Chapter 22 - Orange Peel and Orange Blossom
The hot pressure of the little boy by his side was offering as much comfort for Draco as his open arm was for Scorpius. His heart rate hadn't slowed since he'd arrived, and it had only been with a prodigious amount of skill had Draco held on to his mother's old tips on making a late but spectacular entrance, helped, no doubt, by the wine he'd consumed on Zabini's expense. Stop thinking about the meeting. Smile. Walk slowly, like you deserve to be here. Don't look closely at anyone.
But Scorpius clenched his fingers into Draco's arms too tightly in greeting, his face and eyes were red, his words were expected in a terrible sort of way. Draco forgot to think about what Blaise Zabini could want with Hermione Granger.
His temper was controlled, his rage: cold, exact, hidden. Warmed up from the performance he'd given over dinner, concentrated by the shock of hearing his usually so benign son whisper a desire to inflict pain, focused by the scent of jasmine he found on Hermione's skin. He'd known what to do, Weasley had been as easy to work as he remembered. It would have been perfect, if not for one complication.
Teddy Lupin now sat opposite him, mirroring Scorpius and hugging close to his grandmother, but he glanced away each time Draco caught his eye. What Teddy and Draco knew, unlike everyone else, was how much the Rictusempra Charm could actually hurt, if cast with real venom.
Tar-thick air wrung from lungs too wracked by spasms to re-inflate, abdominal muscles ripping, throat, cheeks, eyes, burning, raw and choked with tears, helpless against the violent compulsion to laugh, and all the while, half-conscious of an audience witnessing you at your most gasping, drooling, hysterically, shamefully vulnerable.
But with each blasé shrug to whomever stopped by their table, Teddy was covering for Draco as much as he had for Scorpius and seemed too shaken or scared to look Draco straight in the eye, but would smile and shake his head occasionally at the constant and rapturous admiration Scorpius was expressing in him. His son had gained far more than an ally in this place, and Draco suspected it went further than typical Gryffindor nobility.
How had things escalated so fast? And what would happen to Scorpius tomorrow morning when the boy he was making eyes at was making his way six hundred miles to the north?
Draco squeezed his fingers into Scorpius's arm and tuned into the conversation.
"Cissy and I crept downstairs from our old playroom, in the middle of our parent's party and I cast the Ventriloquist Charm on her and levitated her up,"
"In the holidays?" Scorpius whispered.
"Well, perhaps this was just a weekend in term time,"
"Whatever Gran."
Andromeda ignored Teddy and continued to address Scorpius. "And your grandmother was so tiny she hid on the top shelf of our great grandparent's china cabinet all night, and didn't come down until the whole family was convinced a new ghost had taken up residence. One that whispered all the right sorts of secrets and had convinced two rather distant cousins that each was in love with the other, and another, perhaps more closely related pair, that maybe it wasn't a good idea to have another baby, based on how the last one turned out."
"Cousins?" the boys cried unanimously with identical expressions of disgust.
Draco hadn't thought of his other aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange, in a long time, but it was to her that his thoughts leapt as he considered Andromeda, despite the witch's noticeable absence in the stories. It wasn't due the jarring resemblance she held to Andromeda however, but the difference between them that resemblance highlighted.
Andromeda's voice was as deep and rich as Bellatrix's once had been, the cadence hauntingly familiar, but while Bellatrix's had quavered on the brink of madness and rage, Andromeda's was earthed with a steady, measured warmth.
Andromeda's hands, knuckles swollen with age, were equally as expressive, but made round, loose motions in the air as she spoke, rather than the fevered squirming and cracking of Bellatrix's fingers. An unceasing rehearsal of curse motions, or a tragic grasping for the unrequited love of her Lord, Draco had never known which.
And as time passed, Andromeda talked with the boys, Draco half listened, the hot pool of Firewhiskey gathering in his stomach sedating the last reserves of adrenaline and shock in his blood, he came to appreciate how Andromeda was perhaps more like his mother than he'd first thought. It was in those small sideways glances, that certain purse of her lips as she listened, the arch her eyebrow made whenever Teddy said something particularly uncivilised. The love that was behind all of those gestures.
Where Bellatrix was frighteningly excessive, his mother was serene. Perhaps Andromeda had been the sister to bridge them.
Scorp's name was being called by shrill, excited voices and Draco felt him stir against his side. The group of kids had reformed by the trees and were bouncing around, arms waving frantically. Draco relaxed his grip round his shoulder.
"Go on Scorp. They're calling you," he said, but Scorpius shook his head and snuggled closer.
Draco felt a stir of unease. His son had never acted like this before. Their physical relationship rarely ventured past an occasional hug. Had the incident with Weasley unnerved him more than he'd let on? Across the table Andromeda had tactfully asked Teddy something about homework. "Are you OK?" Draco murmured into blond hair. Scorpius nodded. "The party won't last all night-" he began but then stopped as he understood.
Scorpius was distancing himself before they could do it to him. The best defence for those about to be abandoned. The guilt seeded earlier by Zabini over questions of Hogwarts stirred as Draco made another realisation.
The unfamiliar children could see Scorpius curled up against a Death Eater and they still wanted him to play with them. Which meant they didn't care that he came from a famous family of blood purists. Scorpius had been capable of overthrowing their prejudices within hours of meeting them.
Draco believed only at a school where no one knew the Malfoy name would Scorpius have the best chance to become whoever he wanted. Where no one would force him into adopting or enduring prejudices inherited from older generations. But here, in the garden of Harry Potter, was contradicting evidence. Besides, in what world would Scorpius ever become the boy Draco had been? It hadn't been an accident that Draco ended up where he did, more the culmination of years of effort.
The reasons Draco gave himself for not sending Scorpius to Hogwarts weakened with each happy shout that reached his ears. What was left in their absence?
Only the continued presence of Scorpius at his side and Andromeda's appraising gaze stopped Draco from bringing up his hands to press against his forehead. Instead he continued to sit, bringing his glass to his lips every so often. His eyes unfocused, his breathing shallow, the knuckles of his one fist under the table going white with pressure, the dreadful realisation creeping upon him that the decision to send Scorpius to Burbage High benefitted only himself and with it, the knowledge he was a worse father than he'd even imagined.
It was incontrovertible. At Hogwarts, Scorpius would be truly happy, probably in a way he hadn't been since Astoria died. He'd be fed regularly, have the structure Draco struggled to give him, would be shielded from his bouts of depression, be surrounded by his new friends, would sleep in luxury, wouldn't have to fight Muggles, wouldn't ever shoplift for food.
Draco didn't notice Andromeda ask him a question, nor the way Scorpius forcefully banged a bottle of Butterbeer down in front of him in the hopes he would switch drinks. Even Teddy was sparing more than a lingering glance into the shadowed face of Draco Malfoy, but it was as if he wasn't there.
Blaise Zabini had been unusually absent from Draco's mind over the past hour, having had certain distractions, but it was to him that he now reluctantly and doubtfully thought. These were hollow thoughts, the energetic hatred that usually powered them sapped by guilt and the loss of the confidence that he knew what was best for Scorpius, and Zabini didn't.
Last night he'd told Hermione that his father would have destroyed any man who tricked him like Zabini had, but hadn't mentioned that wasn't without extracting every ounce of his worth beforehand. If Draco could let go of all of his egotism, his emotion and think about this pragmatically, just as Lucius would have done, then what was the right path for his family?
If fully embracing what Zabini was offering meant that Scorpius could have a better life, then wasn't that an obvious decision?
Draco listened absently to the party, his eyes glazed as his thoughts tumbled. Over the varied conversations he could hear taking place around them, the laughter and the shouts, he could pick out one voice easily, as if his ears were somehow already more attuned to the particular frequency produced by her vocal chords.
"Satellites, no, they're usually solar powered. That's er - yes, powered by the sun. Yes, with electricity. How? God, I'd love to know."
She's starting to sound and resemble Pince. Draco couldn't help shutting his eyes as he recalled the words he'd spoken to Zabini, completely forgetting his company, shame taking its place alongside guilt. In his mind he conjured an image of how Hermione looked tonight. Her lips painted a rich plum, her eyes dark, the smooth sweep of her chest and neck, her dress, liquid beneath his hand, the heat of her skin leaping through as if it were gauze, not silk. Even with the knowledge of Weasley's despicable behaviour pounding in his ears, Draco had known right then, he wanted her, and he needed to work as hard as he could to make her want him back, however unlikely that was.
When Zabini finally came out with what exactly he wanted Draco to get from her, as it undeniably would be the case, what then for him and Scorpius? If the decision was obvious, then he would have made it. But he couldn't; she was the reason.
Andromeda's hand brushed against his, startling him. He opened his eyes, dropping the glass of whiskey from his lips. The flickering lavender torch light didn't reach into the folded skin that encased her eyes, but cast the wrinkles that surrounded them into even deeper trenches. His mother didn't have crows feet, Draco knew, because she just didn't smile very much.
She tilted her head, and as the light filled the cracks, Draco was confronted with her direct gaze. In another startling similarity to Bellatrix, Andromeda's eyes were where most of her emotion shone, and just like with Bellatrix, Draco found it impossible not to break contact. They had the same intensity that made him feel exposed, but instead of the madness that stretched wide the heavy, recessed lids of Bellatrix's eyes, what he had seen in Andromeda's was concern.
"That's enough stories for now boys, off you go." Her tone brokered no arguments.
Teddy leapt up but Scorpius slumped further into Draco.
"Come on, I think they're setting up the Quidditch!"
"Go on Scorp. You'll regret it if you don't." Draco murmured. "You're the one with the best broom, you're obligated to crush them." Scorpius rolled his eyes but smiled, pushed his hair off his forehead and left after Teddy.
With a startlingly cold Scorpius sized patch on his left side, Draco finished off the Firewhiskey in his glass and poured himself another.
"Are you alright, Draco?"
He glanced away from the children to see her face was once again in shadow. "Do you understand, why I couldn't accept your formal apologies?" he asked. She frowned, perhaps unused to someone ignoring her questions. "Even as the Head of my family, that's not something I felt I could do, or want to, in front of everyone."
"I know, of course I do," she sighed, twisting her gold wedding band round and round. "I shouldn't have said that. I panicked. Teddy on the ground, it threw me."
"It threw us both."
Andromeda clasped her hands before spreading them on the table. She spoke with deliberate care. "I appreciate that you think those formalities ought to be between me and your mother. It isn't fair on you to make the judgement on what you think might be best. Based on second hand knowledge of events from before you were born."
The glass clinked against Draco's teeth, the liquid no longer tingled as it went down his throat.
"I've been trying to convince Harry for a while to formally recognise Teddy and I as members of the Black family." Draco looked up. "He doesn't understand, doesn't even think he can do that sort of thing, despite him legally being the heir."
"I don't understand either."
"I thought you would. Well, I did before Harry told me about Burbage High."
Draco grimaced, spotted Hermione in his periphery, as fleeting as a Golden Snitch.
"So now you know, tell me, why are you so keen to be legally recognised by the Malfoys, or Blacks or whoever."
If she was bothered by his condescension, she didn't show it. Perhaps she'd recognised she'd touched a nerve. "I still think it should be obvious." She took a deep breath, tilted her head, and once again he was fixed by that stare. "Your mother, you, Scorpius - you're my family, despite what history or the law says. I thought, if I was legally a Black again -"
"It would make it more likely that I would want to meet you?" Draco interrupted, frowning.
"Again, my mistake. I've been thinking about this for a long time. Long before this summer. Your mother and I, we had our differences, but so much time has passed. I want to make amends. You - well, we've never had a chance to even meet. As for Scorpius, it just proves how right I was to pursue this. You're doing a wonderful job, Draco."
He disregarded the comment easily. "But you were disowned, it was my mother who swore never to speak to you again."
"There isn't enough time in life to think in terms of who threw the first curse. I said some unforgivable things too. The crimes Narcissa did against me are nothing compared -"
To what your other sister did, Draco finished in his head. There were a few beats of silence.
"I can't promise Mother will want to see you."
"Of course that's a big possibility,"
"She's not well. Not at all."
Andromeda's gaze flicked to the glass he was rolling on the table. His hands slid to his lap, the liquid span in a whirlpool. "Scorp has already warned me."
"And if you wanted to see her, you needn't have come through me."
Andromeda smiled. "But I wanted your blessing."
As the head of the family, Draco thought, and finally recognised the act for what it was. Andromeda showing him respect, in the way she thought he'd most appreciate.
The woman before him was nothing like Bellatrix Lestrange, it had been terrible of him to compare them. Her resemblance was growing closer and closer to his mother the more he paid attention to what she said. But their differences were still gaping. Andromeda was so whole, so healthy, in mind as well as body. Draco ran his hands up and down the rough wooden edge of the table, fighting the urge to pick up his glass. He leant in, meeting Andromeda's eyes fully for the first time, feeling some of the desperation about Narcissa he'd repressed slipping through.
"I've been trying to help her, but it's not enough. I can never do enough. There aren't even any potions I can brew that would lessen her addiction, they just replace it with something else. I've been thinking about the treatments offered by St Mungos, but-"
He lapsed into silence. But - the cost, it always came back to money. Curing a witch of an addiction to alcohol was one thing, but off a suspected addiction to muggle drugs? And for a witch called Narcissa Malfoy? Unlikely her rehabilitation would be funded by the ministry. Zabini's contacts and money came to his mind once again.
"You don't have to deal with this alone." Andromeda's voice was soothing and pulled him away from allowing his thoughts to tumble down that path again. "I want to help. I've got experience in dealing with these problems." Draco nodded, only half listening, bringing his glass back up to his lips, forgetting his decision that he had drank enough.
"Draco, I know I'm speaking out of line here,"
He leant back, swallowing and putting the empty glass down. "You shouldn't start a sentence with that. It never bodes well."
Andromeda gave him a wry smile. "I'll dive straight in then. I made my choices young. I accepted them, I moved on, I didn't try and change what I couldn't." She made a face at his raised eyebrows. "No, making amends with your mother and wanted to become a Black isn't trying to change the past. I didn't brood on what could have been, had I decided differently. And I didn't let myself become possessed by trying to control the future. I allowed myself to be happy in the present.
"There is a madness that possessed many in my family. Don't let it take you too, Draco. I can see you're struggling, I can see that it is with what is best for your family. While that is noble, don't let that struggle become an obsession, unable to allow yourself to accept happiness for yourself when it appears, blinded by constantly looking behind or ahead. Please don't let regret and doubt or fear make your decisions for you."
The party had blurred around him, the shrieks of the children as they took to the sky on brooms and dived through the dissipating golden loops of his message were indistinct from the murmur and laughter of the adults. He was too stunned by her perception and intuition to notice anything else.
She smiled. "I'm sorry, I told you I was out of line, but I didn't want to lose the chance that drink gives one to speak more frankly and gives one's victims the grace to receive them more openly. And besides, I feel like you're more receptive than you let on."
An echo of what Hermione said to him last night about Zabini played within his head. "Can't you just walk away?" As did the judgement he'd seen in her eyes once he'd explained his rough plan, that in hindsight had worked maybe slightly too well to Zabini's advantage.
He twisted round on the bench, searching in the moonlit garden for the sound of her voice, not hearing it but eventually finding her by a torch, sandwiched between a tree and Arthur Weasley. She glanced up as if she sensed his gaze, grimacing as her eyes lifted to Arthur who was pontificating at the moon, and then back at him. The message was simple. Rescue me.
"Poor girl," Andromeda said from behind him. He turned back.
"Weasley that bad?"
Andromeda laughed. "He can be, if you let him get going. No, did you see The Prophet today? They really went to town this time. I'm surprised she's here, she usually works so hard. I guess she just needed a distraction for the night."
Realisation crashed on Draco like a wave. Hermione. The papers. Their constant attack. Suddenly, it became clear. Something so simple he could have laughed. What did Zabini want with Hermione? It was obvious. What did anyone want for their enemy? Their destruction. How do you destroy Hermione Granger in a post Voldemort age? You destroy her reputation.
"Right," he smiled. Andromeda blinked. "I've got to go. And thanks."
On the flight over, Draco had come up with all sorts of theories as to how Hermione fit into Zabini's plans. They were long winded, riddled with holes and none made sense.
Don't be blinded. Don't be blinded by guilt, doubt and regret.
Mudblood Granger, stinks like cats. He regretted everything he'd said, but he couldn't let that stop him from seeing things clearly.
Hermione had smelt divine when he kissed her hello, like the the jasmine and orange blossom that used to grow in the beds along the southern wall of Malfoy Manor, and still did for all he knew. There had been something else in her scent that in the heat of his earlier rage he hadn't placed. Something earthy and sharp. He needed to smell her again.
So why hadn't he? A couple of days again he may have chosen to re-adopt his plan of distancing himself from her with this new knowledge. But why should he? Why should he give more power to Zabini?
Don't be blinded by constantly looking behind or ahead. He'd been so obsessed by Zabini's past deceit, so caught up in doubting his decisions, distracted by the idea that Zabini may actually know what was best for his own son's future, he'd failed to add together the simple facts.
He ran through them again as he picked his way across the garden, though he was as sure of his conclusion as he could be.
Zabini re-enters my life, full of concern, money and promises, via a potion order that arrives the day after I'm photographed in Diagon Alley with Hermione.
He points out The Daily Post article back at our first meeting.
The accompanying photograph is published without me in it, despite how damaging that could be for Hermione.
Zabini's overly concerned about my attitude to blood.
He encourages me to spend time with Hermione, in aid of Scorpius, despite claiming he wants him at Hogwarts.
It's well known I'm related to Zabini by marriage.
What were the chances that Zabini knew about their venture to Diagon Alley from seeing the evidence, rather than hearing about the incident as he claimed. Pretty cocksure to wave the photograph in Draco's face on day one, but Zabini was arrogance personified.
Everything was falling into place, everything fitted together. Draco was so sure, he hadn't felt as sure about anything else in his life.
The Daily Post was paying Zabini to help them take Hermione Granger down. Draco wasn't safe to approach directly, as in Zabini's words, 'No one knows how to handle you.' That must be why the paper had gone through Zabini, as he had never displayed such 'unpredictable' tendencies like vanishing from society and sending a Pure-blood to Burbage High. Zabini thought he could get Draco on board with promises of wealth and power, but only after he'd made sure Draco wasn't now a Blood Traitor, or still holding extreme Death Eater views, unwilling to even touch someone like Hermione. That was the reason why he'd been so relieved tonight, so much more forthcoming with information than he had been before.
It was why The Daily Post were holding out on publishing the full photograph. They didn't want to deter Hermione from spending time with him before there was anything substantial to report. They were waiting for Draco to agree to reel her in and deliver her for public slaughter.
Open your eyes, let go of the past, be happy in the present. Draco felt like he was flying again, absurdly light and free, Andromeda's words ringing in his ears with the clarity and volume of a bell. He had until the end of the month to make a decision about how to deal with Zabini, though delivering the final blow that was a complete refusal to betray Hermione after leading him on was a given, and extracting every Galleon and contact he could beforehand was looking like a tempting enough revenge for everything. Draco couldn't make a decision about Hogwarts tonight, and he would deal with his son's inevitable sadness at being left behind when it came. Narcissa wouldn't be fixed easily, but perhaps, Andromeda would come through. But again, not tonight.
What was here tonight, what was here before him right now, was the most beautiful witch at the party mouthing come here, at him with desperation, while he dawdled at the food table, filling two paper plates, laughing as she feigned falling asleep as the old man continued to talk and gesture at the sky. He might be doing exactly what Zabini asked of him, but he was doing it purely for his own reasons, and he was going to make sure, with absolute certainty, that neither Zabini nor any of the news editors in Diagon Alley would profit from that decision.
Malfoy was messing with her, Hermione was sure. But then again, she was sure she deserved it.
"Arthur, I've told you, I can't explain how the images are transferred back to earth. It's beyond my knowledge, I'm sorry."
Arthur Weasley squinted at the sky, leaning in closer. "And you say, these, er, salaglitescan be seen by the naked eye?" Hermione's head hit the tree behind her as she tried to avoid his awful breath. "Just, zooming across the sky? But why hadn't I noticed them before?"
"I can't tell you that." Breathing through her mouth, she looked past Arthur to see Malfoy leant against the table, shaking his head, a cocktail stick held between grinning teeth.
"Please," she mouthed, but his smile only grew wider. He was enjoying her misfortune. He was sick, twisted, a bully. But she knew that already and she didn't care. Relief that he didn't seem to be offended by her earlier behaviour was drowning out everything else. "I hate you," she mouthed.
It worked, thank god. He rolled his eyes, and smirking, levitated two plates and began to stroll towards them, a paper cup in each hand. Hermione's stomach did a nervous, hungry flip.
"Mr Weasley," he said with a curt nod to the man's back.
Arthur jumped away, Hermione finally had space to breath. "Malfoy!" he said, straightening his robes.
"Malfoy," Hermione said, raising her eyebrows, fighting the urge to grin, ignoring the plate hovering by his side. "What can we help you with?"
"Well, I noticed that you hadn't eaten yet. Care to join me?"
"Arthur and I were having a fascinating discussion about reconnaissance satellites. I'm not sure we were quite finished." He'd made her beg, how would it feel to have that returned?
His lips twitched, he glanced at Arthur. "My understanding of the world of muggle technology is that it is so vast and therefore impregnable, it's best to accept it all on face value."
"But how can you expect to understand anything with that kind of attitude?" Hermione said, before she could think better.
"Better to have a deep knowledge on a couple of subjects, than a superficial grasp on many," Malfoy replied. Hermione bit her tongue. "Food?"
"I think I can see Molly coming. I best be off Hermione," Arthur said. He ducked between them, giving Malfoy an awkward sort of nod as he passed. "I'm sorry about my son, Malfoy. Ron has always been a bit hot headed."
The smile Malfoy gave him made Hermione look away. It couldn't have been more false. "Not at all, Mr Weasley."
"Reconnaissance satellites?" Malfoy asked, when they were alone. The tables were full and they'd forgone the other option: beanbags, a decision for which Hermione was very grateful. No one could sit gracefully on one of those. Instead, ignoring the gazes directed their way, Hermione led Malfoy to a secluded corner of the lawn, and sat with her back to the garden at at one end of a cushioned picnic blanket, sandals slid off, her legs folded beneath her, while Draco sat on the other side. It was impossible to think of him as Malfoy in that moment, his dress robes crumpled, long legs crossed beneath him, trousers pulled up to reveal three inches of thin, hairy ankle and no socks beneath his polished leather shoes.
He saw her looking, and if they had more than just the moon to light them, Hermione wondered whether she was right in thinking two patches of colour had appeared high on his cheeks. He certainly looked uncomfortable. She smiled, and looked at her plate.
"Does my lack of socks amuse you, Granger?"
"No! Well, yes, slightly." She chanced a look at his face. She was relieved to see at least one side of his mouth looked like it was fighting a smile.
"I'm glad my sartorial malfunction has brought joy to at least one person. So, reconnaissance satellites?"
She decided to let the sock issue go, despite how much more interesting that was to talking about this, again. "Did you see The Prophet today?" He shook his head. It was nice, spending time with someone who paid so little attention to the news. "Well, this was all top secret but since every other witch and wizard in Britain knows, I may as well let you on it too. I managed to secure a big donation for the school from a Mr Montgomery, a Muggle-born." Draco frowned so she elaborated. "Burbage High is state funded, but we also survive a little on charity."
"No, I understand, but this doesn't happen to be the donation you told me about?"
Hermione gaped, it was. She had completely forgotten. That day she took Scorpius to do his school shopping. In the muggle cafe. She swallowed and licked her lips.
"Hey, don't worry," he said, raising a hand. "You didn't tell me anything important. No names. Just that you were after something in his will."
Hermione nodded, thinking of Orla and the talk she had given her that afternoon on confidentiality. Jesus, that had been careless. What was wrong with her at the moment? How had she not remembered this? Hermione quickly replayed as much of the conversation as she could recall. Could someone have been listening then? Was she the leak? No, she hadn't said anything incriminating.
"Granger, relax. I just want to know how you did such a good job. Managed to upgrade from a will bequest to an outright donation. Very impressive." He smirked, wagged his eyebrows and leant forward. "One might say you had some pretty good advice beforehand."
Hermione finally found her voice. "No, Malfoy. I did exactly what I told you. Showed him the school, told him the facts."
His smirk stretched wider. "Sure, I believe you."
She scowled, exasperated, pushed her hair over her shoulder and continued, deciding he could have the unedited, wizard un-friendly version of the truth. "Yes, well, anyway. As I was saying, Montgomery trained to become a satellite engineer after Hogwarts, after realising he had no future at the Ministry. His career culminated in the multi-billion dollar sale of his own commercial reconnaissance satellite company sixty years later. They operated a single satellite, called Lumos, mostly selling images to tech companies like Google." If Malfoy had been lost during that description she was upset to see he didn't show it.
"The Prophet reported that?"
Hermione laughed dryly. "No. Just what you can imagine wizards interpreting from those facts. Bitter Muggle-born, gets revenge on wizards by photographing our world from space. Sells pictures to Muggle government." She took a drink from her cup, disappointed to find it was only lemonade.
"No matter that all our buildings and settlements are unplottable," Draco said.
"Which has been conveniently forgotten by the paper. No, Montgomery's deep in with Hermione Granger, both of them out to break to Statute of Secrecy, bring in the Muggles and overthrow the government!"
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. And he looked it, all mirth vanished. "Was the deal formalised?"
Hermione shook her head. "No. Verbally, yes, but the final meeting at Gringotts isn't scheduled for another couple of weeks. I'll find out soon. Don't worry, it'll work out," she said with vastly more optimism than she felt. "Anyway, enough of that." He looked dour but finally, he nodded.
They sat for a little while in silence, Hermione found herself playing with her food. She hadn't eaten since lunch, Draco had been right, but now, apart from nibbling on a few grapes, she'd completely lost her appetite. "I'm sorry," she said, glancing up to find him watching her.
"For what?"
"For earlier."
Draco frowned. "For -"
She squirmed and looked back at her plate. "For thinking you'd cursed Teddy." To her surprise he smiled. "What?"
"You're feeling guilty? About that?"
"Yes. Shouldn't I?"
"Absolutely not."
"Why? You only used a tickling charm! I'd thought you'd used Dark magic or something!" While she spoke Draco selected a small orange from his plate and broke into the surface with his thumbnail. The aroma hit Hermione a moment later.
"But all it shows is how little you know me." He looked bemused. "I can't resent you for that."
"No, I am sorry, it's dreadful for me to expect the worst. I mean, god knows what I would have done if it had been my child."
He didn't reply for a while, and Hermione found herself watching his hands un-peel the orange, long fingers carefully and systematically working the peel off and round in a spiral from the top. He paused, moved his plate on to the grass and leant forward on his hands, stretching his legs behind him so his feet were off the blanket, and settling down to lie on his stomach. Hermione tried to pull the bottom of her dress down where it had ridden up her thighs. They were suddenly quite close. She didn't know how the shift in perspective made her feel. She'd never looked down on him before.
"Well that's where you're wrong." he said, businesslike, propped up on his elbows, continuing to work on the orange. The trail of peel was completely unbroken and now dragged on the blanket. "It's not dreadful of you at all. I didn't choose that spell out of compassion,"
"But - a tickling charm is a joke."
The peel fell to the blanket in a floppy, twisting pile. He held it up by one end. It was long, its width absurdly regular, his expression mild as he inspected it. He placed it down beside them on the grass, an orange snake with a curling head at each end. Draco split the orange and put a segment in his mouth. Hermione imagined the gush of juice over his teeth and tongue. Some was on his lips, he licked it off, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth. Her own mouth felt very wet, she swallowed.
"Exactly, a joke," he continued, as if there had been no pause. "What could have wound Weasley up even more? What hurts him the most? Not physical pain, he's an Auror for godsakes, but being made a fool of. Especially by me. Though a tickling charm's not harmless," he frowned and ate another piece of orange. "And I think it could leave long term damage if held for long enough. It's still a form of compulsion like the Imperius Curse. Though I do think he deserved worse."
"What stopped you?"
He considered a segment and then swallowed it whole. "Witnesses." Hermione stared at him until he laughed. The sound was deep, unselfconscious. She hadn't heard it enough. "Don't look like that. I'm joking. Or half joking at least. Showing up late to a party and cursing another guest wasn't how my mother raised me." He looked down at the remaining orange in his hands. "Scorp was pretty upset. I think he wanted me to curse Weasley. I wanted to show him that brute force wasn't always the best way of resolving conflict." He glanced up, holding the orange out to her.
She smiled, and un-peeled a segment, their hands brushed, it was as delicious as she'd imagined.
The kid's Quidditch match was well underway. She followed Draco's gaze and turned to watch, but felt awkward twisted with her back to him. After a few minutes a tentative idea gathered strength, mostly from the large Firewhiskey Harry had forced on her inside, and eventually won against her common sense. She stood up, thrilled by her confidence, and knelt down to lie by Draco's left side, matching his position, her toes in the grass.
Their bodies were touching, it had been a miscalculation of space, but it was too late to move away, and Draco had barely stirred. Her heart was racing, she'd never felt as daring or uncomfortable in her life, her stomach pressed to the ground, her back bend as she supported her front on her elbows. Every cell on her right side was on fire in his proximity.
Draco didn't look at her as she shifted inelegantly about, trying to get comfortable, his eyes locked on the children in the sky, but he held out the last orange segment to her once she'd finally settled down. As the match went on, Hermione began to relax, finding the silences in between their occasion comments or observations going from awkward to easy and growing more thankful for the heat to her side as the night grew colder.
"He's a brilliant flyer," Hermione murmured, as Scorpius caught the Quaffle from a spiralling dive that forced her to look away.
"Of course he is." Draco smirked, glancing down at her. "Look who his father is."
Hermione shook her head, smiling. "You do know that he can't use that broom at school. Well, not until next year."
"That's going to be a pleasant conversation."
Hermione grimaced. "I'm sorry. Was it a gift?"
Draco bit his lip and returned his attention to the sky. He nodded. "His Greengrass Grandparents. Zabini returned it tonight."
"How was tonight?" Hermione asked quietly. She'd been burning to ask since they'd sat down, but hadn't known how to broach the topic. Draco's jaw clenched, his hips shifted, his legs moved away from hers. Hermione had to force herself not immediately start analysing. Her earlier decision to stop had done her a lot of good so far. "I know I'm being nosy, it's not any of my business -"
Draco shook his head. "It went as well as it could."
There was a long silence while she waited for him to elaborate, to return to the ease with which they'd discussed Zabini last night. He didn't. "So... You worked out what he wants?" Hermione was conscious of very possibly overstepping the mark. It was impossible to guess where that line lay with him, she felt like she was fumbling around in the dark most of the time.
Draco let out a deep, measured breath. "I've got a pretty good idea. And before you ask -" he looked down at her sideways, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. "No, he won't be getting it."
Hermione shivered, the damp from the grass had started to rise through the woollen blanket, the skin that ran from her hip down the side of her thigh where Draco had been touching felt naked in his absence. Draco frowned, rolled on his side so that he was pressing into her, to apparently free his right arm. He fumbled in his robes, awkwardly, his head bent into his chest, Hermione biting her lips, becoming ever more aware of how ridiculous it was to act like feeling the weight of Draco's body was normal, before he pulled out his wand.
He cleared his throat, locked his eyes back on the sky and Hermione felt an invisible blanket of warmth drift over her. She smiled. "Thanks." He nodded, looking very seriously at a goal James just scored and her smile grew wider as she realised how awkward he was over acting gallantly. Hermione felt as if his charm had sunk right into her chest as she turned her attention back to the sky.
Their silence was perfect, their exchanges easy. Hermione was at peace, the stress of the day that had nearly ruined the party felt as distant as belonging to another person. It was therefore a huge shame when Harry decided to join in on the game and almost immediately, Draco began to shift and grumble by her side.
"Of course Potter can't just spectate."
"It's, Potter, again is it?"
Draco grimaced, flexing his hands on the blanket, a few knuckles popping. "He'll always be Potter."
"Except when he was Harry earlier."
Draco ignored her.
A few minutes later Harry intercepted the Quaffle off Scorpius and Draco actually growled, his fists clenching. '"For fucks sake. This is a child's game. He can't let anyone else be the centre of attention."
Harry was trying to get a high five off Albus who had his face in his hands. Little seven year old Roxanne hit a Bludger into the back of his head with an impressive thwack. A shout of laughter shook Draco's whole body, a cheer from George Weasley reached them from the other side of the garden.
"Go and join in," Hermione said.
Draco's head swung round, he looked startled. "What?"
"Go on!"
"No."
"Look, the others are." Ginny was already in the sky chasing Louis, Bill and George had disappeared to find brooms. "Malfoy, they're a player short for two full teams."
"I didn't know you knew how many players made up a team."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Scorp's looking for you."
"Johnston will play."
Hermione spotted Angelina shaking her head, clutching an arm. "She sprained her wrist last weekend."
"Flimsy excuse. Doesn't she know what Healing magic does?"
"You can talk."
"Don't you remember what happened the last time I played the Gryffindor team?" he said, ignoring her comment, an edge of panic now to his voice.
"You're not playing the Gryffindor team, and no, I don't, and I doubt they do either."
"I bet they do." Draco groaned as Scorpius spotted them with a shout. He ran his fingers back through his hair and knelt up. "I'm drunk. I can't fly, let alone catch a ball," he said through his teeth.
"No you're not."
"I am, I've been hiding really it well." He looked down at her, face completely straight. "It's not every day a woman gets me lying in the grass with my ankles out." Hermione was still laughing when Scorpius arrived, leaning off his broom, holding out a hand to his father, his face flushed and his words blurring together with excitement.
"If I'm on anything less than a Nimbus, I'm out," Draco muttered, and with one last hopeless look over his shoulder to Hermione, he let himself get pulled up and away, toes dragging slightly in the grass, the walk of a condemned man.
Malfoy had been right, his throws were off, his catches, unreliable, but every time he looked around to check if she'd seen him drop the ball or miss a hoop, the wink he sent her made it seem like it had been on purpose, as if not to make the youngest members of his team feel bad about playing with such a pro.
The new term was only ten hours away. Hermione had no idea what to expect, how things would turn out, but she did know the immediate future had at least one bright element, and because of that, she knew in her heart, that everything else would be slightly more bearable. Hermione realised she was basking as she lay laughing on the blanket, her back propped up by cushions, wrapped up warm and safe in the cocoon of Draco's charm.