why should she deny that she and Draco had things in common? If there was no way out of the marriage, wouldn't it make sense to capitalize on anything they could agree on for the sake of her own sanity? And besides, any man who loved horses and could play the piano couldn't be ENTIRELY bad… Right?
She could do this... she could be strong... she could...
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Author's Note: Ha! You guys all thought you were going to get a wedding. Well, that's the next chapter. So stay tuned!
Thank you Mrs. Hermione Jane Weasley, whatifgirl, ivyluvsdramiones, RIPJameSirusLupinTrueMarauder, RaineyDays, MyLookOfDenial., and brooklynsam3 for the reviews!