A/N: I've decided I'm going to stop making promises of when I'm going to update next because it's just not going to happen that way. The Powers That Be or whatever have been throwing banana peels at my feet, which has not been fun. To be fair, though, this has actually been the hardest chapter to write so far because I'm at that point where I have to start making everything come together, which is much more difficult than I had assumed. I'm doing it, but it's obviously taking longer. To give you an idea of how long, I've re-written this chapter at least eight times, adding and deleting scenes, completely refocusing the point of the chapter, and driving myself mental over word choice. I'm pretty happy with this final draft, but, as always, don't be afraid to let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always helpful, even if I don't end up agreeing with you. I still take it into consideration, so it's never a waste of time.
Lastly, I do want to mention that several of you asked me if Draco and Hermione were actually going to take five years to get married, as was implied in Professor Morgana's excerpt last chapter. The short answer is, 'hell no'. The longer answer is, 'Draco's way too impatient to wait that long, so rest assured he will legally claim Hermione way sooner than that. Professor Morgana was just exaggerating because she was feeling bitter at being deceived so deftly, but that's a whole other story.'
Now on with the show!
~~~\~~~
Step 14: Finding a Cause
A Malfoy-to-be is never idle. With an exorbitantly large bank account at one's disposal and the very sexist tradition of the wizards making money whilst the witches spend it...well, one can only redecorate a space so many times before one becomes dreadfully bored. Thus, every Malfoy's fiancée finds a cause to devote herself to. Oftentimes the witch chooses a public charity to placate society, but sometimes she thinks a little differently and takes it upon herself to fix other people, or one person in particular.
~~~\~~~
King Snake,
Bluebird and I have come to a stalemate and need a third opinion. Do you think the cub prefers the color blue or purple? I have never met a witch who didn't like purple, but Bluebird insists that she would prefer blue because she has so many male friends. Of course, it would only be fitting that a Malfoy wedding features at least one deep shade of purple in acknowledgement of our ancient ties to royalty, but Bluebird says that, in honor of the mandrake breaking many traditions by marrying the cub, we ought not to have a traditional wedding in other ways.
Thoughts?
Also, please do stop worrying over the cub. She is perfectly delightful and entertaining, and the potion she has submitted to St. Mungo's for testing has passed the first phase. I have no doubt she will make you proud.
Blackbird
***/***
Blackbird,
Why you assume that I would know the cub's color preference is beyond my comprehension. The very few conversations I have held with her outside of potion-making have never ventured so far as to personal preferences of anything. Would it not be more prudent to ask her yourself?
I have no interest in advising you on planning other people's weddings for them, so do not ask me such inane questions.
I will worry as much as it pleases me until the trials are over and St. Mungo's has informed us of the final results. I cannot fathom why you believe her to be so charming, with her incessant need to be right about every topic in the universe, but I suppose it is your own ambitious nature that drives you to tolerate people long enough for you to meddle in absolutely everything.
King Snake
***/***
Bluebird,
King Snake is of absolutely no help at all, but since the mandrake prefers purple, I strongly suggest we choose that.
Blackbird
***/***
Blackbird,
There is nothing wrong with a strong blue. It has been the traditional choice of wedding robe for centuries, and if my memory does not fail me, which it doesn't, you wore an ocean blue robe to your wedding, so I can't see why you are so suddenly against the color. Purple is so cliché these days ever since that one person from the Strange Sitters wore some ugly purple get-up that would make anyone's eyes mercifully bleed so they wouldn't have to look anymore. Dreadful taste, that one. I am telling you, blue is the right choice.
Bluebird
***/***
Bluebird,
Two letters ago, you were insisting on throwing out tradition, so why do you now advocate a traditional blue? The Weird Sisters' guitarist was wearing an awful shade of purple, I agree, but that was a bright purple, not a deep purple - which never goes out of style, may I remind you. Yet again, we are at an impasse, but I know not who else we can ask for direction. Have you any ideas?
Blackbird
***/***
Blackbird,
Leave it to me. I shall find out from the cub herself and report back.
Bluebird
***/***
Bluebird,
If you are planning to visit, then I insist on joining you. I haven't seen them since I invited them for tea and feel so lonely in this big house with no one for company. I shall owl the mandrake to inform him of our arrival tomorrow at noon. Shall we have lunch together?
Blackbird
***/***
Blackbird,
Very clever you are, playing the lonely card. Fortunately, my husband has informed me he expects to depart next Thursday. If you are so desperately lonely, you may help me this coming week to prepare for his arrival on Friday. See you tomorrow.
Bluebird
***/***
Draco Darling,
Your great aunt and I have been so terribly bored in our respective homes that we are starving for company. Uncle Titus is not expected until Friday, so his wife needs to be distracted from her anticipation. May we visit you and Hermione tomorrow at noon? I do hope you haven't slipped back into that nasty habit of sleeping half the day away, or you will deprive Hermione of enough to time to make herself presentable. You do not want to embarrass her so, do you? I simply can't wait to hear what has transpired since we last met. I love you, my Darling.
Mother
Draco sighed as he stood next to the window, shaking his head at the parchment. It had been one bloody week and she was acting like they hadn't seen each other in months.
"Who's that from?" Hermione asked curiously, looking up from her book of the hour.
They had both curled up in the arm chairs in the library, her feet folded underneath her while he had stretched his legs out, simply reading in silence. It was one of the things he most loved about her. She was perfectly content with a shared silence, whereas other witches like Pansy would talk his ear off all day if he didn't stop them. Others would hum to themselves absentmindedly, but Hermione relished the lack of noise whenever she could, probably because she'd had enough of it being around rowdy Gryffindors at school and the Weasleys the rest of the time.
"Mother. She wants to visit tomorrow with Aunt Morwena."
Hermione smiled. For some unfathomable reason, she and Great Aunt Morwena had gotten as close as family in a ridiculously short time. He wondered if maybe it was because she was one of the few young witches his aunt actually respected.
"Sounds great," she said happily. "What time are they coming over?"
"Noon." He mentally groaned. His mother was making him get up early on purpose.
His girlfriend rolled her eyes. "Oh stop, you big baby. We can't sleep in every day."
He raised an eyebrow, faking confusion.
She smirked. "I can hear your internal grumbling from here. You've never liked getting up earlier than noon, anyway. And I should know, considering you drag me back to bed whenever my bladder wakes me up earlier than that."
"Bloody morning people," he grumbled aloud.
Her laughter soothed his irritation. How was it possible that he found her laughter attractive? Pansy's laughter had always had a sinister quality to it, though that could have been because she had faked it most of the time.
"Oh, shoot! I completely forgot!" Hermione burst out suddenly, marking her page and rushing out of her chair to put it back on the 'Currently Reading' shelf.
He frowned. "Where are you going?"
"I promised Gin I would tell her all about my meeting with Narcissa when I got back, but I was so happy and…"
"I distracted you the moment we got home," he supplied with a smirk.
She paused for a moment, her expression a mix of amusement and embarrassment. "Yes, that," she acknowledged, blushing.
That was another thing he loved. She still blushed like a virgin whenever he blatantly reminded her of anything related to their 'alone time', as she called it.
A moment later, she was back to bustling around in and out of their bedroom, gathering things together for her outing with her friend. He heard a muffled shout, and she eventually hopped back out on one foot.
"Pinky toe got caught on the corner of the vanity," she explained, still wincing.
"When will you be back?" he frowned in commiseration, hiding his disappointment at her departure.
She finally reached the chairs and shoved the last few things into her magically expanded beaded bag. She approached him, reached up on tiptoe with a hand cupping his cheek, and pecked him on the lips.
"I don't know. Gin and I have a tendency to get carried away. I love you." She lowered herself back down.
"You too," he grunted, displeased with her answer.
She put her free hand on her hip and raised her eyebrows, giving him a pointed look. His response was completely unacceptable.
He was very tempted to remain obstinate, just to keep her here longer, but he knew that would only make her cross and incline her to stay away for longer when she did leave.
"Love you too," he amended reluctantly.
After thoroughly abusing the correlation of speaking the word 'love' in her presence and her favorable reaction to it each time he said it, he was much more comfortable with saying it in other contexts. But, to keep some of his pride intact, he refused to say it like a sappy, love-struck fool. It was just another statement of fact.
She smiled lightly. "Good enough…for now. We'll work on that."
He scoffed. "Never satisfied, you are."
Her smile grew to a grin. "I'll be back before you know it. Didn't you say that there were still some things you had to do before your uncle comes back?"
"Yes, I did," he admitted.
"So work on that. That will keep you busy so you don't pine."
"Malfoys do not pine," he retorted.
She looked ready to laugh, but thought better of it due to his glare.
"Of course they don't."
She kissed him one last time so quickly that he didn't have time to respond. It only increased his disappointment. Then she was gone, leaving him alone.
The owl his mother had sent hooted, reminding him it was waiting for an answer.
He scowled at it and scribbled an answer before sending it off. Bloody witches. They were going to be the death of him one of these days.
For lack of something else to do, he took Hermione's advice and pulled out the stack of parchment his realtor had sent him regarding his uncle's properties. They were mere formalities at this point, but had to be signed and dated nonetheless.
Two hours later, a different owl tapped on his window.
Glad for the distraction, as he had been forming a headache for the last half hour, he let the barn owl in.
Draco,
No doubt your mother has already informed you of my impending arrival this coming Friday. My wife has mentioned that you have the proper forms for our business nearly complete, only needing my signature. If you like, we may sit down and complete them all next Saturday without distraction. I am planning to keep the witches occupied with prime tickets to the opera, in France. They were a gift from the French Minister, as his family has other engagements. He also hinted that he would be amenable to introducing you to his daughter Isabelle, if you are interested. She is about your age, having just finished her schooling at Beauxbatons this past year. She is very sweet and has no interest in marrying for gold, as her family has plenty of it themselves. Perhaps you will agree to meet her? We can speak more on Saturday, but I decided I'd give you some time to think on it beforehand.
See you soon,
Uncle Titus
The first emotion Draco felt was relief that Lucius was dead. He would have positively drooled over the prospect of his son marrying into the French Ministry, which would have created a plethora of new political connections as well as filling the coffers.
The second emotion was curiosity. Even though Draco rarely spoke to his uncle, due to the elder wizard's business travels, Uncle Titus was never this insistent whenever introducing an idea. He usually let others make up their own minds because his parents had tried to ingrain pureblood prejudice into him. He had been the right combination of stubborn and logical to resist indoctrination as soon as he was old enough to ask questions, so it hadn't been that much of a shock when he had rebelled openly as a teenager. Draco, on the other hand, hadn't been so lucky. But as Draco had aged, questioning his father's beliefs, he had looked to Uncle Titus for answers, secretly, of course. Hermione had been the catalyst for his disillusionment, but Uncle Titus had been the confirmation and reassurance.
So why was Uncle Titus pushing so hard for him to meet pureblood Isabelle? It was true that, as far as Draco had seen, the French elite weren't nearly as blood obsessed as the British elite, but it still wasn't like him to hint so heavily what he thought should be done. They would definitely have to discuss it on Saturday.
The rest of the day dragged by, and eventually Hermione returned well after supper.
"Draco, I'm home!" she called from downstairs, and relief flooded his system. These bloody forms were so monotonous, he was ready to curse himself blind.
A few minutes later, she made her way into the library and half-smirked.
"And here you are, exactly where I left you."
He scowled at her implication. "If you'd like to help fill these out, then by all means..."
She laughed. "Sorry, I don't think I'd be much help to you."
"So what did you and Weaselette do today?"
She rolled her eyes at the nickname. "Ginny and I went shopping in Muggle London. Oh! And we ran into Oliver Wood! Do you remember him?"
"Gryffindor Keeper until he graduated and then got recruited by Puddlemere?"
"Precisely. We ran into him in one of the stores and then caught up over a late lunch. Apparently, he has a squib cousin whom he visits in Muggle London every once in a while, especially when the Quidditch season ends. His cousin is a dentist, can you believe it? My mum always says it's a small world, but sometimes I don't really believe her, you know? Next time I visit I'll have to ask my parents if they know of him."
Having finished her story, she set her beaded bag down on one of the chairs with her left hand and reached into it with her right. She bit her lip, pushing her arm in well past her elbow, and then she smiled.
"Ah, there you are!" She yanked and a gigantic shopping bag come out of it. She set it down and reached back into the bag.
Draco watched, astounded, as she repeated the movement eight more times.
"You bought all those clothes?" he asked.
Her smile turned sheepish. "No. Well, they're not clothes."
He craned his neck to look into one of the bags from his seat. In this one sat three neat stacks of books, reaching all the way to the brim of the bag.
Of course. When Hermione went on a shopping spree, she bought tons and tons of books.
He rolled his eyes.
"Our muggle history section is hardly existent," she defended, starting to unpack the books she had apparently arranged by subject.
"So you felt the urge to buy nine whole bags of them?" he drawled.
"I wasn't sure if my beaded bag would hold more than that," she replied simply. "I've never really tested for maximum capacity."
Draco laughed. Gods, she was a strange one. He wondered if she'd actually buy out a book store if she had enough space to carry all those books.
"Why don't you just buy a book store and be done with it?" he suggested half-seriously.
She straightened up with a stack of books in her arms and tilted her head.
"Well, it's not a terrible idea, but I'd feel bad competing with Flourish and Blotts..."
"So sell muggle books, then."
Her brows furrowed. "Do you think wizards would want to buy them?"
He shrugged, thinking it a grand joke at first, but then his brain started calculating the potential profit. He was not currently aware of a wizarding bookstore that sold muggle literature. With pureblood mania on the decline after the war and with Kingsley Shacklebolt as Minister for Magic, it was possible wizards in general might be persuaded to try them out.
"They might. There are bound to be more wizards than just Arthur Weasley interested in muggles, aren't there?" he reasoned.
Hermione gaped at him, carefully set down her armful of books, then dashed over and kissed him firmly on the lips.
"You're absolutely brilliant!" she breathed in-between pecks.
He smirked proudly against her mouth. "I know," he replied, grabbing her waist and walking backward, careful to step over the piles of books on the floor.
He finally plopped backward into the crimson plush chair Hermione normally read in. They had already broken in his hunter green chair, and every time he sat down, he was reminded of it. He decided he wanted to give her a good memory for her chair, too.
Hermione squeaked as she fell with him, but his arms held her stable enough so she straddled his lap. It took her a couple seconds to get her bearings, but then she attacked his mouth with a passion that stoked his own.
He magically vanished their clothing and let her have her wicked, wicked way with him.
~~~\~~~
The next morning, Hermione dragged him out of bed at an unreasonable hour to get ready for his mother and Aunt Morwena's arrival.
Bloody morning people.
At exactly noon, the elder witches arrived via floo. Hermione took pity on his disgruntled state and welcomed them in herself. His mother shot him a look for being a terrible host, but he didn't care. He still ought to be sleeping.
He stared right back, raising an eyebrow. She pursed her lips and then turned away, focusing her attention on the conversation he couldn't be bothered to acknowledge.
"Boy, either get over here and sit down or leave!" his aunt commanded. "We have important matters to discuss without your improper loitering."
He considered making up some excuse and leaving, until Hermione shot him her own brand of the you-are-being-unbelievably-rude look. So he sat, tapping his finger on the edge of the arm.
His mother and aunt shared an amused look, which made him scowl. He was not a trained pet in the least. He just didn't want to suffer Hermione's wrath later on.
"Hermione, what do you think of this room's color?" his mother began, motioning to the light blue walls.
Draco rolled his eyes. This was the oh-so-important matter they had to discuss? The wall color?
At least his girlfriend seemed just as taken aback by the question.
"Well...I think it's a pretty shade, I suppose," she said slowly.
"Too right," Aunt Morwena agreed.
"Yes, it is a very pretty shade, but I would have preferred a shade of purple. Do you like purple?"
Hermione tried to hide her confusion at such a trivial conversation topic, which made the conversation that much more tolerable. Watching other people be put on the spot was usually some decent entertainment.
She shot him a look, asking if he knew what was going on, but he barely shrugged. She was on her own for this one.
She silently huffed at him and then turned back to his mother.
"I wouldn't say I'm especially fond of either color as a wall color," she hedged.
"Then which one would you choose?"
She shrugged. "A pale yellow, maybe? I haven't given it much thought, really."
His mother tilted her head thoughtfully. "Interesting..."
"You haven't given much thought to decorations, either," his aunt noted. "This room is barren aside from the necessary furniture. Why don't you have any pictures, and how do you intend to fix that?"
Hermione was too shocked to respond right away, so Draco decided to save her some embarrassment.
"To be honest, Aunt, we've been too distracted with other things to worry about such inane topics."
His aunt gave a short laugh."You have, have you? Well, now is a good time to start thinking about it. I don't see a single rose or vase anywhere."
"I agree," his mother interjected. "A bouquet would really pull the room together. Do you have a favorite flower, Hermione?"
"Probably a sunflower, if she likes yellow, or daisies," his aunt guessed.
"But violets and hyacinths are just so darling, aren't they?"
"I prefer blue hydrangeas and periwinkles myself."
Draco almost laughed at how lost Hermione looked, watching the elder witches debate their favorite flowers. She didn't realize that this was what his mother spent all her time on, decorating and sharing her opinions.
"Which do you prefer, Hermione?" his mother asked again. "Purple or blue?"
"Er...white, actually. My favorite flower is white morning glory."
"White is such a bland color, if you ask me," his aunt argued. "No personality at all."
"But together, perhaps purple, blue, and white morning glories wouldn't be so plain," his mother suggested as a truce.
"I'd have to see it, but it's a possibility," his aunt conceded.
Hermione smiled at his mother in thanks. "I think that sounds lovely."
The pleased smile on his mother's face tipped him off. This wasn't just a social call, but what would flowers have to do with anything? Perhaps she was planning to expand her garden?
"Oh, you know what would be just darling on the floo mantle? A candle. Do you prefer white candles, too?"
His mother got far too excited about these things, but he was always glad to see her break out of her cold shell. It didn't hurt to let her indulge in something harmless. Besides, he had his own indulgences that distracted him from anything to do with the war, so he couldn't blame her.
"I...suppose. I don't think I have a favorite candle color."
"I've just had an idea!" his mother announced. "A purple candle in the center with the white morning glory flowers surrounding it, and then blue and purple ones surrounding that. Or should all the colors be braided together into a wreath, which surrounds the candle? If the latter, there should be more white than colored to complement the candle-"
"I think they'd look better as mixed loose flowers, not necessarily in a wreath, with a blue candle," his aunt interjected.
"But that would be so messy," his mother countered.
"Not if the mantle were bigger, leaving plenty of room for the other decorations."
This was no longer entertaining, instead getting more boring by the second. Would they notice if he just up and left? He preferred his eyes bleeding over his uncle's property forms. Perhaps his eyes had already started bleeding without him noticing? His mother's robes were awfully red...like blood. He mentally shoved away the multitude of memories threatening to surface. How could his mother even look at that color, let alone wear it, without remembering? He had to get out of here, or think of something else.
As soon as he shifted to stand up, Hermione shot him an angry look. 'Oh no you don't,' it said. 'If I have to suffer, then so do you! And don't think I won't hex you if you leave me here!'
He sighed and readjusted his position while his mother and aunt argued about exactly how big the mantle would have to be in order for the loose flowers to work with other decorations.
He couldn't let his mind wander, so he directed it to his usual standby. Would Hermione mind a round after the guests left?
He caught her gaze and quirked an eyebrow with a sexy smirk. She blushed, but rolled her eyes, shaking her head at him in exasperation. No? Well, he'd just have to convince her later, then.
He allowed himself to imagine just how he was going to convince her later on, but was jerked back to reality by the sound of his name.
"Draco, Darling, do at least pretend to pay attention," his mother admonished.
"Now, Narcissa, let boys be boys. I'm starving, anyway. We should get lunch now."
He silently thanked Merlin when they said their goodbyes and left.
Now, about that fantasy with Hermione and their sex sofa...
***/***
Hermione didn't really know what to think. Narcissa had told Draco in the letter that it was a social visit with no real purpose, but it seemed so...concentrated? Directed? Trivial? It frustrated her that she couldn't think of an appropriate word, but the suspicion itself was more worrisome.
"Is your mother always like that during social calls?" she asked.
Draco shrugged, moving to the spot next to her. "Mostly. She likes to distract herself from thinking about Lucius and everything that happened."
She nodded. "That's understandable." It probably wasn't healthy to just block it all out, but it was understandable. "How do you deal with the war? Working?"
"And sex," he smirked, playing with a lock of her hair.
She laughed, but abruptly stopped. Hadn't she noted before that he seemed to want it all the time? Was he using it as a coping mechanism? Was he actually addicted?
"Speaking of which-" he started.
"That's not all you do, though, right?" she blurted out. "You talk about it with your mother, don't you?"
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Why would I do that? She doesn't like thinking about it, and neither do I."
She frowned. "You haven't talked about it...at all?"
He stared at her blankly, not bothering to repeat himself.
Sure, she didn't have a psychology degree or anything, but she was pretty certain that wasn't healthy. She, Harry, and the Weasleys had cried off and on, separately and together, for a full month before they had been ready to hint at the subject of Fred's death, among everything else, but they eventually did. They had forced themselves, because they'd just had to.
She remembered that Draco had taken to drinking Firewhisky like water during the war, and apparently he had stopped that, which was good. But what if he had replaced obsessive drinking with obsessive sex? That was just as unhealthy, wasn't it? Emotionally speaking, anyway.
"Well, I think you should. Both of you. It would be good for you to get it all out."
He scoffed. "Trust me, Granger, that wouldn't be good for either of us."
Her courage faltered at his stiff tone. He was getting angry. But that was part of the healing process, wasn't it? She was going to have to go back to that muggle book store and get more books on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. There was no way, with everything he'd been through, that he hadn't developed it to some degree, but it sounded like he'd only been covering it up instead of dealing with it.
"It's hard, I know, but you have to deal with it, Draco."
"I am dealing with it."
"No, you're not. It sounds like you're just blocking it out and trying to make yourself forget."
"And I'm still a functioning member of society, aren't I?"
"Well, yes, but-"
"So that's it. I'm dealing with it," he said with finality.
"That's not dealing with it. You have to talk about it-"
"I don't have to do anything. Can't you just let things be, instead of harping on? I never thought I'd feel sorry for Potter and Weasley, but if this is what they had to deal with all the time..."
She felt like she had been slapped by his malicious tone, but reminded herself he was just lashing out at her, which was completely normal, no matter how much it hurt.
"You don't have to talk to me about it. You can go see someone, a stranger who can be objective-"
Draco stood up, scowling. "There is nothing wrong with me," he said forcefully, before walking out of the house and disapparating with a loud crack.
Well, this was going to be difficult.
~~~\~~~
A/N2: I can't believe it's been a year since I first posted the Prologue! Thank you so much to those who have stuck with me from the beginning, especially with my recent lags in updating, but I of course love all of you oodles and bunches, no matter when you joined the party! Your homework this time: describe an obnoxious wedding guest whom you've seen, heard of, or the stereotype that every wedding has. Until next time, lovies!