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Chapter 14

Pick 'Em Up And Lay 'Em Down

It had been a week since Hermione's return. From the way Draco had been acting, Hermione was sure that the kiss in the corridor had been purely accidental, had meant nothing, and he had totally forgotten about it.

It was, of course, the complete opposite for her, but she'd had to pretend the same.

Scorpius was now so avidly interested in wizarding history that Hermione had to force him to focus on the other portions of his studies, too. Hermione taught him history like she was telling a story in order to keep him interested but apparently that plan had backfired because he now begged for "the next part of the story" every morning.

She had, as promised, told him about Harry Potter and had given him a brief summary of the War. Not wanting Scorpius to ask too many questions, she left out Draco, herself, Narcissa, and any other characters besides, essentially, Dumbledore, Voldemort, and Harry.

As she had been recounting the story, her stomach had sickened when she remembered the day she'd been trapped here in the manor, tortured by Bellatrix as she tried to extract information from her that she did not have.

If she was silent in the dining room long enough, she could still hear her own screams… could see Draco standing by in the corner, watching, disgusted…

"Hermione?"

She was startled by Scorpius's small voice.

"Are you all right?" he asked, scooting closer to her. "You seem sad." He hugged her and Hermione wanted to cry at his simple innocence.

"Yes, Scorpius, I'm fine," she said, hugging him back.

"Are you sure? What's wrong?"

"I'm just having some bad and scary memories, that's all," she said. "Don't worry. I'm fine. It's the past and it can't hurt me now."

His silver eyes – so very like his father's – stared up at her until he was sure she would be all right.

"Maybe someday I'll tell you," she said. "But for now we need to move on to French…"

"Ugh!" Scorpius groaned.

"Scorpius, you used to love learning French! What's happened?"

"She's French," he said. He had stopped referring to Michelle by her name around Hermoine. He only called her "she."

Hermione sighed. "I know, dear, but learning another language is very important for a young boy. It helps you to be well rounded and cultured."

"Well, then, I don't want to be… well-rounded and… cultured…" he said, crossing his arms.

"Scorpius, Michelle isn't the only French woman in the world," she reminded him. "What if you go to France someday and have to talk to a stranger? Won't you want to know what to say?"

"I'm never going to France!" he said hotly. Hermione took a deep breath.

"Even if it's just you and me?" she asked.

"Then you can talk and I won't have to," he countered.

He was clearly determined.

"Scorpius, you can't let something so small keep you from an entire subject in your lessons. We're doing a French lesson today, and that's that."

Scorpius scowled.

"How about we start learning some French adjectives," she suggested. "You remember what an adjective is, right?"

"A word that describes a noun…" he grumbled.

"Right. The French have adjectives just like we do in English."

Silence.

Well, if Scorpius was determined, then Hermione was determined, too. She didn't like Michelle any more than Scorpius did – perhaps even less than Scorpius did – but that wasn't going to keep Hermione from speaking or teaching French. Michelle had hardly said two sentences to Hermione in the entire week she'd been back and Hermione was perfectly fine with that. She figured that, eventually, it would be water under the bridge and she and Michelle could be civil again.

Until then, she could just take her leave from Hermione's good graces and be happy with it.

Draco wasn't helping at all. The fiery kiss they'd shared just after she'd returned was still hot in her mind – and other places. She just couldn't figure him out. He has a serious girlfriend, then sleeps with Hermione. He has a ball in honor of said serious girlfriend… and then kisses Hermione behind her back. He gets engaged to the same serious girlfriend, and the moment she's not looking, ravishes Hermione's mouth in the middle of a corridor.

Seriously Draco? What the fuck?

She had devoted almost all of her energy to Scorpius since she'd returned. He was as delightful as he always was most of the time – until the French language, his father's French fiancée, French food, or really anything at all having to do with France was mentioned. He had even snapped at Dmitry once for speaking to him in French.

Draco had noticed this and brought it up to Hermione that Scorpius seemed to be unhappy with Michelle. Hermione had replied that she knew very well and that she would try her utmost to make him see sense.

And she had, she truly had, but Scorpius was a very stubborn child and if he really didn't want something, he wasn't going to have it.

Hermione took a deep breath to calm her own angry mind before pulling out her wand and conjuring up a sheet of basic French adjectives and their translations.

"Scorpius…"

"No."

"Scorpius, your father will be very unhappy to hear that you are neglecting one of your subjects."

"I don't care."

"You may not, but I do. Your father will be unhappy with me for not teaching you properly."

Silence. She had a feeling that would prod him at least a little bit.

"You don't want your father mad at me, do you?"

"No…" he said finally.

"And neither do I. Your father being angry is not a pleasant thing."

"Right…"

"And who knows. He might get so mad that he will want to send me home…"

"No!" cried Scorpius.

"Well then," said Hermione, handing him the parchment of adjectives, "as a safety measure to make sure that doesn't happen, how about we work on some French, hmm?"

Scorpius gave her a deer-in-the-headlights look as he realized he was backed into a corner.

"Fine… but only because I don't want you to leave…"

It was 8:30.

The last rays of daylight were disappearing through the forest on the west edge of the Malfoy property. Hermione was watching them from her balcony outside her room, doing what Hermione Granger did best.

Thinking.

As the last of the daylight disappeared, she decided she wanted to go for a walk. She always thought better when she was moving. It was why she'd spent so many late nights pacing the Gyffindor common room while thinking of everything from her next Potions paper to how to get Harry out of whatever thicket of trouble he was in at the time.

Even as she was thinking these things, her feet were carrying her out of her room, down the grand staircase, and into the back gardens. She soon found herself wandering to the east side of the house, where it was darker, and into the east side gardens. She was so absorbed in thought that she didn't even realize she was very near the balcony leading off of Draco's room.

She also didn't notice Draco leaning against the railing of said balcony, propped up on his elbows and lost in thoughts of his own.

He noticed Hermione as she came into view and watched her silently as she meandered through his gardens. Every so often she would stop to touch, to feel, to sense whatever was around her, and then she'd keep moving.

He was suddenly aware of Michelle at his side.

"So, I've been thinking about the wedding," she began.

Draco nodded in reply.

"I thought that maybe we could have it here at the manor, in the back gardens."

"Mhm."

"And perhaps we could have fairy lights for the reception," she continued.

He nodded again.

"And perhaps a grand troupe of dancing Veela…" she said. She was grasping at straws, Draco knew. He was so plainly uphappy that even a troll could notice.

"And, of course, in the nature of your home, I was hoping for green and silver as the color scheme…"

"Michelle. Stop."

She did. She stared down at the gardens and saw that he was looking at Hermione.

"I can't do this," he said.

"I know," she replied.

"I… wait, what?"

"I know," she repeated.

"What do you mean? Are you sure we're talking about the same thing?" he asked.

"Draco, we should have known for a long time that this wasn't going to work," she explained, turning and looking at him. He looked back. "We're just too different."

Draco said nothing.

"I mean, you long to be far away from everyone in the country and I long for people and parties and the city… and that's just not you, Draco."

"You're right, it's not."

"I'm dreadfully rich, Draco, and so are you. But all I care about is money. Truly, it's all that makes me happy. But it's not difficult to see that you live for something far beyond your fortune."

"Oh?"

"Yes, and she's walking down in that garden right now," Michelle said. Draco's gaze snapped up to Michelle.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you love her. And she loves you, and wants you far more desperately than I ever could. I'm the reason she left, Draco. Not her mother."

Draco had no idea where any of this was coming from. Michelle had been clinging to him desperately all week… was it because she feared her imminent replacement by Hermione?

"I like you Draco. Perhaps even do love you. But there's a hundred more men out there just like you who will be far more eager for my fortune than you are. I'm not going to live with a man who doesn't want all I have to offer."

Was she seriously smiling? Genuinely smiling? Draco couldn't believe it. He'd thought she would scream, would cry, would threaten to kill him, would refuse to ever leave him…

But she was agreeing…

Even if for her own selfish desires, she was actually agreeing…

"I think I'm going to go pack my things," she said quietly. She kissed Draco on the cheek. "I don't think that governess of yours can wait much longer," was all she said before disappearing into his bedroom.

Draco, as if suddenly awakening from a stupor, snapped to attention and took the balcony stairs two at a time to get to the gardens. He'd lost track of where Hermione went while he was talking to Michelle, so it took him a while to find her. He eventually happened upon her sitting on a stone bench between two rose bushes.

"Hello, Hermione," he said quietly. She looked up at him, startled.

"Hello Draco," she replied.

"May I join you?" he asked.

She scooted over on the bench to make room for him and he sat beside her.

"Hermione, can I ask you something?"

She regarded him carefully.

"Sure…"

"Why did you really leave Malfoy Manor?"

She was silent for a moment before replying.

"I told you why. I had to take care of my mother."

"And yet you returned the very next day?" he countered. She bit her lip.

"I remember telling you that she thought I could do more good here than for her at home…"

"However true that might be," Draco said gently, "I don't think that particular conversation ever happened."

Silence.

"Are you sure, Hermione," he said, even more quietly, "that you did not leave Malfoy Manor because you were afraid you were in love with me, and afraid of having to compete with Michelle?"

Hermione looked up at him, shocked.

"How-?"

"Shh," he said, and gently placed a finger over her lips. "Tell me the truth, Hermione…" he whispered.

She avoided his gaze and stared instead at her knees.

"I left because I was afraid I was falling in love with you, and that if I wasn't careful I'd cause you to fall in love with me, too, and you'd lose Michelle."

Draco pondered this for a moment.

"Well, you've succeeded," he said. Hermione looked up at him slowly, calculating.

"Do you love me?" he asked, holding her chin in his hand.

"Yes… yes, I do… I love you…"

He moved his hand to tuck her hair behind her ear and placed his hand gently on the back of her neck.

"Wonderful. Because I love you, too."

Hermione almost didn't get a chance to look shocked because he immediately pulled her into a kiss. After the first startling second she relaxed into him and snaked her arms around his neck, letting their tongues dance together. She felt the rhythm of his body, felt his heart beating with hers, felt his breath on her skin… It was the most earth shaking, perfectly wonderful and romantic kiss she had ever experienced. When he finally pulled away, she could think of only one thing.

"But… Michelle…"

"Is currently packing her things," Draco said. "We've broken off our engagement."

"You have? But… but you… She…"

"We have agreed that we are far too different to stay together," Draco finished for her. "I have known since the day you and I went shopping together in Hogsmeade that I loved you, or was at least starting to."

"Draco…"

"I thought I was in an arrangement I could not get out of. A potential wife of equal class, a mother for Scorpius, a partner for me… but soon I realized that she was none of those things, and that you were all of them.

"I…"

"Class is not about wealth or bloodline to me. Not anymore. It's about your ability to adapt and thrive, and you certainly have done both. Anyone who came into this house would never guess you were only my governess because you appear, act, and speak so much like a hostess."

"But…"

"Michelle, though she would have served as a legal maternal figure, could never mother Scorpius the way you do. I've never seen a child so taken with anyone as he is with you."

"Well…"

"And as for a partner for me… who better could I ask for than the brightest, cleverest, most beautiful witch of the age?"

Hermione had finally been rendered totally speechless.

"Hermione Granger, I love you," he said. "And I'm so sorry about everything that has happened during your stay here. Michelle is gone for good and neither of us ever have to see her again. If you like, for the rest of our lives, it will be just you, me, and Scorpius…"

Hermione's stomach was churning as she realized what he was saying. The rest of their lives?

He pulled out his wand and conjured up a box in his hand that had been sitting in a safe in the attic for some time. It was small and square, was plain white, and made of deteriorating cardboard.

Hermione watched curiously, her heart beating a mile a minute as he opened the fragile box and removed from it an antique velvet ring box.

"This was my grandmother's," he began, "but it will have to do until I can buy you your own…" he said. He then opened the box to reveal a stunning one carat marquis cut diamond surrounded by what seemed like dozens of smaller diamonds. It had to be at least half a century old.

"Hermione Granger, you are everything I could ever want in a wife and so much more, and I can't believe I was too blind to see it before. Will you do me the great honor of making me your husband?"