AN: I apologize for not updating last week, I had a ridiculous time with this chapter. I hope it doesn't show, but I'm sure it does. Also, I understand these chapters have been a bit filler-y lately, and will likely continue to be thus for a few episodes, but fear not! 'Tis all for the greater plot!
PS: if any of you lovely people are on Tumblr, I think I'll start posting updates on how the writing is coming along, that way you folks can follow along and see how terribly distractable I am. ShadowToHerLight would be the URL you're looking for, if interested.
XIV
—
"Miss Granger, you must let him lead. This is not the time to go twirling off on your own," called Monsieur Lacerte, who was attempting to teach Hermione how to ballroom dance. The witch huffed.
"I'm trying, but he's not-"
"Miss Granger, young Master Malfoy has been waltzing since he was a boy. He is not the problem."
Draco sighed as his intended very nearly growled at the instructor. Ducking his head slightly, he spoke in a low voice.
"It's not like ballet, Hermione. Don't focus so much on perfect technique or execution, focus on actually moving."
Hermione glared as the teacher restarted the music. They only got a few steps in before Lacerte shook his head.
"You are too far away again, Miss Granger! Let him hold you. The closer you are, the easier it will be for you to follow his movements."
Swallowing, the girl timidly moved closer to her fiancé, stopping just shy of being pressed against him. Standing so near him, with one of his hands spread over her back and the other laced with her fingers… it felt too intimate, even though she knew it wasn't. She felt heat flood her cheeks and mentally berated herself for the obvious display of discomfort.
"Yes, now look up at him, Miss Granger," the instructor commanded, and she lifted her gaze, feigning indifference.
Being so close, she had to tip her head back to meet his eyes, trying not to blush further when her intended lost his breath at her stare.
"You're acting quite besotted, you know," Hermione mumbled as they commenced another attempt at a waltz. This time she did what Draco suggested and paid more attention to travelling versus technique. He gave her a tiny smirk.
"Forgive me for thinking you're lovely."
She scoffed but said nothing, attempting to focus on the steps she was taking. What Lacerte had said was correct, of course; now that she was practically on top of her fiancé, she understood what was meant by him "leading." As long as she stayed close to him, he did practically all the work, she just had to move in response. And she found she was rather enjoying it.
The instructor watched as Hermione finally seemed to grasp the concept of dancing with a partner.
"That's better. You need much practice, of course, but at least you already possess excellent posture and grace. That will fool the untrained eye into thinking you've been dancing for some time."
Glancing at his watch, the man rubbed his eyes and called for the pair to halt.
"Do you know when your first gown will be arriving, Miss Granger? I would like to have you rehearse in it a few times."
"Miss Eaglehyde is bringing it over tomorrow afternoon."
"Good, good. I would request that you wear it when I return on Thursday, so that I may see which lifts will look the most elegant. But you may do as you choose, of course."
Hermione nodded, then raised her hand for the teacher to kiss before he exited the ballroom, an elf appearing to escort him out of the manor.
The witch turned to her fiancé when the man was gone.
"Are we still having breakfast tomorrow, or did your meeting earlier change things?"
"I'm to be at the Ministry by seven in the morning now, so I suppose our usual breakfast meeting will have to be cancelled tomorrow," Draco answered reluctantly. Hermione gave him an amused look.
"'Breakfast meeting?' You can call it a date, Draco."
He smirked, and there was something almost triumphant about it that made her suspicious.
"Our breakfast date, then. But yes, unless you would like to eat at five-thirty in the morning, I will not be joining you."
She bobbed her head, then motioned to the piano in the gallery above them.
"I think I'm going to play for a bit before heading to bed. I'll just Apparate into my room when I'm finished, so you can leave and get some sleep."
Hermione stretched onto her toes and gave him a barely-there peck on the cheek. "Goodnight, Draco."
He hesitated before he left, and she knew he was debating on whether or not to leave her alone, but after a moment he ducked his head and strode out of the ballroom.
Sighing, the girl Apparated up to the balcony and sat at the instrument, practicing a few warm-ups before losing herself in notes of Chopin and Rachmaninoff.
—
The next day, Draco watched in silent terror as some Muggle government worker actually argued with the Dark Lord. A lowly Muggle, for Merlin's sake. And somehow, the man wasn't dead.
"I don't care what your reasonings were," the Muggle said firmly. "Your last skirmish was far too close to a densely populated area! I don't give a rat's left arse cheek about your campaign, I truly don't, but the instant decent, normal people start getting hurt, I will not hesitate to rain hellfire down on you!"
"Those that threaten me don't often live very long," Voldemort growled. The other man held his stare.
"I doubt I'm the same type of person that ordinarily threatens you."
Discreetly glancing around the room, Draco noticed that the three people the Muggle agent had come with seemed completely at ease, whereas he was certain his own expression mirrored the poorly-concealed alarm that both Yaxley and Rookwood wore. The boy tried harder to appear impassive as the two men stared each other down for a long moment.
The Muggle sat back a little as he moved onto a new topic of conversation.
"Have you thought about what I suggested? An ambassador would make things much simpler; you wouldn't have to be pulled away from your work, I wouldn't be pulled from mine."
"I don't know that anyone I trust could stomach even the thought of being so engrossed in your world," Voldemort said with a glare. But the man across from him raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting over to Draco for a second, then back to the Dark Lord.
"What about this Hermione Granger? I did a bit of research on her when I noticed she wasn't born in your society. She was an excellent student, both in Primary school and at your magical boarding academy. Her mother and father were brilliant as well, and seemed to be quite involved in politics, so perhaps it's something they passed on to her. Would she be willing to at least attempt it?"
Steepling his hands beneath his chin, Voldemort considered the proposition.
"Malfoy," he barked, and the boy sat up a little straighter. "Your intended, what does she know of diplomacy?"
Draco's forehead creased. "I can't say how formally versed she is, but she's got a head for that sort of thing, so she'd likely be quick to pick it up."
It was quiet for a few moments, then the Dark Lord said "It's an idea. Of course, I'd be hesitant to let her begin anything until after she and young Master Malfoy have been wed."
"And how long would that be?" The Muggle man questioned, glancing again at Draco, who raised his chin ever so slightly.
Voldemort folded his hands on the table in front of him. "Six months or so. Though, if I decided to give her such a position, I would have her accompany me to a few of these meetings to observe."
The man nodded, then removed a few files from the briefcase he'd brought as they continued their discussions. Draco could barely pay attention, however, his mind now contemplating the implications of Hermione becoming ambassador.
Truthfully, she was the only person in Voldemort's party who was even remotely qualified for it. She had grown up in the Muggle world, and as far as he knew, had still been fairly connected to it before the outbreak of the war. She was also a wonder with organization and agendas; once the girl put her mind to something, there was simply no stopping her.
Abruptly, (or perhaps not so abrubtly, he'd hardly been concentrating) the Muggle man stood, his three comrades mirroring him.
"I'm pleased our meetings continue to be productive and peaceful, though I do hope we will soon employ trusted emissaries between our nations, so that you and I are free to work on larger operations."
The Dark Lord rose as well, giving a nod to the four agents. It was then that Draco noticed the wands brandished by the delegate's team, as they led their senior officer out of the conference room.
When the door shut behind them, Voldemort sat down again, his expression loathing. Yaxley looked like he wanted to ask something, but knew better when the Dark Lord was in such a mood.
The room was silent for a few minutes, as the three Death Eaters waited for instruction. At last, Voldemort spoke.
"Draco, you will not tell your betrothed of the discussion that took place regarding her."
"Yes, my lord," the boy said, ducking his head in confirmation. Yaxley set his jaw in determination.
"My lord, is it wise to consider the Mudblood for such a position? She could betray us very easily, and-"
"Corban, while I appreciate your concern for security, do you truly think she could even ponder such a thing and I wouldn't know?" The Dark Lord responded, his glare leveling on the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Yaxley bowed.
"Forgive me, my lord, I meant no disrespect."
"Get back to your office, Yaxley," hissed the wizard. The blond man nodded and made his way from the chamber. Voldemort turned to Rookwood.
"And you? I can see your wheels turning, Augustus. Do you question me as well?"
"No, my lord. I can see the advantage of having a Muggle-Born in such a position. I'm wondering if perhaps we might even use her as a source of information?" Rookwood posed. His leader grumbled.
"I had thought of that possibility, but with the witches and wizards on their payroll, it would be immensely difficult, and she would likely be outed fairly quickly. It would strain relations that are already fragile."
The Unspeakable shook his head. "Disgusting, that some would willingly choose to serve the Low-Born. Muggle-spawn the lot of them, I'm sure."
Draco's mind went to the Muggle man's colleagues, two wizards and a witch that almost looked like she could be a Greengrass, having the same honey-yellow hair and cerulean eyes. She appeared just old enough to be a younger sister of Dominic, too...
The boy returned his attention to the conversation at hand when the Dark Lord addressed him.
"How is the Order tracking coming along?"
Draco sighed. "We're keeping an eye on them easily enough, but every time we hear something new, it seems to imply they're getting stronger. Right now we're trying to figure out where exactly their resources keep coming from."
Making a frustrated noise, Voldemort said "Get it done, Malfoy. The sooner we know who is supporting them, the sooner we can cut them off. I want them dealt with."
"Yes, my lord."
The Dark Lord waved his hand in dismissal. "You may leave for the day, I'm sure your intended has things for you to look over."
Draco bowed and bid the man farewell, making his way through the Ministry and to the Floo Hall.
He stepped out of the fireplace in his personal quarters, leaning against the mantle and rubbing his eyes for a moment before heading to the shower. The hours-long exchange between the Muggle man and the Dark Lord had left him tense, not to mention he'd been up since before dawn. He hoped the hot water would ease some of the knots in his shoulders.
—
Hermione stroked the ginger cat on her lap as she looked over the Malfoy gardens. She'd come outside after Miss Eaglehyde had left, trying to quiet the anxiety that had plagued her all day, but she'd been sitting on the terrace for hours now and it didn't seem to be helping.
Off to her left, Delilah was waving her wand over a bit of silk, practicing a magical variant of embroidery. It was fascinating to watch the soft tendrils of light settle into the fabric and become thread. After a few moments of observing, (or rather, waiting,) Hermione shook her head with a smirk.
"You're not as sly as you like to think, Draco. I know you've been standing there for two minutes."
Delilah jumped slightly at the sudden noise, and Draco chuckled, moving to kiss the hand his fiancée raised. The boy looked up at the sky in mild trepidation when it rumbled suddenly. Noticing his troubled expression, Hermione furrowed her brow.
"Did things not go well today?" She questioned with a glance at the clouds. Draco shrugged.
"It went well enough, it was just who we were dealing with. He's not the Dark Lord's favourite person."
The girl lightly tugged him to sit beside her on the settee, the flicker of surprise that passed over his face mirroring her own feelings. He studied their entwined hands for a moment before looking up at her again.
He wanted to ask how her day had gone, if she was happy with her gala dress, the like. But there was a storm in her eyes that he immediately recognized, one that had plagued his reflection unceasingly in his sixth year at school.
Instead of speaking, he just kissed her hand again and began tracing little symbols on it with his finger, focusing peaceful and comforting intentions into the sigils.
Hermione watched him, feeling the effects of the magic after several moments. It eased the tension in her chest and the gnawing in her gut, and somehow things seemed just a little bit more hopeful than they had. She took what felt like the first deep breath she'd taken all day.
The terrace continued to be silent as the evening wore on, the boy still tracing sigils on his fiancée's hand as the sky darkened. When the lamps came on in the garden, Hermione sighed, scratching her cat to wake him and then standing up, pulling Draco with her as she made her way back inside the manor.
Pausing outside her quarters, Hermione seemed to deliberate something for a minute before wrapping her arms around her fiancé. He didn't hesitate to embrace her in return.
She whispered a sincere "Thank you" before pulling away, and he interlaced their fingers for a second, his gaze shifting to his feet.
"I know what it's like," he breathed, remembering the constantly-ill feeling of his last year at Hogwarts. Draco gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Just know that I'm yours, if you ever need me."
A soft smile spread over her face, and she nodded, wishing him goodnight and turning into her bedroom.
—
When Hermione woke up the next morning, there was a weathered book with no title on her desk, alongside a small case. She opened the volume and discovered it was a book on creating sigils and how best and most powerfully to use them, evidently the one Draco had learned his Imbuing from. Lifting the lid on the case revealed two potions, one in a violet bottle and one in a green, with a small card bearing their usage instructions and warnings.
Dropping two drops of the green bottle's liquid under her tongue, she read the note that had been left in the potion case.
I hope these help. Do mind the caution label, though. Theo Nott can tell quite the humorous tale of a time I didn't.
Yours, Draco.
She stared at the word "yours," a little flutter happening in her stomach, and she gave the tiniest grin.
"Mine."
—