XV
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Hermione sipped a glass of wine, looking over the final guest list for the Gifting Gala. They had sent invitations to four hundred and eighty-five people; every single one had said they were coming, and not just to the first gala.
In the fashion of a traditional Pureblood wedding, the invitation packets had contained the dates and response cards for all of the engagement events, and unless a sudden outbreak of dragon pox occured, she would be hosting nearly five hundred of the wealthiest and most influential witches and wizards in the world six times over. Hermione took a larger sip of her wine.
Setting the parchment and her glass down, the girl rolled her shoulders with a sigh. The first gala was now only a week away, and the pressure to ensure its perfection just kept mounting. She wasn't exactly worried, as she'd gotten confirmation from the parties involved and was fairly certain there wouldn't be any problems, but she knew better than to relax. A majority of the guests held prejudice against Muggle-Borns, and that wouldn't disappear simply because the Dark Lord had decreed that magic was might, whether Muggle-Born or Pureblood. While she wasn't expecting a sabotage, (it would likely be seen as an act of defiance against the Dark Lord,) she couldn't rule out the possibility.
Delilah snorted at something in one of the design books Miss Eaglehyde had sent over, flipping the page and making another face. Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"You're not impressed?"
"Oh, I'm impressed. They're very Edith Eaglehyde, complete with enough lace to strangle the entirety of England and more shiny bits than a Niffler would know what to do with."
Chuckling, the Muggle-Born said "Her style does run a bit on the loud side. She wanted to sew real emeralds into the bodice of my gala dress."
Delilah scoffed and went back to critiquing the designs in the catalogue, as Hermione glanced out the window of the sitting room. The sky was as grey as ever, though at least today there was no rain. She huffed and stood; she was ahead on planning, so she could afford some time for an excursion.
She began to make her way through the manor, her companion falling in step beside her, as was required. Hermione crossed the house and found the shimmering glass doors to the conservatory, beaming from the brightness within. She smiled a little.
Throwing open the crystalline entryway, the witch stepped into the brilliant light and lush surroundings, basking in the warmth. She moved farther into the room, sighing contentedly as the artificial glow hit her skin. It was so close to genuine sunlight she could hardly believe it wasn't real.
Hermione meandered through the greenhouse, realizing that it was far larger than it should have been, much like the tents magical folk used. Turning a corner on the marble path, she was startled by an elf she'd never seen before, which was surprising, as she'd thought she'd met all of the High Manor's elves. The elf bowed and greeted her, then went back to nursing the plants. It was strange that they neither introduced themselves nor offered her assistance.
"I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your aid before. What is your name?" The witch questioned, her eyebrow raised.
"I is called Odna, Mistress Granger. I only comes if potions ingredients is needed. Mostly I is just takin' care of the conservatory. I been specialized in the greenery."
Her curiosity piqued, Hermione looked at the small shrub the elf was carefully watering. There was a set of odd instruments and liquids nearby as well.
"What's that one you're tending?"
The elf glanced up with a smile. "Is Fireweed, Mistress Granger. Very rare, very delicate. Must be watered with dragon saliva or it be burnin' up."
"I've never heard of it before. What is it used in?" The witch queried, bending closer to examine the magenta leaves. Odna picked up a set of shears and clipped a few of the branches away.
"Is bein' mostly used for very strong pain potions, only given in most dire of need. This one be a few months from harvestin', but we is still havin' some in storage from last year's collection, if you be needin' some."
"No, I don't, but… Could I perhaps walk with you for a bit? I'd love to learn more about the plants you care for."
Hermione smiled down at the little creature, who was grinning. The elf bowed again, then picked up the small toolbox and started up the path, giving bits of insight on the greens they were passing. The witch took a deep breath, at ease for a moment as she listened to the unlikely teacher.
—
She had spent over two hours in the conservatory, completely unintentionally, and only noticed the time when the lighting began to glow orange around her, as though the sun was beginning to set.
Hermione thanked Odna for letting her tag along, then traipsed back through the greenery, finding Delilah lounging on the edge of the large fountain near the door.
"About bloody time. How long can you stare at plants? They all look the same," the girl said as she stood from her seat. Hermione gave a sheepish chuckle.
"I didn't really intend to be in here so long, but Odna knows so much, and it's quite fascinating to hear about all the exotic species that the Malfoys are growing."
Delilah rolled her eyes, but there was a smirk on her face as they moved towards the greenhouse's exit. Migo popped into existence just as the two girls heaved open the glass doors and re-entered the manor.
"Mistress Granger, the Dark Lord be wishing to see you in his study."
Swallowing the jolt of panic that she supposed everyone got when hearing they'd been summoned by the Dark Lord, Hermione straightened her posture. Reaching into the pocket of her dress, she pulled out the purple-bottled potion Draco had given her and dropped a single drop under her tongue, feeling the almost inebriating effects instantly. She caught her companion's suspicious gaze and gave her a challenging look, saying nothing.
The witches walked quickly through the mansion to the third floor, the corridor certainly familiar at this point, but never any less chilling. After a nod from her colleague, Delilah retreated to another part of the floor, as Hermione closed her eyes and waited for the door to open. It was barely a second later that the entryway swung inward.
The girl was surprised to see Snape standing across from the Dark Lord, his arms crossed over his chest and his expression none too pleased. He glowered at her as she came to stand beside him and curtsied to Voldemort. He then looked back to his leader.
"My lord, are we certain she is even capable of this task? She is still only a child."
Hermione didn't react. She hadn't been a child for years now; the war had seen to that.
With a sneer, the Dark Lord replied, "Forgive me, Severus, I didn't realize you desired the position."
"I do not, my lord. However, I recognize its importance. Should she fail-"
"Then she dies and the responsibility will fall to someone else. But in order to minimize that risk, should she not learn how to protect that which we do not want expressed?"
The Potions Master gave a nod of concession, glaring once again at the witch beside him. Voldemort finally looked to the girl, his garnet eyes never failing to send ice down her spine.
"Miss Granger, you are to be my liaison between the Muggle government and the wizarding world. You're the only one of my associates with a tolerance towards the creatures, therefore I believe you're least likely to jeopardize relations with them."
Not at all expecting this to be the topic of discussion, Hermione couldn't help the surprise that bloomed on her features for a moment before she ducked her head in respect.
"I will serve your agenda to the highest degree, my lord."
"Yes, you will, as I'm sure you're aware of my views on inadequacy. Before I can allow you to prance about with Muggles, however, you must master Occlumency. I can't have them strolling through your mind like it's a park, so Severus will be teaching you the skill until he deems you competent enough to deter a skilled attack."
The girl threw a sideways glance at her former professor, who was rigid. She guessed he had been less than ecstatic about being appointed the task. The Dark Lord nodded once.
"The two of you may work out the details amongst yourselves. Miss Granger, I do hope you don't disappoint me in this."
Giving another curtsy, Hermione assured him she would not, then followed Snape out of the study once they'd been dismissed.
In the hallway, the Potions Master whirled to glare at his former student, only to be met with a fiery gaze. She stood up as tall and straight as her posture would allow, folding her arms over her ribcage and raising her chin so that somehow she was looking down her nose at him despite her being a head shorter.
"You will arrive at the manor no later than eight in the evening on Mondays and Thursdays, and will spend one hour and a half teaching me Occlumency, beginning this coming Thursday. That ought to be ample time to clear your schedule and make arrangements for the future," Hermione hissed, a malicious edge to her tone. Snape fumed.
"You presume to order me-"
"I don't presume, Severus, I am ordering you."
There was a thick silence for a moment, then the man sneered at her.
"To dictate, one must be in a higher position than the subject they are addressing. I am the one who outranks you," he said with a growl. But she gave him a wicked smirk that looked more like a snarl.
"For now, perhaps. But you'll accomodate me anyways, because once I marry your godson, I will be the one of higher rank. And I will remember how I am treated."
She batted her lashes at him as he stared at her with unadulterated fury.
"I will see you on Thursday, Severus."
Hermione nearly thought he would draw his wand on her, but after holding her stare for a number of seconds, he turned on his heel and stomped away.
Delilah turned the corner into the hall just as Snape began to descend the steps, his expression still livid. The witch took in his countenance paired with Hermione's smug features and raised her eyebrows.
"Will I be lucky enough to hear this tale?" She questioned. Hermione met her companion's eyes and smirked.
"There's not much to hear, really. He had a problem with an arrangement I made, so I simply reminded him that I would be marrying the heir of the Dark Lord in six months' time, and that it would be in his best interests to avoid offending me further," she said as the two of them began to make their way back downstairs. The witch beside her chuckled.
"Already playing politics and power. Well done, Hermione."
They hadn't taken but a few steps downward when Migo again appeared in front of them, this time informing Hermione that her betrothed was requesting her presence in his office. The girl frowned, wondering what he could need from her in relation to his work, but thanked the elf and turned to head back up the stairs.
Draco's study was on the opposite side of the floor, and distinctly lacked the foreboding aura of Voldemort's work chamber. She knocked on the door, politely dismissing Delilah as she waited for it to be opened. Just as with the Dark Lord, the entryway swung inward seemingly of its own accord, and she stepped into the room.
The back wall was mostly glass, offering a beautiful view of the rear lawn. It let the light touch every corner of the space, from the hundreds of books in the tall cases, to the elegantly carved moulding that edged the ceiling.
Draco sat at a large desk in front of the window, looking slightly agitated as he shuffled papers over his work surface. He looked up as Hermione entered, meeting her curious gaze.
"I'm assuming this is fairly important?" She said, sitting in one of the plush chairs across from him. He pushed his fingers through his hair, and from the state of it, she realized it probably wasn't the first time he'd done so that day.
"When you were with The New Order, did anyone ever mention how they hoped to gain resources in the future?" He questioned, his expression tense. The girl took a moment to think carefully about it, remembering all the conversations she'd been privy to. She gave a small sigh and shook her head.
"They never mentioned anyone specifically, or at least, not around me. But I may recognize something if you let me see what you're working with."
With the elixir still circulating nonchalance through her veins, she didn't wait to be granted permission, just stood and made her way to his side, beginning to look over the multitude of files he had spread in front of him. He rose to his feet and attempted to organize the papers a bit, watching her while she examined them.
Her forehead creased as she studied the files, and her lower lip slipped between her teeth, drawing his attention there. Draco swallowed as the now-familiar jolts of desire spiked outwards from his chest, begging him to kiss her, to touch her, anything. Instead he bit down the impulse and tried to focus on the document in her hand, recalling what he could about the subject therein.
Hermione spent several minutes analyzing the papers, but she gave a defeated sigh when she recognized nothing. Draco slumped back into his chair, raking his fingers through his hair yet again. He hadn't really thought she would have anything to add, especially since the information he was working off of had come from the Dark Lord's examination of her memories, but he was beginning to get frustrated at the lack of a conclusive lead.
He felt her place her hands on his shoulders and give them a comforting squeeze. When she softly called his name, he looked up at her, a bit of his irritation abating at the sight of the tender expression she wore.
"You're one of the most determined people I've ever met," she breathed, brushing away some of the strands that had fallen over his eyes. "You'll figure it out."
Her palm rested against his cheek, and she bent down, kissing his forehead. When she pulled away, he grasped her hand and brought it to his lips, surrendering just a little to the desperate ache inside him, if only for a minute.
Draco watched her retreat from his study, closing the door softly. When she'd gone, he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, his heart still racing in his chest. His mind was replaying every detail of their exchange, brief though it was, and it was as if he could still feel every single touch from her.
He huffed and stood, pouring himself a glass of Firewhiskey and resigning himself to the fact that he would accomplish nothing more that night. His thoughts were entirely preoccupied with chestnut curls, a murmured name, and kisses that were just enough to sustain him, like a drowning man every so often being granted a gasp of air.
He smiled softly as he gazed out at the darkening sky. It was enough for him.
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